Текст книги "The Offer"

Автор книги: Karina Halle

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Except today I actually did dress up a bit. I put on a pair of Alexander McQueen ankle boots from many years and many seasons ago, skinny jeans from Old Navy (which I got on sale for $4) and a Petite Bateau Breton striped topped. It’s a little threadbare at this point but it still makes my rack look fantastic. Let’s face it, it’s why I’m wearing it and from the way Bram’s eyes keep flitting there, I can tell he appreciates the effort.

“Thank you,” I tell him, fumbling for a way to play off his compliment. “You’re not so bad yourself. You know, aside from the poo and pee socks.”

He bursts out laughing. “Poo and pee? You’ve been hanging around Ava too long, my love.”

“Probably,” I admit and we carry on down the aisle. So far, none of the couches I’ve spotted are exactly what I’m looking for and I’m getting tired of sitting down and getting up again to try them out.

Finally we come across an area where a lot of the armchairs are and there’s something that catches my eye. It’s a small loveseat with bright yellow fabric and metal legs. I gravitate toward it and look at the price tag. It’s under a hundred bucks. I could get two of them, they’d fit with my décor and they look pretty easy to assemble as well.

“Seriously, this?” Bram asks, eyeing the couch with distain. “How are you going to have me over? I’ll break the damn thing if I sit on it.”

“Try it,” I coax him and watch as he lowers his large frame onto the couch.

He winces. “The most uncomfortable couch I have ever had my arse in.”

I sit down beside him. It’s snug. Really snug. My leg is smushed up against his and that wonderfully hot, male smell of his is teasing me. But other than that, he’s right. It’s pretty bare bones in the padding department.

But the price is right. “I have lots of pillows,” I tell him, attempting to get out of the couch. “I could make it work.”

And I’m really working my abs trying to get out of the damn thing. Bram is absolutely no help. He reaches for my collar and pulls me back down beside him.

“You know if we were a couple,” he says, sliding his arm along the backrest so it’s hovering behind my shoulder, “this would be the perfect couch for us. We’d never get up. We’d have to sit here in each other’s company for eons.”

“Thank God we don’t have to deal with that,” I say and now his arm is right on my shoulders, his hand curling around and holding me to him.

“It isn’t so bad,” he says, his voice sounding a bit gritty. “Is it?”

“I can’t believe you’re putting the moves on me in IKEA,” I joke, making an attempt to rise again. I don’t make it far. I guess my attempt was rather half-hearted.

He takes his arm off and jerks his head back, an incredulous look on his face. “You think this is me putting the moves on you? Oh, sweetheart, you haven’t seen anything yet. My moves make you hot, sweaty and breathless, moaning my name. They don’t have you cracking jokes.”

I don’t dare admit that there is something breathless about our proximity to each other. “They would have me coming up with a motto though, right?”

He grins broadly and I notice that crooked tooth on the bottom, which adds a rugged charm to his already too perfect face. “Wham, bam, thank you Bram is a good one.”

I shake my head. “You’re too much.”

“I am too much,” he says and he somehow manages to get to his feet. “But I have faith you can handle me.” He holds out his hands for me and when I place mine in his, admiring how small and delicate they look compared to him, he pulls me up.

“Thanks,” I tell him, adjusting myself after the mini couch nearly held us captive. “By the way, you’re always so tan. Is that fake or do you just get to go to nice hot places all the time?”

He seems a bit too pleased at my question. “Why, Nicola, I’m flattered that you’ve noticed my skin tone. First it was my socks, now the color of my skin. I’m starting to think that perhaps you’re interested in more than my landlording skills.” I cross my arms, one leg askance and give him the “are you kidding me?” look. He continues. “I have a few favorite spots where the sun shines even when it doesn’t in this grey city.” He pauses and his gaze is steady. “And I’d be more than happy to take you and Ava sometime.”

Whoa. I look at him, used to his generosity and all but a trip together seems to say something else entirely. “What about Linden and Steph?” I ask cautiously.

He lazily lifts a shoulder. “They can come too. It kind of interferes with my whole seducing thing though.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Seducing thing?”

He flicks his finger at me. “Just you wait for it.” But then he strolls over to the kiosk nearby and gets a card and one of those small pencils and writes down the product information of the couch and where to find it in the warehouse. He waves the card at me. “I got all the details of your horrid little couch.”

“Thank you,” I tell him and we continue on our way, even though Bram keeps looking over his shoulder at a nice futon. I nudge him playfully. “I’ve made up my mind, I can’t afford the futon and the yellow couch is cute. And cheap.”

