Page 194 of The Fine Line
“Shit, I’m sorry,” she mutters, crouching to pick something up.
I glance downwards, realizing it was the button from my pants. Must’ve popped when she flinched.
“Couldn’t care less,” I say, lifting and pressing her against the wall.
I capture her lips with mine once more as her hands slide inside my pants, pushing them down. She strokes me. I slip her panties to the side. And just like that, she’s sinking onto me.
“Fuck—”
Knock. Knock.
“Goddammit!” I growl. Fuming, I drop her to the ground, spin around, and throw open the door without a second thought. “It’s taken.Do you fucking mind?”
“Shit—Sorry, man. Door had been locked for awhile?—”
The guy turning away from the bathroom door cuts off as he does a double take. And that’s when I realize.
It’s Holt.
“Sutton? Jesus, there you are. We all thought you left.”
“Can a guy take a leak?”
“Sure, yeah.” He shakes his head. “I just wanted the team together. Thought you bailed.”
I open my mouth to respond, but I’m cut off by a loud clatter. I turn my head to see coffee shop girl bent over with her pursehalfway off her arm and her makeup compact between us on the bathroom floor.
“What was that?” Holt steps forward.
“Nothing.” I close the door most of the way. “If you don’t mind?—”
Clunk.
I turn. She’s on the floor now, looking up at me wide-eyed, purse contents everywhere.
“Nettie?”
My head swivels back, and I find Holt standing mere inches away from me now, his face blank as his gaze trains on her.
“Brendan,” she breathes, scrambling to her feet.
And suddenly, it clicks.
Jennette.
Nettie.
The woman Jimmy was asking about.
“You two know each other?” I ask.
Holt laughs, dead and hollow. “Yeah. She’s my wife.”
I stumble back. “Your... what?”
“And how the fuck do you know her?”
Silence.
