Page 41 of Keeper
Because no, it wasn’t exactly her fault. Sure, if I were in her shoes, I would’veneverleft the club without first grabbing my out-of-town friend and makingsureshe came with us. But in Marta’s defense, she’d at least triedto call me and let me know. If my phone had been on, all of this could’ve been avoided. And it was shitty and lame of me to not share details about my night just because I was slightly annoyed at how things had gone.
Thankfully, a long soak in the shower—and maybe a little reminiscing about the steamier details of my night with Tanner—wasjustwhat the doctor ordered. By the time I toweled myself dry and emerged from the bathroom in a pair of fresh clothes, I felt like a new woman.
In the living room, the movers continued to bustle in-and-out through the open door, dismantling Marta’s roommate’s dwelling piece by piece. The kitchen was empty, but my cup of coffee was waiting for me.
I rapped my knuckles on Marta’s bedroom door. “Knock, knock,” I announced.
“Come in,” she answered quietly.
Careful not to spill my coffee, I squeezed through the door that can’t open any wider. Marta was sitting up in bed with her laptop on her tummy.
“How was your shower?” she asked.
“Great,” I said as I sat on the edge of her bed. “I feel human again.”
“Oh, good.” She looked at me with a heavy brow. “I hope you’re not mad at me because of last night?”
“Iwasmad,” I admitted, “because I thought you’d abandoned me.”
“I didn’t abandon you at all!” She shook her head profusely. “I’m so sorry you even thought that. The quarterback practicallydraggedme out of the club. I toldhim to let me get you first, but he wasn’t having it. When I went back to get you—”
“I know, Marta. You don’t have to explain it again. It wasn’t your fault. I should’ve had my phone on. Anyway, everything turned out fine—the guy I met was honestly a hugehelp.”
“So what was his name?” she asked gently, dipping her toes back into the gossip water.
“His name might as well have been Douchebag,” I said with a wink.
“Nowyou’re getting it!” Marta clapped her hands and squealed gleefully. “But seriously, how did you meet him, anyway?”
I told her how ‘Douchebag’ found me sitting all alone in the booth by accident. Marta didn’t buy it—she was sure he must’ve spotted me at some point and known I was alone.
“Was he hot, at least?” she asked.
“Sohot,” I answered, painting her a picture of the tall, ruggedly handsome guy with the muscles bulging beneath the expensive suit. “In fact, I was surehe was your quarterback at first.”
She liked hearing how I kept shooting down his confident advances.
“Every last one of these fuckboys need a pinprick to the balloons that are their massive, yet oh-so-fragile male egos,” she quipped.
When I told Marta that he ended up driving me around to look for her building, she rolled her eyes.
“You actually buy that story, Ainsley? He didn’t want you to find your place at all. He probably drove around the same couple blocks over and over again, waiting for you to give up hope so he could take you back to his place.”
I shook my head. “No, he definitely drove me all over downtown. And he even offered to put me up in a hotel if we couldn’t find your building.”
“What hedidn’tmention is that he’d be checking into that hotel room with you, too.”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I didn’t get that impression. I mean, yeah, he definitely wanted me. But at the same time, I think he could tell I was freaked out. I think he really was just trying to help me get home.”
She snickered. “Honey, trust me. He was trying to get in your pants. And he got what he wanted, too, which is too bad.”
“No, he didn’t. I told you, nothing happened.”
She raised a doubtful eyebrow. “So you’re really sticking to that story, huh?Nothinghappened between you two?”
“Okay, we watched a movie and made out on his couch, and there was some heavy petting, but that’s really all.”
Her jaw fell. “Damn—so you led a guy on just to get a bed for the night? That’s soeffing ruthless, Ainsley! I love it. You’re like a slut grifter.”