“It’s going to be a real shit to assemble.”

“I’m an old pro,” I reassure him. “And I’ve got a neighbor who seems to know how to wield a tool.” I glance at his smug face and quickly add, “Not that Allen keys are all that complicated.”

When we head toward the bathrooms, Bram grabs my hand and quickly pulls me aside. “I have a dare for you.”

“A dare?” I repeat. I know that Steph and Linden had their first real kiss because of a dare but I’m not sure what Bram has in mind. Dares are dangerous, usually embarrassing and, well, kind of immature. I think I was eleven years old when I last had a dare and it involved trying to tip over a cow in the middle of the night.

“Yes,” he says, looking far more excited than he should. “You go into the bathroom over there and sit on the toilet, pretending to read a magazine. When someone comes into the bathroom, you yell at them to get out and that you need your bloody privacy.”

“What?” I exclaim, looking to where he’s pointing. “It’s a fake bathroom. I’m not doing that.”

“You don’t even have to pull down your pants,” he says, almost giggling. “The person will be in such shock they won’t even notice.”

“Ew, no,” I tell him, ripping out of his grasp and walking away.

“You really are no fun,” he says, coming up after me.

I stop, whirling around and point my finger in his face. A wave of anger swarms up from my chest. “You know, you said that to me once and it’s stuck in my head ever since. I am fun, I’m just not stupid. I know how to have fun, but I’m also not a whore. I —”

He raises his palms at me, eyes wide. “Whoa, easy. That is most definitely not what I was saying. You’re not a whore and you’re certainly not stupid, okay? It was just a joke. I poke fun at you, you poke fun at me. See…there’s fun there.”

My breathing is heavy but I take in a deep inhale and gain the rhythm back. I don’t know why I overreacted like that.

“Hey,” he says gently, putting his fingers at the bottom of my chin and tilting my head up so I have to meet his eyes. The last time he looked at me like this was on the wedding night. Fragments of feelings come wafting back and it feels like I’m there and in the fluorescent glow of IKEA all at the same time. “I can be insensitive sometimes, I know this. It’s nothing personal. You are fun.” I try to look away but he holds my face in place. “You are fun, Nicola. You’re fun to be around, whether you think so or not. And I think you might be the cutest thing I’ve ever seen, picking out the tiniest, cheapest little shitpiece couches for your apartment. If that’s not called fun, I don’t know what is.”

Now he’s being too nice, the compliments making me uneasy. He seems to believe them too much. “I think I like it better when you’re a jerk.”

“All right,” he says. “I can work with that too. You know what your real problem is, sweetheart?”

“What?” I ask, wanting to know and scared of the answer.

“You’re totally underfucked,” he says, his voice dropping a register. He leans in closer. “And I’m the one who can tip the scales in the other direction.”

I blink, swallow hard. I don’t have a comeback for that because I know it’s true. I just don’t want him to know it’s true.

I give him a wry look, trying to shrug his innuendo off. “There you go thinking so highly of yourself. Can’t you keep your ego in check?”

He shakes his head slightly, his eyes focused so intently on mine. “I have ego for a reason. And one of these days, you’ll find out just why that is.”

Heat flushes me from my core to my scalp. I look away and he drops his fingers from my face. I feel entirely breathless, almost shaky, like I’d been trapped in some kind of hypnotic force field in the middle of Swedish furnishings.

“In your dreams,” I tell him but it comes out as nothing more than a squeak.

He just smiles at that.

“Sorry,” I mumble, trying to change the subject. “About overacting. I’ve obviously got some issues there.”

“Don’t we all?” he asks. He grabs my hand and leads me along the hall. “Let’s go rescue your daughter from the cootie pit.”

He doesn’t let go until we get there.

CHAPTER TEN

Nicola

The rest of the IKEA outing is pretty uneventful and by that I mean all the sexual innuendo stops, thankfully, once we get Ava. Not that what Bram was spouting off could possibly be called innuendo. There was nothing indirect about it.

By the time we get back to my apartment, I feel all twisted up in knots. I think I need a moment to be alone with my thoughts, to gather my strength and my wits. As much fun as I had today, it challenged me. Bram challenged me. And it feels like the more I hang around my handsome neighbor, the more my resolve will dissolve.

But what a way to go.

“Well,” I say to him after he’s brought the heavy boxes of couch inside and once again I make a point not to ogle him while he lifts and lowers, like some impossibly rugged cave man. “Thank you so much for taking us there.”

