Page 5 of Vows in Sin
“I’m worried about you. I’ve never seen you this hung up on a guy before. Except for once.”
“Chad Reed,” we both say at once.
“Right.” Concern seeps into her voice. “Which is why I also never told you about that kiss!”
“I forgive you for Chad.” My attention strays back to the club. The line is almost gone. “But the kiss would smooth over quicker if you could have gotten me into the club tonight.”
“You’re still trying to get in, after everything I’ve said!”
“Maybe.”
“Wait a minute,” she clicks her tongue, something she does when she’s thinking. “Are you at Gotcha right now?”
I test the waters. “What if I am?”
Her response snuffs out my now-pitiful spark of hope. “You need to go home,” she says. “I’m sending you an Uber.”
Wait! “No! Tabby. Don’t do that?—”
“Hang on,” she says. “I’m putting you on speakerphone so I can look up your location if you won’t tell me.”
I blurt out, “That’s not necessary!”
The sound of shuffling and her voice goes echoey.
Bracing myself, I wait for her to realize what I’ve done.
3—2—1?—
My whole face winces as she shouts, “You stopped sharing your location! A single girl. In the city. Wandering around by yourself, breaking into clubs?—”
“Gotta go! Love you so much. Kisses, and I’ll call you tomorrow!” I hang up before she can stop me. I’ll bring her a latte and a warm croissant from the bakery in the morning as an apology.
I turn my phone off, slipping it into the pocket of my dress.
I didn’t want it to come to this.
But here we are.
Time for Plan C.
2
Seraphina
I glide around the corner, fingertips dragging against the brick as I skitter along the wall. I make my way to the back of the giant building that is Gotcha’s. A red monster truck is parked in the back alley. I crouch behind the truck, concealing myself. From this vantage point, I can see the large metal rear door.
Dumpsters flank the alley. Even the beautiful Bachmans make garbage.
When someone comes out, I’ll slip in.
My heart sits in my throat as I peer around the shiny chrome bumper. My knees burn in my squat stance. It’ll all be worth it if I can get in and talk to Dame. Remind him of the connection we had…
Or put all this behind me and finally be able to focus on other things—wait. The doors open. A slender, tall man wearing a black ball cap with bushy sideburns heads out, a black garbagebag in his hand. With the toe of his black hightop Converse, he pushes a loose brick in front of the door to keep it from closing.
Whistling, he takes his time, meandering over to the dumpster with the bag. He hauls it over the top, and it drops in the bin with a satisfying thump.
Light perspiration dots my hairline, prickles under my arms. What will he do next?
