Текст книги "The Fall Up"

Автор книги: Aly Martinez

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I WENT THROUGH both packs of cigarettes I’d brought to the bridge with me that night, but six hours of pacing later, my Designer Shoes still hadn’t showed. To say it scared the shit out of me was an understatement. I was a swinging pendulum of emotions as I walked that side of the bridge more times than any smoker should be allowed. On one extreme, I was freaking the fuck out that maybe she’d actually jumped at some point before I’d gotten there, but on the other end, I was celebrating the fact that she had found other ways to cope with her issues and didn’t need to go up there anymore. In between those two polar-opposite options, I chastised myself for being such a mental case, freaking out over a woman I hardly knew.

Then her smile would pop into my mind and sling me right back into a panicked state again.

By the time I left, the sun was peeking over the horizon and a slew of what-ifs were running rampant through my mind. None of which were good, and all of which ended with Anne.

I was a disaster.

With exactly zero hours of sleep under my belt, I started the next morning in the shittiest of shit moods.

And that was only the beginning of it.

“What do you want?” I greeted my visitor around a mouth full of apple as I opened my front door.

“Are you avoiding me?” Lexi asked, sliding past me.

“Well, come on in.”

I didn’t linger in the doorway. If Lexi was showing up at my door, she had something to say, and knowing her, she wouldn’t be letting it go until she said it—probably multiple times.

The clip of her heels followed me to the kitchen, where I was cooking my breakfast.

“You know, this really isn’t fair to me,” she said, stopping beside the 1970s barstools I had just finished refurbishing the day before. “Are these new?”

“New? No. New to me? Very. Now, cut the bullshit and tell me what exactly is not fair so we can get this over with. I need to eat and get to work.” I nabbed my spatula and flipped two eggs frying in a pan before setting it back down.

“Becky told me that she saw you at a bar with a woman last week.”

Crossing my arms over my chest, I cocked my head to the side as I propped a hip against the counter. “I’m not sure you can consider a party at Quint’s a bar.” I shrugged nonchalantly.

I knew what was coming.

Three, two, one…

“You’re making me look like an idiot!” she screeched, throwing her hands up in the air.

With her outburst, Sampson came barreling down the stairs only to come to a screeching halt when he caught sight of Lexi. He was a dog, but his disappointment was palpable. I couldn’t help but laugh; I shared those exact feelings.

“Stop laughing!” Lexi snapped.

My already-thin and sleep-deprived patience disappeared. I could’ve pretended that I didn’t have the time or energy to deal with her bullshit, but quite honestly, I just had no desire.

“Get out of my house,” I ordered, going back to cooking my eggs.

“Stop. You need to stop being stubborn and give us another chance. I know you’re pissed. I screwed up, and I’ve apologized at least a dozen times. But, Sam, we can’t just throw away what we had.”

“Excuse me?” I spun to face her, shocked by her nerve.

“You’re making me look like an idiot in front of our friends. When we get back together—”

I abruptly cut her off. “We are never getting back together.”

“Sam, I love—” She took a step toward me, but I pushed a hand out to halt her.

“I’m going to stop you right there. Listen up, because you obviously need to hear this—again.” I quirked an eyebrow. “I do not love you. I have never loved you. I will never love you.”

Her head jerked to the side as if I’d physically slapped her. Sure, it was harsh. But she clearly hadn’t heard me each time I had uttered those words over the last two months. Lexi Prior was a nice enough girl, or at least she had pretended to be for the six months we were dating. She was also gorgeous and used to getting exactly what—or, in this case, who she wanted.

But so was I.

And Lexi was no longer who I wanted in any regard.

“You need to take a step back and let this really sink in, Lex. This crazy-ex-girlfriend bit you have going on is not a good look for you.” Never tearing my eyes off her, I blindly found my coffee on the counter and calmly tipped it to my lips.

Unfortunately, Lexi was also determined. “Don’t act like that. You know you didn’t give us a fair shot. After Anne—”

Like an electrical shock, anger radiated through my body before finally firing from my mouth. “Get out!” I dropped my coffee cup in the sink and stormed to my front door, yanking it open.

“See! This is the problem. You lose your fucking mind at the mere mention of her name.”

“No. I lose my fucking mind when you mention her name. Big difference.” I snapped my fingers then pointed out the door.

Her eyes softened, and a tear escaped from the corner. “I apologized about that.”