“Anything for my two favorite girls,” he says, looking at Ava. She giggles and then as if she’s struck by a case of the bashfuls, she runs off into her room. “And I mean it,” he adds, eyes on me now. “Are you sure you don’t need help with your crappy couches?”

“I’m sure,” I tell him.

He nods. “All right then. Holler if you need anything.” He gives me a flash of a smile before he leaves the apartment. He closes the door behind him but I don’t breathe until I hear him shut the door to his place.

I collapse down on the couch and I’m suddenly sad to be getting rid of it and swapping in the new cheap ones. This couch is comfortable, it’s soft, it’s like a warm hug. Sure it’s falling apart at the literal seams but it’s been with me this whole time, there while my life became unhinged and I fell off track. I bought it from Anthropologie online and I remember Phil was so mad when it showed up at our apartment one day. He said our place was pushing him out, it was becoming too girly. That should have been a sign then. Maybe it wasn’t the furnishings that were pushing him out, maybe it was me.

I don’t want to let go of the couch. I want it to stay. I want to say, right here, where it’s safe.

“Mommy,” Ava says in her singsong voice, climbing onto the couch beside me.

“What is it, angel?”

“Is Bram my father?”

I nearly choke. “What? Your father, no. Honey. No. Phil is your father.”

She shakes her head. “But I don’t remember Phil. I have never seen Phil.” She says his name like it tastes bad. “I see Bram. Bram should be my father.”

Something in my heart cracks at that. “That’s not exactly how it works.”

“Why not? Doesn’t he like us?”

Oh, Jesus. I smooth her hair back off her face. “I think he does like us. Maybe you can ask Santa for him this year,” I add as a joke, just trying to get her to stop talking about it.

She smiles. “Okay, I will do that. How many months until Christmas?”

Shit. Obviously the joke is lost on her. I know I’m putting off the inevitable but now I feel like it’s going to turn into one horrible Hallmark movie come Christmas time. I wince at the sugariness.

I hear low bass come from next door and Bram has put on some of his 90’s British trip hop again. I can almost see him as a teen in Scotland, doing ecstasy and going to underground clubs. I bet he had short spiky hair and wore a beaded necklace and Adidas sports jerseys. I think I’ll ask him what he was like back then.

No, I tell myself. Get him out of your damn head. Now.

And so I listen to myself because I rarely steer myself wrong. I pick up my phone and I text Steph.

I know it’s Sunday, but I need a girls’ night BAD. And not to the Lion.

She’s instantly responding. Done. I’ll tell Kayla. We’ll get you good and drunk. Who is looking after Ava?

Good question.

I’ll find someone.

I then call my mother and when she can’t do it because she’s cleaning a house early tomorrow, I call Lisa. She’s got a dinner and can’t do it either.

Well, shit. I guess having two people on call for babysitting really isn’t enough, especially not on short notice. Maybe I’ll have to forget about letting my hair down after all, which is too bad because the more I imagine myself dancing without a care and drinking my face off, the more I’m beginning to crave it. I need it, need it.

I can’t find anyone, I text Steph.

What about Bram? Is her quick answer.

What about Bram? I immediately want to dismiss it. First of all, the night is supposed to be an escape from Bram and if he takes care of Ava, I’m going to be worrying about her and, by default, thinking about him all night. I also don’t know if I’d trust him with taking care of a child, especially mine, especially a diabetic one.

I also don’t want to ask him for another favor. So there’s that.

I don’t think so, I text Steph. I’ll find someone else. Even though we both know there is no one else. I mean, I guess there’s Linden, but he’d be even worse than Bram in the irresponsible department.

I lean back on the couch and start going through my phone contacts while Ava plays with her dolls on the floor. I consider Penny, James’s girlfriend, and am just about to Facebook message her when I hear Bram say, “Nicola?” from out in the hall.

Great. I put down the phone and go to the door, opening it. He’s on the other side with eager eyes.

“Yes?” I ask mildly.

“I just heard from Steph,” he says. “I’d be happy to watch Ava tonight.”

Steph? That bitch!

“She called you?” I ask incredulously. I immediately run over to my phone, all ready to send her messages with expletives and shouty caps.

“She did,” he says, leaning against the doorframe. “She said you’d never ask yourself but that you wanted a girls’ night out and couldn’t find a sitter. So, here I am.”

I don’t know what to say. But Ava says it for me.

“Bram!” she yells as if he wasn’t just here ten minutes ago. She runs around the couch and right over to him, throwing her arms around his leg. It’s so cute I want to vomit. And remembering what she had said earlier about Bram, I think I might just do that.

