Page 62 of Don't Fall

He laughs, though I can hear a nervous waver in it. “I almost called him that myself tonight. Well, I did, several times. Just not out loud. Until after you left.”

I exhale, letting go of the last few minutes while I soak in the comfort of his voice and the delight I get from hearing him be silly when it’s just the two of us.

“Thanks for...” I get derailed halfway through when I catch a glimpse of Bart heading my way out of the corner of my eye. “I’m getting a ride, you can go back inside,” I call over to him, hoping he’ll stop and turn back without ever reaching me.

“Who are you talking to?” I hear Lane in my left ear, while the right is tuning in to Bart, who’s still approaching.

“Don’t be like that, Tessa. Just come back inside.”

“Look, it’s fine, okay. You and I will go back to being buds. I just think we need a day or two to cool off. Let this go, you know?” I’m not completely convinced I’ll be able to, but I’m willing to give it a shot. I’ve always liked Bart, I’d hate to think one bad night could taint that forever.

“Tess,” Lane gets louder.

“Come on, don’t make me go back in there by myself,” Bart pleads, playfully trying to take my hand to lead me back inside.

“Not tonight, Bart.” I hold my phone out in case he missed I was on it, “I already called a friend. He’ll be here any minute.”

Bart’s eyes darken. “He? Does he know he’s just a friend too? Or do you get off on stringing guys along?”

“That’s it,” Lane snarls on his end, and I hope for Bart’s sake Lane’s getting stuck at every red light on the way here, otherwise, it’s just a matter of seconds before dealing with me is out, and facing off with him is in.

“You know, you’re really starting to piss me off,” I snap, thinking it’s time for the good girl to call it a night and my inner bitch to handle her business. “I came here tonight, thinking we could have a good time. Clearly, our ideas of what that might entail don’t exactly match up, but that gives you no right to be a total shit to me. Fine, you got your ego bruised a bit and maybe the rejection stings when it’s combined with the humiliation of having your date walk out in the middle of the party in front of all your friends and coworkers, but that’s your own goddamn fault. Next time, maybe you can hold onto your nice guy persona a little tighter and not let the asshole run off with it. You think you’re the first guy to get his panties in a wad when I don’t want to sleep with him?! Get the fuck out of here! I work at the Basement, you dipstick. I get that shit at least ten times a night. I’m not about to crumble or cry or give in when you switch up your angles, trying everything from charming me to being a straight up bully. I’ve heard it all. It does not work on me!”

Bart’s face is nearly purple by the time I’m done ranting at him and I brace myself for the next round.

His mouth opens, his fists noticeably balled at his sides, then, he freezes when a slate grey BMW pulls up beside us and a tatted up, tensed up muscles rippling under his tight-ass tee-shirt, pissed off looking Lane gets out, phone still in his hand.

“Was there any part of what she just said that you didn’t understand?” he demands in his creepy calm, dark voice.

Bart takes a second look at him, then scoffs. “Really? Picking over what Jules leaves behind? You’re more pathetic than I thought.”

“Lot of that going around here tonight, Bart,” I say, with nothing but pity left for him.

It takes a second to sink in, but when it does his face turns sour and he glares at me one last time as if it’s his way of getting in that last word, before he finally turns around to go back inside.

Lane’s arm hooks around my neck as he presses his lips to the side of my head.

When I arch my brow at him he mutters, “Don’t even start with me, that’s totally a roommate move.”

I let out a sigh that turns to giggles halfway through when the anxiety begins to leave my body. “Meanwhile, if this continues to become public knowledge, I’m having a shirt made for you. ‘Did not sleep with Jules’ will be written in big, bold letters, front and back.”

He grimaces. “If this keeps up, I may have that shirt made for myself.” Arm still draped around my neck, he starts toward the car. “But more importantly, can we talk about Drea’s shitty taste in guys?! I mean, Scott seems decent enough, but she’s tried to set you up with some serious douche bags in the last few months.”

“Oh my God, you have no idea!” I laugh, waiting while he opens the door and then helps me inside. I watch from the window as he hurries around to the driver’s side until at last, he’s sitting beside me and we’re headed for home.

“I didn’t think it was a real date, by the way,” I say, long after the previous conversation has ended and I’ve replayed it in my head at least ten times.

“I know.” The corner of his mouth curves up in a way I’ve come to learn means he’s about to make a comment he already thinks is funny. “You probably wouldn’t have promised me the fun task of taking that dress off of you if you had any sort of hopes for you and Barf.”

“You’re an idiot.” And I’m the idiot grinning from ear to ear because of it.

“You can take it back, you know,” he says, sounding suddenly serious.

“That you’re an idiot? No, I think I’m good.”

He reaches over and lightly pinches my thigh. “No, jackass. The dress thing. I know that sleaze ball was making you feel uncomfortable. It’s totally cool if you just want to shower off his slime and veg tonight. They’re having a marathon of that cooking competition you like on the food channel.”

“What, don’t find me irresistible anymore now that I’ve been sleazed on?” I’m teasing, of course, but even I can hear the nerves in my voice. Some small part is worried the day will come when he grows bored with me and our little fling fizzles out.

---