Page 51 of Catnip, Claws, and Chaos

A week passes, seven days since we had sex, one hundred and sixty-eight hours where the only thing he says to me is some version of “Please show the next patient in, Emily.” His voice is always professional and distant as if he’s talking to a stranger instead of someone who knows the sound he makes when he comes.

The rides to and from work are the worst part. Not even my lame attempts to talk about the weather work anymore. Our only interaction happens at the clinic, where he maintains careful distance. His behavior pisses me off so much that I fantasize about pounding on his door until it breaks down. And then I’d either punch his perfect face or kiss him until neither of us could breathe. I don’t know which I want more.

The apartment feels like a minefield. I sneak through hallways like I’m trespassing, avoiding common areas whenever possible. Even the animals pick up on the tension. Bob gravitates toward Logan, and Demon gets even more destructive than usual.

Friday night, after another day of suffocating silence, I grab my phone and type.

Emily: I need a drink. Now.

Kate: Where do you want to meet up?

Sarah: Not the usual pub, I beg you! I still feel like puking just thinking about the last time.

Emily: Any place is fine with me.

While they debate locations, I strip off my work clothes and transform myself. The black mini dress hiding in the back of my closet comes out. It’s strapless and tight enough to look painted on, showing more cleavage than I usually dare to display. I heard the front door open and close after I got home; Logan’s gone out. Running from his own apartment to avoid me. If he’s looking to get laid tonight, I can play that game too.

I curl my hair until it falls in waves around my shoulders. Then add makeup, smoky eyes, flushed cheeks, and blood-red lips. My highest heels complete the look, black stilettos I bought on sale and have worn exactly once. I’ll probably break an ankle trying to walk in them, but tonight’s mission is to sit at a bar looking hot and wait for someone who isn’t Logan to notice me. Or drink until I can’t feel anything. Either way works.

Even as I admire my handiwork through the mirror, I know it’s pointless. How do you forget someone when you live in their house, work at their clinic, and feel them in your bloodstream like some addictive drug?

You can’t.

But tonight, I’ll pretend.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Emily

After I pace and obsessively check my phone for an hour, Kate finally sends an address. The bar is in a trendy area not far from Logan's place, thank God, since these heels might kill me if I have to walk far.

My Uber driver is this kid with a face full of pimples who looks way too young to be driving. He spends the whole ride stealing nervous glances at me in the rearview mirror, his eyes darting away whenever I catch him looking. His obvious discomfort saves me from making small talk, which is fine by me. Tonight has one goal: get Logan Price out of my system once and for all.

The bar sits nestled between a fancy restaurant and a designer clothing store. Kate and Sarah are waiting at the entrance. Kate whistles when she sees me while Sarah's eyes go wide with shock.

“Damn, girl,” Kate says, looking me up and down. “You clean up good.”

“You look... different,” Sarah manages, her expression caught somewhere between impressed and worried.

As soon as we enter the 360, I can tell this place is nothing like our usual dive bars. Modern décor gleams under blue and purple lights, with cushy seating areas and a massive bar running along one wall. Well-dressed people sip colorful drinks and laugh over music that's actually at a volume where you can hear yourself think. Everything about it screams expensive, from the drinks to the people.

Sarah tugs at her cardigan self-consciously. “This looks like a pricy place.”

“I'm buying tonight!” Kate declares happily, clearly unfazed by our surroundings. “We have to celebrate! In just over a month, I'm having my first show!”

“Oh, K, that's fabulous!” I throw my arms around her in a huge hug. Kate's been working toward this gallery showing forever, and it's everything she's dreamed of. For a moment, I almost forget my misery, her excitement pushing back the darkness.

Almost.

“Let's grab a table,” Sarah suggests, pointing to a corner booth that just opened up.

We weave through the crowd, and I feel a little better, buoyed by friendship and the promise of celebrating something positive instead of wallowing in self-pity. Just when that feeling takes hold, I catch sight of two figures at a table near the window, partially hidden by some decorative divider thing. Even in the dim light, I'd know that jawline, that thick dark blond hair, that brooding expression anywhere. My heart plummets straight through the floor.

“Shit!”

“What's up, Em?” Sarah's concerned eyes follow my gaze toward Logan's table. “Do you know him?”

“What a hottie!” Kate exclaims, her eyes widening appreciatively. “A new friend?”

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