“Did Santa bring you?” she asks.

Oh, God, I think. Please stop there.

“Okay!” I say quickly. And loudly. Both Ava and Bram jump a little. “Okay, that would be great Bram, if you don’t mind,” I lower my voice. “I know it’s asking a lot. There’s just a few things I want to go over with you, about her, uh, situation.”

“Diabetes!” Ava yells, running back and forth between us, knowing what I’m trying to skirt around. “The special disease!”

“That’s the positive attitude,” Bram comments to her. He smiles at me. “Show me the ropes, mum.”

I eye him in askance. “If you keep calling me mum, it’s going to get weird.”

“Right.” He nods. “Don’t want that mistake to happen while I’m shagging you sideways.”

I gasp and place my hands over Ava’s ears until she laughs and squirms away. “Language,” I admonish him.

“The dirtier the better,” he says, loving it. “All she knows is we’re talking about carpets. Speaking of carpets…” His eyes drift down to my jeans.

“Bram,” I say sternly. “If you want to help, shut up and come here.”

I take him into the kitchen where I keep the insulin and supplies in a special kit. “I need you to really pay attention. This is serious. Got it?”

He says he does but he’s still got a bit of that smirk going on.

“Have you even taken care of a child before?”

His smirk disappears. “Of course I have.”

“Oh really?”

He frowns at me, his eyes narrowing slightly. “I’m not as incompetent as you think.” There’s an edge to his voice that catches me off guard. It’s the same kind of vibe I got when I asked about his stupid socks.

“I hope you’re right,” I say breezily, trying to ignore the sudden change in him. But while I have his rapt, albeit tense, attention I go over the basics with him. “This is the blood glucose monitor.”

“The spindle!” Ava cries out, running over and watching us eagerly. “That’s the spindle where Sleeping Beauty pricks her finger.”

“Is that so?” Bram asks and it seems like he’s calming down a bit. Sheesh. I think I like the jokester a lot better. When Bram McGregor gets serious, he gets serious.

“It’s just a tiny pin prick on her finger.” I hold the device and slide in the test strip, turning it on. I then take Ava’s hand and prick her fingertip quickly and gently with it. She shakes her hand after like it hurts. It probably does but she’s so used to it now and she’s smiling at Bram like a big girl.

“Then,” I go on, showing him, “we look at the results. It says its 170, which is about right for her right now. The only time you’ll have to do it will be before she goes to bed. Then it should be around 100 – 180.” I take out the test strip and put it in the garbage. “Then you get rid of the strip.”

“And what happens if it’s not in that range?”

“You adjust her diet,” I tell him. “But that’s nothing for you to worry about. It’s just an ongoing thing really, making adjustments. I do the test about six times a day, some times more. She gets insulin injections three times a day, in the morning, the afternoon and then before she goes to bed. I just gave her one in the bathroom at IKEA but tonight before I go, I’ll give her the last one and show you, just in case.” Suddenly I realize I’m out of breath and I’m grasping at my heart.

Bram puts his hand on the side of my cheek, peering at me intently. The feel of his hot skin is steadying, even though I’m starting to have a minor panic attack. “It’s okay,” he says in a soothing tone. “I’ll be fine.”

“Sorry,” I manage to say, trying to breathe. “It’s always hard, every time I leave. I feel like I’m leaving her fate in someone else’s hands.”

“And you are,” he says, stepping an inch closer, his palm still cupping my jaw, his fingers gently brushing back my hair from my cheekbone. “But I’ve got this. You’ll go out, have fun, and then you’ll come back. She’ll be fine, she’ll be asleep and I’ll be going through all your photo albums.”

I somehow smile at that.

***

When seven o’clock rolls around, I’m all dolled up in a black cocktail dress suited for an episode of Mad Men, with red lipstick and 60’s hair piled up.

“Mommy, you look like a princess,” Ava says as she sits on the edge of my bed, swinging her legs back and forth while I put the finishing touches on my liquid eyeliner. “No, a queen.”

“Why thank you,” I tell her, smiling at her in the reflection. “Now, you behave for Bram, okay?”

“I will,” she says and I believe her. One of the many beautiful things about Ava is that she’s never been a bratty child. She’s always been polite and considerate and even when she has the occasional temper tantrum, she’s quick to stop and quick to learn from it. I certainly wasn’t like that as a child and sometimes I wonder how she’s turned out so good when our circumstances could be so much better. But then again, as long as she has food in her belly, a roof over her head and a mother that loves her, a child can’t really want for much. Except maybe some of those new generation My Little Ponies but that’s what Christmas is for.

