Page 72 of Average Joe

“You know what she does and what kind of men frequent her stands.”

“You’re worried some psycho is stalking her.”

Bingo. “Something like that.”

Con sat back, then said to the sky, “I get the feeling you’re the only asshole she needs to worry about.”

“You’re a terrible therapist.”

“Maybe.” My friend laughed. “But you’re whipped.”

Ginger’s head popped up, and she lunged off my lap and ran around the corner of the house.

“I need another beer.” I snagged a bottle out of the cooler and popped the lid.

“Got one for me?” That voice, though sloppy, set me at ease. I turned, and my muddy heart pumped harder, clearing the sludge from my veins.

Something was off, and while I wanted to spring into action, wrap my arms around my girl, I played it cool because she wasn’t reallymy girl. Not in her mind, anyway. Also, she wore nothing but a long T-shirt and one shoe. A million scenarios explaining her state of undress raced through my head, leaving me dumbstruck.

She took my offered beer and dropped her ass to the grass beside my chair. Stringy hair hung in her face, and though it was dark, the fire lit her profile enough to show she was a mess: red, swollen eyes marred with streaks of black, lips chapped and raw, skin blotchy.

“Hey, neighbor.” Connor leaned forward and shot me a worried glance. “We were about to send out a search party.”

Marley huffed, then lifted the bottle to her lips and tipped it back, where it stayed while I watched her pull swallow after swallow into her gut.

Shit.

“Why?” she asked, dropping her bottle to the ground before tucking her knees to her chest and hugging her legs.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Con teased. “This big lug has it bad for you. He hasn’t smiled all fucking day, and he’s been counting down the minutes until you pulled into your driveway.”

“Bullshit,” Marley muttered, staring into the fire. “You men are all alike. Don’t give a shit about anything but pussy.” She swayed, caught herself with one arm, then assumed her original position. “You get what you want, and you leave. Always leave.” She laughed, then tried and failed to lift her head. “I’m gonna leave this time. Gonna fuck you good, and then I’m leaving.”

Shit-faced.

Sloppy drunk.

Not attractive, but breaking my damn heart. I hoped to God she hadn’t driven home.

“Yeah.” Con pushed to his feet, shot me a worried glance. “Time for me to ghost.” He clapped my shoulder. “Need help getting her to bed?”

I shook my head. “Thanks, brother. Talk tomorrow?”

“Yep.” He headed into the house but turned before disappearing. “Hit me up if you need anything.”

Ginger sprinted around the corner and followed my friend inside, leaving me alone with the night sky and the tormented woman at my feet.

I rocked out of the chair and squatted in front of her.“You been out drinking all day?”

Dear God, the woman reeked of dive bars, cigarettes, and cheap alcohol. I fell on my ass and caged her legs with mine. “Wanna talk about it?”

“The hell is talking gonna do? I came to fuck. Let’s fuck,” she said to the ground.

“Marley. What do you need? You need to drink until you pass out?” I cupped her face, hoping to help her focus. “Need food? A shoulder to cry on? How can I help, gorgeous?”

“Birthday cake,” she slurred, her words barely audible. “Candles. Stupid expensive presents.”

“Is it your birthday?” What a jackass. I didn’t even know her age.

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