My mouth gaped. Apparently, the crazy-ex-girlfriend thing wasn’t an act at all.

“You apologized? Ha!” Closing my eyes, I dug in my pocket for a cigarette. I didn’t usually smoke in my house, but it was either that or allow my head to explode. “You apologized?” I repeated to myself as I lit the end. Inhaling a long drag, I held it as long as possible, but the calming effect I was so desperately seeking never came.

I scrubbed a hand over my jaw, reminding myself that she wasn’t even worth my anger. After the shit we’d been through, I should have been awarded a medal for even allowing her in my house at all. Just because I didn’t hold grudges didn’t mean I had to put up with her shit though.

Sucking in a deep breath, I found a very fake version of my inner calm. “Lexi, if I ever see you again, I’m going to do far more than embarrass you in front of our friends. You can spout whatever you want about us falling apart because I withdrew from our relationship. I won’t even bother lying and telling you that it’s not the absolute fucking truth. But I need you to listen closely right now, because I’m not doing this with you again. I’m done here, Lex. And, judging by the fact that you spent the morning before Anne’s funeral with your mouth wrapped around your personal trainer’s cock, you were done even before I was. Now, get the fuck out of my house, lose my number, and forget I exist. Because I sure as fuck have forgotten you.”

My smoke detector chose that moment to start blaring. Whether it was my cigarette or the eggs that had started to burn on the stove, I wasn’t sure. My only focus was on the woman unmoving across the room. She opened her mouth several times, but each time, I shushed her with a pointed glare. Finally, she gave up and stomped out. I was positive she wasn’t giving up though.

Christ!

I pinched the bridge of my nose and stared down at the floor. Sampson came over and nuzzled his thanks for getting rid of her against my leg—or maybe he just wanted his ears scratched. After snubbing my cigarette out on the sole of my boot, I headed to the kitchen to trash my breakfast, cursing Lexi for having trashed my morning.

And I did it worrying about a blond wig and shades that had trashed my night as well.

Two hours later, Henry Alexander’s latest album was blaring from the speakers in my workshop, until the room suddenly fell silent.

“Why do you listen to that shit?” Ryan asked, snatching up my iPod and scrolling through before landing on The Smashing Pumpkins.

After flipping my safety glasses off, I dropped the angle grinder into the claw-foot bathtub I was working on. “I like one song. Fuck off.”

“Bullshit. You love that crap. You’re such a bitch.” He walked toward me, dragging his hand over the smoothed edges of the porcelain.

“Says the man wearing a pastel-pink tie.”

He groaned. “Jen bought it for me. It’s hideous, but the first rule in attempting to sleep with your administrative assistant is: If she bought it, wear it.”

Lighting a cigarette, I asked, “What’s the second rule?”

He blew out a loud, frustrated breath. “I have no fucking clue. Covering my body in fucking tattoos and shoving a needle through the head of my cock? You prick.”

“Hey! She doesn’t know about that.”

“She better not!” Smoothing a hand over his short, brown hair, he mumbled in defeat, “I have no idea what to do with that woman. Any thoughts?”

“See, I thought the first rule of sleeping with your assistant is: Don’t. So I’m probably pretty worthless on the second.”

“Come on. It’s Jen.”

“Oh, I get it.” I tossed him a wink that he returned with an all-too-familiar glare.

Ryan had been obsessing over Jennifer Jensen since she’d walked into his office holding her résumé six months earlier. He was right—it was Jen, and she was fucking gorgeous. And, for that reason alone, I hadn’t immediately turned her down when she’d all but sexually assaulted me in the kitchen at Ryan’s office Christmas party. Ryan had been pissed when I’d told him later that night that she and I had shared a kiss (and a few gropes I’d purposely omitted from my confession). He’d blamed it on the tattoos and banned me from all future social gatherings.

Within twenty-four hours, he’d gotten over it and was back on the chase after Jen.

He turned his attention back to the tub. “What’s this going to be?”

“A loveseat,” I answered on a puff of smoke.

“No shit?” he breathed, notably impressed.

“Well, once I manage to get the front off. After that, I have to smooth everything out, resurface the outside, then upholster it. I got this incredible chocolate leather. Cost me a fucking mint, but it’s unbelievable.”

“How much?” he asked, squatting down in front of it and running his hand over the guidelines I had etched into the side.

“More than you can afford.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Try me.”

