Page 56 of Hot and Bothered
“I might have made the whole thing up in my head,” I said, explaining without actually explaining anything. “He might have done something. Or he might not have. I don’t know.”
“And you can’t just ask him?” she said carefully with a raised eyebrow.
“I—” I stammered, flustered. “It’s complicated.”
“Sounds like you have some serious communication issues,” Reagan said bluntly. A customer called out a drink order, and she gave me one last meaningful look. “You might want to work on that.”
21
The night finally wound down, the band left the stage and the crowd dispersed.
“Holy shit, look how much we made tonight.” Lizzy held overflowing handfuls of bills in both hands. “Fangirls tip well! Let’s do more of these shows.”
“You really want to deal with crowds like this every night?” Grant asked with a quirk of his lips.
She made a face.
“Never mind,” she said even as she stuffed the bills into a communal jar. “Not worth it.”
“So it’s not this crazy every night?” Reagan asked.
“Not usually, no,” Mason said. “This was a special occasion.”
“Thank god,” she said. “I was beginning to wonder what I’d gotten myself into.”
“You were really great tonight,” Mason told her.
“Mason made a good choice hiring you,” Evan grinned. “And not just because the guys tip better with hot bartenders.”
“Wow, thanks,” Reagan said dryly. “Good to know my boobs are helping you rake in the cash.”
Reagan did have an ample chest, it was true.
“Time to head out,” Evan told me. “Got your bag?”
I nodded once curtly, then saw Reagan give me a look.
“Yeah, I’m ready to go,” I said out loud.
Evan was chatty on the way home, talking about the band and how busy the place was, and the interesting drink orders he’d gotten. I stayed silent.
When we got into the apartment, Evan yawned and stretched. It was late in the evening, almost closer to morning than to midnight.
“I’m wiped,” he said. “How about you? Ready for bed?”
My heart jumped into my throat.
I couldn’t stand the thought of sharing the same bed with Evan. Not if what I suspected was true. But did I really want to confront him right now, when we were both tired and exhausted from a full night’s work? Maybe it would be better to ask him about it tomorrow when I had a clearer head.
But what would I do about sleeping together tonight?
Maybe I could fake sick and sleep in the spare room? It might work. He wouldn’t think there was anything weird about that, right? Then I could put off the conversation until the morning.
I closed my eyes and scolded myself.
Reagan was right. I did have communication issues. I should have just asked him right then and there when I’d first read the texts. But I’d been scared. Scared of what he might say. Scared of the ramifications.
But I couldn’t pretend nothing had happened.
