Page 51 of The Way We Fell

“God, you’re nearly as big a slut as me,” Paloma slaps Amie’s hand from Ruth’s phone as she tries to get a proper look. “You’ve got a man.”

“Yeah, but I’ve still got eyes, bitch.”

Paloma laughs. “True enough. Andgood lord, Ruthy this cowboy isfine.”

“Isn’t he?” Ruth sighs wistfully. “He said—he implied—I mean, he kinda…”

“Spit it out, love,” I laugh.

“Nah, swallowing’s more fun.” Amie winks. Paloma splutters on a mouthful of her margarita, and I slap her back lightly as I reach over to bump Amie’s outstretched fist with my own.

“Heinvitedmetostaywithhim,” Ruth says in a rush, words all jumbled together.

“What?” Paloma’s earsplitting screech is almost enough to shatter the glass in her hand.

“He lives just outside Austin. He gave me his number and we’ve texted a bit, talked on the phone. We even FaceTimed last night. He said next time I’m in town, I should stay an extra day or two and he’ll show me around.” Ruth scoops up a pile of salsa on a chip from the edge of the nacho plate and shoves it into her mouth, whole.

“But he was in New York.” Amie leans forward to grab a pitcher of water from the middle of the table and pours into each of our glasses.

“His little sister lives there. She has his nose. His lock screen is a picture of them in Times Square.”

“Cute,” Amie hums. “And he’s not a serial killer, right?”

Ruth nods, eyes wide. I trust Ruth’s gut more than I trust most things, and if she thinks Everett is worth getting to know, then I’m fully supportive. A waitress dressed in black with a neon green stripe down the side of each leg stops by our table to deliver the variety platter of tacos we ordered. Paloma offers her a flirtatious smile and a wink as she asks for another margarita and more water for the table.

“That’s good enough for me,” Amie declares. “Do it, girl. Go get some of that cowboyboo, Boo.”

“I haven’t decided anything,” Ruth says quietly. She grabs a taco and stuffs half of it in her mouth, chewing awkwardly.

“What have you got to lose, Roo?” I ask. “He’s fine, you’re fine—it’s not like you won’t be flying out there anyway, right? It’s not like you have to marry the guy. Let loose! Have some fun!” By the time I finish monologuing, Ruth is swallowing her enormous mouthful of food.

“I fly out there for work, Katy. Not for fun.” She pins me with a dark stare. The same eyes as her brother. I shiver lightly under her gaze, covering the action by tugging my cardigan tight around my torso.

“Work hard, play hard, sis.” Paloma raises her cocktail in a toast before draining the glass.

“When are you out there next, Ruth? Text him. What’s the worst that could happen?” Amie pushes Ruth’s phone back to her, and the three of us pin Ruth with identical stares. Well, Amie and I do. Paloma tries, but quickly smirks and dissolves into giggles.

“Okay, fine, thanks Doctor Pepper.” She rolls her eyes at Amie, and I snort at the memory of an old advertising campaign. “Maybe I’ll text him next time I’m in Austin. Don’t get your hopes up. It might turn into nothing.”

“But it might besomething,” Paloma giggles, waggling her eyebrows.

Everything feels different between me and Jay. Emotionally charged. Ever since I showed up on his doorstep to apologise, and we spent the morning in an intimate kind of embrace on his sofa, he’s been softer. More gentle. Less gruff. Like we’re on the precipice of something—whatever that something might be. As I walked into my first classroom of the day, my phone buzzed with a text sayingGood luck today, Princess. Knock em dead.

The class is an introduction to the school and the course. It’s not overly challenging, given that it’s only day one, but it’s definitely overwhelming. I sit in the middle of the room, tapping my new cowboy hat pen against my lower lip as I listen intently to the course objectives and the faculty’s expectations of its students, taking notes studiously.

There are only a few of us scribbling down every word, and after the session, we gravitate towards one another. We’re all a little older than the rest of the group, and we exchange numbers, ready to form our own little study group and take on the world of counselling together.

By the time I get home after a day full of library tours and information overload, I’m exhausted and my head is pounding. I want nothing more than to soak in a bubble bath with a large glass of wine. I flick the trigger on the candle lighter and touch the flame to the wick, jumping back involuntarily as the flame catches and the bathroom fills with a warm, flickering glow.

Within minutes, the room is full of a steam haze and the scent of pomegranates and raspberries. I strip out of my clothes and step into the tub, sinking my body through layers of luxurious foam and soothing hot water.

I pick up my e-reader from the bath tray and navigate to my latest read. It’s a sexy, kinky cowboy romance—because, of course it is—where someone gets tied up. Because, of course they do. What can I say? I know what I like.

An hour and a half later, my skin is wrinkled and the water has a distinct chill to it. Most of the bubbles have dissipated, leaving my shoulders exposed to the cool air, and my wine glass is empty. I stand and stretch, pull the plug, and climb out, wrapping myself in a large, fluffy robe. I pad down to the kitchen to refill my glass before returning to my bedroom with a tub of raspberry and rose-scented body lotion. I massage it into every inch of my skin, filling my bedroom with the sweet, fresh fragrance.

Day has long since faded into night, and I pull the curtains to shut out the moonlight. I’m just settling under a pile of blankets to read the last few chapters of the book when my phone buzzes.

Jay

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