Ryan Meeks had the money. I knew that much.

I’d known Ryan since we were scrawny kids playing basketball in middle school. We were two unathletic losers who merged a friendship during one season riding the pine. We remained tight through high school and eventually shared a dorm at college. For as many years as we had been best friends, we couldn’t have been more different. I considered myself the beauty in our duo, but there was no doubting that he was the brain. While I spent my days covered in dust with at least one power tool in my hand, Ryan was a criminal defense attorney at one of the biggest law firms in San Francisco. He was still making a name for himself, but his six figures were nothing to sneeze at.

However, neither were my prices.

When I had gone off to college, I’d originally planned to major in architecture, but Christ, that shit was boring. I quickly switched to graphic design and fell in love. I dabbled in the corporate advertising world for a year or two after graduation, but ultimately, I hated that life. One random Wednesday afternoon, as I stood staring at my office door, overwhelming dread filled my gut and bile rose in my throat. It spoke wonders to me that I’d become physically ill at just the idea of doing my job. I couldn’t imagine how that shit would affect me mentally over the course of the years. So, without another thought, I marched to my boss’s office and quit.

In retrospect, it might not have been the smartest decision I’d ever made. The nausea I’d thought was overwhelming dread turned out to be the stomach flu. However, when I finally quit puking three days later, I couldn’t even bring myself to regret my choice. I’d finally discovered my true calling.

I’d always loved working with my hands; it had been ingrained in me at a young age. My parents hadn’t been rich by any means, but they hadn’t been destitute, either. My dad had a series of mental health issues, but even in his darkest hours, he could’ve been found locked in his shop, repairing something. He’d been a firm believer that you used everything until you couldn’t possibly use it anymore. My parents’ microwave had to have been at least twenty years old, but my father had refused to replace it. He’d fixed that thing on a daily basis for almost five years. The amount of money he’d spent on parts and the time researching how to make the repairs was insane. But, as far as he’d been concerned, you didn’t throw anything away ever.

Even after he died, it was a lesson I applied to my adult life as well. So, faced with my newfound unemployment, I tried to figure out some way to put to use my love for graphic design and my experience in repairing and repurposing. I came up with the dream of opening an upcycle furniture store.

One month after I’d quit my job, I opened rePURPOSEd.

I had exactly one piece to show people when I opened the doors. I also had exactly one customer that first month. I just couldn’t gamble on the time and money it took to make a piece that may or may not sell. I did, after all, have to eat. And buy smokes.

Luckily, creativity wasn’t a problem for me, so I developed a plan. I closed the store for a week and settled behind my laptop. Over those five days, hopped up on coffee and cigarettes, I designed over a hundred unique pieces. I had a college buddy help me with the website, and by the following week, Virtually rePURPOSEd was born.

And it exploded.

Suddenly, I had orders flooding in from all around the world. They were far more than I’d have ever been able to fulfill on my own, so I hired two unbelievably talented carpenters, Shane and Travis, to breathe life into my designs. They were a godsend, but they were also expensive as fuck. The first month they were employed at the shop, I had to sign over half of my savings account in order to pay them. But, with my designs and their craftsmanship, we had no problem moving furniture for a hefty profit.

Shane and Travis eventually took over running the physical store, and my time was mostly spent designing on the computer or at the shop behind my house, building whatever project was calling to me at the time.

On this particular day, it was an old claw-foot bathtub I’d found at a thrift shop and was determined to convert into an art-deco loveseat—a project that would easily sell for over ten thousand dollars.

So, while I knew that Ryan could afford it, I couldn’t afford to give him my usual friends and family discount—free.

“Forty grand,” I lied so he’d drop the topic.

“Jesus Christ. That’s it. Next time we go out, you’re paying for drinks. I’m not buying the poor-struggling-artist angle anymore.”

I snuffed my cigarette out in my overflowing ashtray. “Don’t even try that bullshit. How many times have you accidentally-on-purpose left your wallet home in the last month?” I mocked his voice as I slid my safety glasses back on. “‘It’s in my other suit, Sam. I swear.’”

“One time. That happened one time, and I’ve never heard the end of it.”

“One time my ass,” I said as I picked my angle grinder up, preparing to get back to work. “Did you need something?”

“Actually, I need a big favor.”

I motioned for him to fill in the blank.

