Page 10 of Fall From Grace
Oh, right. What I told him about coming here to have fun. See? It’s too easy to get lost in my head.
I hold onto the edge of the counter as I shrug, and he laughs at me. The jerk actuallylaughsat me. “Yeah,” he says, pausing to take another sip out of his beer, “that’s kind of what I thought. I bet someone like you would have more fun chilling at home by yourself.” The way he says it makes it sound like an insult.
I pucker my lips and glare at him as I demand, “And what’s wrong with that?”
“Nothing, I guess.”
“No,” I say, my argumentative side peeking through. “Obviously you said that to insult me. You’re judging me.” Iflip my hair over my shoulder and give him my best whatever expression. “But that’s fine, because I’m judging you right back.”
That makes him chuckle and cock a brow at me, and I hate how attractive that look on him is. “Judging me? How exactly are you judging me?”
“Well, based off what I know about you: you’re rude, you’re mean, you’re entitled—”
“Whoa. I might be rude and mean, but I am not entitled.”
I keep going, ignoring his outburst: “You think you’re better than everybody else.”
He flashes me a smile—a smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes. A practiced smile, rehearsed, like he knows what the world wants to see but he doesn’t quite know how to make it fully believable. He steps closer to me and leans down, until his face is six inches away from mine. “Iambetter than everybody else.”
I shrug. “I doubt that.”
If I have to guess, I’d say he doesn’t like that. The look he gives me tells me as much… although, the longer he stares down at me, the more I feel like he’s somehow turning the tables without saying a single word. Like, somehow, he’s wordlessly proving to me he’s better than everybody else by just a look, a look that makes me warm up in unfamiliar places.
Apparently it’s hard for me to stand this close to such an attractive guy while playing it cool. It’s not like I have much experience in this field. I’m clearly an amateur in every way.
Finally, the man speaks, his voice an octave lower than it was mere moments ago: “If you stick around long enough, maybe I’ll show you exactly how much better than everyone else I am.” His words are a challenge, one I should ignore, but standing there so close to him, practically pinned in place by his vividly green eyes, all I can say is a single word.
“Okay.”
Chapter Six – Logan
I don’t know why I said it, and I don’t know why she gave me that look and said okay. Hell, I don’t know what I’m doing here at all—going out shouldn’t be something on my radar. If I’m supposed to move on, partying, drinking, drugs; I have to forget about all of it.
But for so long, it’s what kept me going. It fueled me. Letting it go, starting over from scratch… fuck, it’s harder than I thought it’d be.
My thought was: classes don’t start until next week. If ever there was a time to get one last partying bout in, it was now. Probably a bad idea all around, but I’m not known for my good ideas. I always go too hard, too fast, and I never know when to stop. I take things too far. I’m not a nice guy, so yeah, it surprises me when she says that soft, barely audible, “Okay.”
It’s like she’s baiting me, like she cast out a line and is waiting for me to take the hook. I shouldn’t do it. I shouldn’t take that hook and let her reel me in… but then again, maybe the analogy is backwards. Maybe the one casting is me andshe’sthe one on my hook.
Guess there’s only one way to find out.
I stare into her brown eyes and ask, “What do you want?”
“What?”
I smirk. “From the bar. What do you want?”
“Oh, um, just water.” When she says that, she rubs her left wrist, and I see the stamp there. Ah, the girl’s not twenty-one yet. That should be a sign for me to stay away from her, but again, I’m Mr. Bad Decisions, so I’m full-steam ahead.
I turn away from her, though I only angle my head toward the bar; the rest of me remains facing her. I lift a hand and call out loudly, “Hey, can we get some water over here?”
The bartender, previously too busy flirting with a pair of pretty girls, hears me and gives me a short nod before grabbing a glass and filling it with water. He sets it in front of me before he goes to return to the girls to flirt some more.
I scoot the glass toward the girl and tell her, “It helps to be taller than a fifth grader.” She’s short, an inch or two above five feet, if I have to guess.
She takes the glass and swigs it, gulping it down like she’s dying of thirst. Halfway through it, she gives me her best unimpressed look and says, “I’ve been this tall since fifth grade.”
“So you just stopped growing, then? Didn’t your mom make you eat all your veggies?” As I ask, I can’t help but grin. The more I talk about her height, or lack of it, the more riled up she gets. It’s apparently a sore subject for her.
