Page 60 of Don't Fall

“Why?” I love her, but she’s giving me freaking mental whiplash. One minute she wants me to relax more, to go out and get laid and then when I do, it’s all wrong.

She ignores me this time. Her attention is exclusively reserved for Lane.

“Swear,” she insists. I can’t see her face, but judging by the tone, she’s shooting daggers at him with her eyes.

Lane’s face softens, tentatively shaking his head up and down. “I swear.”

I stare at Scott, wondering if he’s as confused as I am, but he’s not. Now I really feel like I missed something.

Drea sighs. “I’ll take it.”

Scott shakes his head, hurrying to drape his arm around her waist to lead her out of here. “Holy shit, you two are so fucking weird sometimes,” he mutters, ushering her across the landing back to their place.

“You don’t seem to have a problem with it,” she points out, willingly letting him guide her away.

“I’m like grandfathered into this shit. We all know, I’m never getting out. But this dude,” his voice gets softer as they move through their own front door, “he has no logical reason for staying. Unless he’s serious about her.”

“Yeah, serious about getting in her pants,” Drea mumbles as she glances back one more time to give Lane a final glare of warning.

“You don’t know guys, baby. No dude is going to put up with you, just to get a piece of ass. I promise.”

Then the door closes. All the crazy disappears. Well, at least all the Drea crazy. All of mine is still sitting here. Or standing rather.

I’d look at Lane if I had even a single syllable to utter to him. I’ve got nothing.

“Wondering if he’s right?” he whispers.

“No,” I answer too fast to be believable. “Just thinking how our simple arrangement is a lot less complicated when it’s just us.”

He reaches for my elbow and tugs me to him. “Well, I think we can forget all about simple now that Drea knows.”

“You have no idea.” I roll my head back, whining loudly. “Things are about to be exhausting.”

Lane

I underestimated Drea. After our little showdown in the living room the other night, I thought we’d reached an understanding, a common ground we were both satisfied with. Clearly, I was wrong.

“Tell me again why you’re going out with half the firehouse instead of staying here and getting naked with me?”

She slides her foot into one of the sexiest stiletto heels I’ve ever seen and glances up at me. “I’m not going out with half the firehouse. I’m attending their annual firefighter’s ball, for charity by the way, not fun. And, because I was invited.”

“Yeah. By Bart.” I almost call him Barf, but there’s nothing worse than a grown man pouting except maybe a grown man pouting who sounds like he’s twelve.

“Are you seriously upset about this?” she asks, standing up straight now that she has both her shoes on. “Because that’s not very roomie-like of you.” Then she has the audacity to smirk. Like this is funny.

“Am I upset that you’re standing there looking hot as hell in a dress that could have been painted on you, but I can’t have the pleasure of peeling off of you because you have a date with Bart? Yeah. A little.” What would be the point in lying, really!?

She steps in close, torturing me mercilessly. “You’ll be more than welcome to peel it off when I get home.”

It physically hurts when she pulls away. “I’ll be here. Standing at the door. Waiting.”

She laughs. I’m only partly kidding. I may make it to the couch. I’ll probably flip on the TV. But my eyes will be glued to that damn door until she walks back through it.

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