“Okay. First off, my mom wants you to come to dinner tonight as a thank-you for making Morgan that bookshelf.”

I eyed him even more warily. He knew as well as I did that eating his mom’s cooking wasn’t exactly a hardship. “Okaaay,” I drawled suspiciously.

“And secondly, I need you to come fix the drawer on my filing cabinet,” he rushed out in embarrassment.

“I’m sorry. What?”

“I can’t get that son of a bitch open to save my life. I have a big meeting at three, and if I have to hire a goddamn repair man to come in there to open it, I’m going to look like a dumbass in front of the entire office.”

My lips twitched as I crossed my arms over my chest.

Ryan was three inches taller than I was, and while I worked with my hands to keep in shape, he visited the law firm’s private gym on a daily basis. He had me by at least twenty pounds—all of which were muscle. He looked like the clichéd all-American, even as he stood in front of me sporting a pink tie.

I couldn’t even pretend to stifle the laugh that escaped my mouth. “You can’t get your filing cabinet open?” I confirmed incredulously.

His shoulders fell in relief even though I hadn’t agreed to go yet. “Shut it, asshole, and just help me out.”

I continued to laugh as I, once again, dragged my glasses off. “You think me walking in there with a bag of tools is going to look any less conspicuous than hiring a handyman?”

He curled his lip in disappointment. “What a fucking novice.” Chuckling, he steepled his fingers under his chin like the evil genius he so obviously thought he was. “So here’s the plan. No tools. Just pretend you’re coming to say what’s up. They all know you.” Pausing, he narrowed his eyes and pointed an angry finger in my direction. “Stay the fuck away from Jen.”

“Right. How exactly am I supposed to fix this with no tools?”

“I snuck a hammer, screwdriver, a pair of clamps—”

My eyebrows shot up. “Clamps?”

He tipped his head and lifted his fingers to mimic a pinching motion. “You know, the little things you use to grab stuff or pull it off.”

“Pliers?” I asked in disbelief.

He tapped the tip of his nose. “Bingo. Anyway, I snuck them all into the office this morning. They didn’t work for me, but I have faith in you.”

I stared at him for several beats. “How the fuck are we best friends?”

“No clue. Now, put on a long-sleeve shirt to cover the ink and get your ass in my car.”

“Right,” I smarted, but I said it as I dragged my jacket off the chair and headed to his car.

One hour later, I pried my best friend’s filing cabinet open so he wouldn’t look like the bitch he really was.

Then I parked my ass at his mother’s dinner table for the best home-cooked meal I’d ever had. Well, since the last time I’d eaten there. All the while I was counting down the hours until I could head back up to the bridge—hoping and praying that it wasn’t too late for the designer shoes I couldn’t seem to stop thinking about.

“OH, THANK GOD.” My heart jumped with relief when I saw her standing on the bridge. I dragged a cigarette from my pocket and headed in her direction. “I hope you know you scared the piss out of me last night,” I said when I got close.

Her hidden gaze flicked to mine, but her lips didn’t pull up at the corners like they usually did when she saw me. “I’m not in the mood tonight, Sam.”

“If I had a dollar for every time a woman told me that.” I smiled, but it fell flat as tears rolled from under her dark sunglasses. My breath painfully stilled as my mind raced. “What’s going on? Did something happen? Did he—”

“Oh God. There is no him!” she yelled. “I don’t have an abusive boyfriend. So please just stop with that and leave me alone.”

I was shocked by her outburst, but her reaction secured the fact that I wouldn’t be leaving her alone at all. I didn’t give one fuck that it made me creepy as hell. I could live with that—as long as she lived too.

I didn’t reply, nor did I move away. I simply focused my attention on the water below—which meant I was secretly studying her out of the corner of my eye.

She nervously adjusted her hair at least a dozen times while I finished my cigarette. She even scooted down the rail a few feet, and much to her dismay, I slid down with her.

“You aren’t going to leave, are you?” She sniffled.

“No.”

“Sam, I’m—”

I pushed off the rail and spun to face her. “Don’t say fine. Whatever word you’re planning to finish with, don’t let it be fine.” I huffed and shoved a rough hand through my hair. I was probably overreacting, but I couldn’t risk that I wasn’t. “I get it. You don’t know me, but in some ways, that makes me the perfect person to talk to. So, please, I’m begging you. Tell me what’s going on with you. Just give me your story. I’m not here to judge.”

