Page 77 of Don't Let Me Fall (Don't Let Me 1)

“So?”

“So, it’s girls’ night,” I repeat, emphasizing girl. “You’re a guy.”

“I’ll bring ice cream,” he offers.

I pop out my hip and cross my arms, my gaze narrowing. “What kind?”

“I believe you mentioned Ben & Jerry’s?” He quirks his brow.

My mouth twitches, but I hold in my amusement. “What flavor?”

“Half-Baked?”

“That’s Mia’s favorite, not mine.”

“All right.” He taps his finger against his chin. “How ‘bout Cookie Dough?”

“Kate prefers Brownie Batter but close.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he mutters. “So, not cookie dough for you either?”

“Nope.”

“Hmm… Maybe you’re a Tonight Dough kind of girl? Definitely not fruit. You like to indulge in the rich stuff. Am I right?”

“You’re getting closer, but I’m not going to tell you unless you guess it.” I open the front door, and he steps onto the porch with his hand wrapped around his backpack strap, showcasing the veins along the back of his hand.

“All right, Sunshine. I accept your challenge and will see you tomorrow night.”

“That wasn’t an invitation!” I call to his retreating form, but he ignores me and saunters down the stairs toward the driveway.

As I close the door quietly behind me, I can’t stop the smile from spreading across my face. Surprised but grateful for how we ended things. But I think it’s why I like him. Because he sees me. He knows how to talk to me. To handle me. Sometimes, I’m afraid he might even know me better than I know myself. And while it’s a little terrifying, there’s comfort too. If only it wasn’t so complicated––me and Colt––I’d jump in with both feet.

Crazy.

Leaning the back of my head against the door, I close my eyes and mutter, “See you then.”

33

COLT

The bass is thumping as I step down the stairs, weaving around a couple of people dry humping next to the railing, almost tripping on a full cup of alcohol someone put on the bottom step for safekeeping.

I shake my head and pick it up, taking it back to the kitchen, where more people and more booze are littered everywhere.

As I dump the liquid into the sink, a deep voice calls, “Yo, Colt!”

I turn around and nod my greeting at Shorty and Graves, who are looking at me from the middle of the family room. The crowd parts like the Red Sea as they walk toward me. Shorty’s a big guy. But we haven’t really spoken since I intervened at SeaBird, which is probably what he wants to talk about despite how long ago it was.

“How you doin’, man?” he asks as he refills his red Solo cup with whiskey, splashing half of it onto the floor.

He’s drunk.

Tongue in cheek, I drop a couple of napkins onto the floor and wipe up the spill with the toe of my shoe as I answer, “Not bad. You?”

He shrugs. “Been better.”

I nod as Graves flanks my other side and pours himself some soda.

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