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“Of course,” I answer. “It’s a real rager in there. Add a belly dancer, and it would be the best party ever.”
Someone get me a muzzle.
I should never speak again.
I’m fully aware of the stranger behind me listening to my lie, but I forge ahead anyway. “I wish I could stay, but I have to get up early tomorrow for work.”
I hate my excuse.
It’s only eight-thirty at night—I literally just proved Zak’s point about how I want to stay home when he wants to party.
“Well, okay.” Zak slowly nods as his eyes pull to the man still sitting on the bench, and I swear he gives the stranger an annoyed expression. Or maybe I imagine it because that’s how I want it to play out. “It’s good to see you’re getting out”—he hesitates before stumbling over the rest of his sentence—“and aren’t too sad.”
I push a ridiculous smile onto my lips. “Yep! Doing great.”
Zak’s hand finds its way to Genessa’s back once again, and he nudges her forward. “I’ll see you around.”
“Have fun!” I wave back at them. Not a controlled pageant wave. No, I look like a kindergartener who just saw his mom at the back of the auditorium during his first-ever program.
So smooth.
I hold my breath until they’re safely several yards away, walking down the dock to the yacht, then I release it in one long, slow motion.
The man on the bench clears his throat. “Listen, I—”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
I have no desire to hear that he couldn’t take one for the team and kiss me to make my ex-boyfriend a little jealous. In all honesty, I probably should be the one apologizing and explaining to him, but I’m sure he already got the gist of my pathetic life story from my conversation with Zak.
The sooner I can get home and pretend like this night never happened, the better.
I turn to go.
“Wait! I didn’t mean to make you look bad.”
I hear the bench creek and his footsteps following after me, but I keep walking.
“Look, my driver is meeting me at the corner, so let’s just forget about it.”
I hobble—because of the shoes—to where the streets intersect, but this guy can’t be deterred. He stops right next to me.
“I really am sorry.”
“It’s fine. You aren’t the one that needs to apologize.” I pull out my phone, hoping that my ride is close. I step back, and suddenly my left leg drops a few inches. I stumble, but luckily I don’t fall. I try lifting my foot, but the heel of Tessa’s shoe is stuck in the small hole in the metal sewer lid.
The man points down. “Your shoe’s caught.”
My eyes snap to his. “Observation of the century.”
I wiggle my leg, trying to pull the shoe out, but it won’t budge.
“Do you need some help?”
My gaze turns frosty. “You better not. I’m sure my ten-minute trial is already up.”
The heel is jammed so tightly that I can’t move my leg up at all. Normally, I would slip my foot out of the shoe and then work on getting it unlodged, but my foot’s trapped from all of the stupid straps.
I could bend down and undo the straps, but then I would be flashing the growing peanut gallery on the pier.