“I can’t,” she said, swiping two fingers under her glasses to dry the tears.

I would have given anything to be able to see her eyes—get a real read on her. Her mouth and her body language only gave away so much, but I needed more.

“Well, then. I’m sorry if me being here bothers you, but I can’t walk away. You don’t have to talk, but you’re stuck with me until you walk down off this bridge.”

Tilting her head up to the sky, she sucked in deep breath. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

“Fine. Then you stand there and babysit me. Last night was shitty for me.” I pointedly lifted my eyebrows at her. “And this morning wasn’t any better. I could use a babysitter.” I blew out a breath, trying to check my attitude.

She didn’t deserve it. She obviously had enough going on without some stranger blowing up at her too.

Humor. I can do that.

“And, as my babysitter, if you’re fighting the urge to pat my ass and tell me that it’s all going to be okay, I definitely wouldn’t stop you.” I flashed her a grin that I knew would go unanswered. I was okay with that though, because she stopped moving away.

Her chin quivered as she chewed on her bottom lip.

I fucking hated seeing her like that and had to ball my fists at my sides to keep from reaching out to touch her. I was desperate to console her, but I was already forcing my company on her. I wasn’t going to do it physically, too.

That wasn’t what she needed.

What does she need?

I swallowed hard when her shoulders began to shake as sobs ricocheted inside her chest, seemingly unable to find a way out.

Fuck it. Maybe just a little touch.

I slid a hand down the rail to cover hers.

It was a simple gesture, but it was easily the greatest decision I’d ever made.

That one touched destroyed a wall.

I wasn’t even sure whose wall it had been to begin with—hers or mine.

But I would have spent my entire life tearing it down if I could have only predicted what was on the other side.

Spinning, she threw her arms around my neck. Caught off guard, I stumbled back a step before steadying us both. Folding my arms around her waist, I pulled her flush against me. Sobs ravaged her, but I held her as though I could siphon them away.

I couldn’t, but just trying returned to me far more than I was giving her.

And, for that alone, I squeezed her even tighter.

Tourists bustled by us, probably staring as they passed. But only one person on that bridge mattered.

It wasn’t me.

And, for once, it wasn’t even Anne.

I actually didn’t know her name at all.

“I’m sorry… I’m…” She continued to cry into my neck.

“Don’t be sorry,” I croaked around a lump in my throat.

Nothing else was said for several minutes as she wept in my arms. I didn’t whisper soothing words. I just stroked her back and allowed her time to collect herself.

What would I have I said anyway? Why she was crying in the first place was a mystery to me, but it was one I was determined to solve.

Finally, she stepped out of my grasp and began frantically drying her eyes. “I need to go. I’m really sorry about that.”

I immediately wanted her back.

Safe.

In my arms.

To keep my hands busy, I dragged a cigarette out. “Please don’t go,” I whispered as I lifted it to my mouth.

“I have to get off this bridge,” she replied.

I quickly nodded in understanding. I wanted her off that bridge too.

“Thanks for… Shit. I’m so sorry. Let me get that dry-cleaned for you.” She motioned to the tears and black makeup smudges staining my shoulder.

I chuckled. “I’ll be okay. Besides, I can’t give it up. It’s my only coat.”

Her face paled. “Oh God. That’s even worse. I’ll buy you a new one.”

“I’m kidding. I have a whole closet full. I swear.” I made a cross over my heart. “But don’t worry about getting it dry-cleaned. Really, it’s not that nice. I can just toss it in the wash when I get home.”

“I can tell you from experience that mascara isn’t going to come off in the wash. Just let me—”

“Seriously, it’s just a jacket. If you are hell-bent on making it up to me, then tell me your name.”

Her chin snapped to the ground. “Uhhh…”

“Right,” I said, more than just a little put off.

“It’s just…”

I shoved the unlit cigarette back in the pack then tilted my head toward the way down. “Come on. I’m ready to go home.”

She didn’t move. “Sam, I… I mean…”

I forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”

Resting a hand on the small of her back, I ushered her down the bridge. She went willingly, but her eyes were aimed at the ground as she nervously knotted her fingers in front of her.

When we reached the bottom, she stopped and lifted her gaze to mine. “About that little freak-out on the bridge… I’m… I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I mean, you—”

She could have apologized all she wanted, but I wasn’t interested in the least. Pulling a yellow piece of paper from my pocket, I cut her off. “Take this. I completely understand that you don’t want to talk or tell me your name. But, last night, I was freaking out that…” I paused to think of how to gently phrase it, but I came up empty. It is what it is. “I thought you jumped.”

