Page 37 of A Dash of You

Lana giggles. “Better than mine. Jeff Parker was such an asshole. He found out he was my first everything and told the entire senior year. I couldn’t show my face for a week.”

“Ew. God. I remember that. He hated me for putting yogurt in his football gear right before their championship game.”

We both fall back laughing and it feels good to laugh like this.

“Bastard deserved it. Thanks for that, by the way,” she says. “Guess my history of men started back then.” She snorts but a hint of shame falls over her.

“We were in high school, Lana.” I worry she’ll believe she’s a magnet for dirtbags, but really, it’s just a case of shit luck. “I am worried about wine being the answer to my problems lately.”

“I feel that.” Lana finishes her glass and pours another. “But we’ll worry about that in the morning.”

I smile. “Fine. Pour me another glass.” Under a blanket, I rest my head on the couch, eyes on the ceiling.

Lana reaches under the blanket and takes my free hand. “You’ll get through this and whatever you’re running from, you’ll get through that too. And I’ll always be here to help you.”

I smile, turning to peer at my friend. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she says.

A pounding—severe thunderous pounding. How much did I drink last night? More pounding. Is this a dream? No, it sounds again, and I jump at the noise.

“What kind of monster is making that God awful sound this early in the morning?” Lana grunts before we each share a look of worry and then beeline for the kitchen.

I rip open the kitchen drawer, pulling out a knife and clenching it to my chest. A repeat of the balcony incident. “I got a knife.”

Lana whips open a different drawer. “I got the pepper spray.”

“Ugh, I was looking for that the other day when I thought Fred was a serial killer.”

“When did you think Fred was a serial killer?”

“Remember that night when—” More pounding. “Fuck. I’ll go first.”

“What? No way. What if it’s Mark?”

“Lana. I’m bigger than you. He’ll poke you and you’ll fall,” I whisper shout at her.

“That is not true. I am a bad bitch.”

“You are bad and scary, but I’m still going first.” I slide past her, taking the lead, and that’s when I realize I’m extra sore this morning. My back feels like an elephant stomped it on.

I take a deep breath, Lana holding onto my baggie sleep shirt that hangs to mid-thigh. My hand rests on the doorknob, and I mouth a countdown to Lana, who bobs her head at each descending number. On one, I fling open the door, and big non scary man jumps when me and Lana let out a terrifying scream.

“Christ,” he groans.

“Holy shit! What the fuck, Logan?” Lana presses a hand over her heart.

I mirror her, my heart racing, as I lean against the doorframe. “What the hell are you doing?” I ask trying to catch my breath.

He sets down his hammer and power tools—power tools that make him extra sexy. “I’m installing a camera.”

“That’s fancy.” Lana raises her arm, the one with the pepper spray.

“Woah.” Logan holds up a surrendering pair of hands.

Lana tilts her head, brows furrowing together.

“Lana. Your pepper spray.” I cover my face in protective defense.

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