“Sam—”

“No. Just hear me out. That’s my number. You seem to get here no earlier than eleven every night. So I’ll be here tomorrow and every night after that by ten thirty. But if, for some reason, you feel the need to come earlier, use that and I’ll be here.”

Her face softened as she took a step toward me. “Sam—”

I scrubbed a hand over my chin and continued to talk over her. “And if, for some reason, you don’t feel like coming up here, can you at least put me out of my misery and shoot me a text or something?”

“Sam, stop.” She inched even closer and rested her hands on my chest.

“I get it. You’re clearly a private person. Feel free to block your number and sign the text ‘Designer Shoes’ or, really, not at all. I’ll know who it’s from,” I nervously rambled. It wasn’t because she was suddenly touching me or the fact that heat might as well have been radiating from her hands for the way it made my chest feel, but rather because I wanted to touch her too.

But I really just wanted to throw her in the back of my car and force her into some kind of therapy so I could stop obsessing about her—and then maybe touch her in a different way.

I didn’t think kidnapping would go over well, but instead of acting like a normal person and offering to get her help, I looped an arm around her waist and shifted her even closer against my body.

“I think you’re right. I really might be a tattooed stalker.”

She smiled. “I’m not going to jump,” she whispered.

God, I want to believe her.

“Take your glasses off,” I whispered back, tipping my head down so I was only a breath away from her mouth.

Her tongue darted out and dampened her red lips.

I needed to see her fucking eyes. And then taste her mouth.

Then kidnap her.

I decided to take matters into my own hands. After slowly reaching up, I pinched a corner of her glasses. I didn’t remove them, but I made my intentions clear.

“Please let me see you.”

She didn’t move away, nor did she agree. So I stood there with my hand on her glasses, pleading with my eyes for a single glimpse of hers.

She did something better.

Her tongue made an encore against her lips—just before it ruined me for life.

She pushed my hands away then sealed her mouth over mine.

My eyes popped open in shock for only the briefest of seconds. Then a moan rumbled in my chest as she opened her mouth and twisted her tongue with mine.

She tasted like mangos, and I fucking devoured her like a man starved.

For as many cigarettes as I’d smoked while waiting for her, I probably tasted like an ashtray. But I could apologize for that later. I wasn’t stopping any time soon.

Her tongue swirled as I took the kiss deeper.

Suddenly, she pushed off my chest and took a step away. “Fuck. Shit. I can’t believe I did that. What the fuck is wrong with me?”

My head was spinning, and her words sounded a whole lot like insults, but I still followed her forward.

“I’m standing right here,” I reminded her. “Can you possibly check the freak-out for after you sleep with me on our first date?”

“Oh God,” she groaned.

I tugged her back against me. I wasn’t letting go no matter what her reaction might be. Not after that small sampling.

“I’m kidding! Jesus, lighten up.”

“I’m sorry. About…” She dropped her head to my shoulder.

“Stop apologizing and grab a drink with me. I’ll even find a place with really bright lights so you won’t even have to take the shades off,” I joked, and she rewarded my efforts with quiet giggle.

At the sound, an unfamiliar high whirled through my mind. It rivaled anything tobacco could ever give me.

“Sam, I need to go. But I promise I’ll be here tomorrow night. Okay?”

It was my turn to groan.

No name.

No eyes.

Just a promise I didn’t want her to keep.

I wanted her to be absolutely anywhere but on that bridge tomorrow night.

But I also just wanted her to be with me.

“Okay,” I replied, begrudgingly releasing her.

She began backing away, and I could feel her hidden gaze locked on me.

“Thanks for tonight,” she said. “Let me know if you change your mind about the dry-cleaning.”

“How about this? I’ll trade you my jacket for your wig and sunglasses!” I yelled as she got farther away.

A smile lifted one corner of her mouth. A mouth I now knew and desperately wanted to taste again.

“Goodnight, Sam.” She waved her hand before heading to a parked black SUV and climbing into…the backseat?

Interesting.

“Goodnight, Designer Shoes,” I whispered to myself as her vehicle left the parking area with the silhouette of a man behind the wheel.

An unnatural rage flooded my veins.

What the fuck?