Along with other things now, apparently.

It’s not long before Bram comes by. He brings himself a bowl of pre-popped popcorn, which I think is kind of adorable, and he nearly drops it the moment he sees me.

If it’s petty to have wanted that kind of reaction from him, well, I can I own up to it.

“You look fucking edible,” he says in this throaty, husky voice that makes me want to clench my legs together. The word edible from his lips conjures up oh so many amazing scenarios.

“That’s what I was going for,” I tell him, not even bothering to correct his swearing.

“So, you’re going out to hook up?”

I frown at him. “I never said anything about hooking up.” And why do you care? I mean, do you care?

I kind of want him to care.

“Sweetheart, when you go out looking like a bloody movie star, the kind that young boys put on their walls and wank off to inside of a sock, you’re going to be hooking up. You may not know it yet but,” he waves at me with his fingers, “you’re giving the fuck me vibe.”

“Giving the vibe and wanting it are two different things,” I tell him.

“Oh, do I know that. But I’m just saying…be prepared to be hit on a lot.”

“Pshhh,” I dismiss him. “If I can handle you hitting on me, I can handle them.”

He smiles softly. “I suppose you’re right about that.”

After I show him how to give Ava her insulin shot – God forbid he needs to use it – I leave the two of them and go downstairs where Steph and Kayla are waiting in an Uber. The last vision I have of them is Bram standing by the door and Ava bouncing up and down on the couch in the background. If the couch breaks tonight, it looks like I’ll be spending my Monday morning in the IKEA assembly line.

“Nicola,” Steph says as I squeeze into the backseat of a Prius. “You look fucking hot.”

“Yup,” Kayla says, leaning forward to look at me. “Props.” She gives me the thumbs up.

They don’t look too shabby either, dressing in tight jeans and slinky shirts and ankle-breaker heels. Steph’s, I notice, are authentic Rodarte, which makes me hella jealous for a moment.

“I am so glad you decided to do this,” Kayla says later as we approach the first bar, Bartlett Hall just outside of Union Square. “I’ve needed girl time. I say we make up fake names and fake jobs for ourselves. I’ll be Lorraine Moneypenny, a circus trainer for the pigeons that perform during Cirque du Soleil. The ones in the rafters during the shows. Then we’ll ask guys for dick pics. You know, just approach random guys and ask for them, see who wants to play.” She pauses mid-scheme, adding a saucy smile. “Did I ever tell you, that you two are the best wingwomen a girl could hope for?”

“Oh, hold up,” Steph says, putting her hand on Kayla. “Tonight is about Nicola, not you. And I know my bestie. If she says she needs a girls night out, she really needs a girls’ night out. Hot mama needs to get laid. We want dicks, not dick pics.”

They both eye me, expecting me to deny it. But I don’t.

I nod. “Yeah. I need to get fucking laid ASAP.”

The Uber driver is smiling to himself as he pulls up beside the bar.

“Does this have something to do with living next to Bram?” Kayla teases.

“This has everything to do with living next to Bram,” I practically moan and the both of them look shocked. “If I don’t screw something soon, I’m going to end up screwing him. And we all know how bad of an idea that is. Even our Uber driver knows. Right?”

Uber driver eyes us in the rear-view mirror. “Sometimes bad ideas are good ideas.”

“When the guy in question happens to be my neighbor and my landlord?”

The guy whistles. “Hoo, boy. Good luck with that one, missy.”

I look back at the girls. “And this is why I need to get laid.”

“Think you can be a wingwoman tonight?” Steph asks Kayla.

Kayla puts on her serious face, like she’s going into battle. “We will get you some dick, honey.”

Our first bar isn’t really the dick-getting kind of place but it is a nice start. We each have a beer flight and share some appies and by the time I’m done with my Kolsch, I’m feeling buzzed. I’m feeling great, actually. I only thought about Bram once, too.

Actually I texted him while I was in the washroom, just checking up on Ava. He answered back that she was asleep and he was watching porn in preparation for my return and that he hoped I was having fun.

I assume the whole porn thing was a joke but part of me started fantasizing over the idea of it not being a joke at all. I mean, I know I don’t have porn on my TV, I just have basic cable, but what if I returned to the apartment, all tipsy and hot and bothered and he was there, ready to go. What would I do?

I think I know the answer but it’s all the more reason to hook up with someone else.

“All right girls,” I announce. “Time to move on.”

Next, we go to a bar called Dirty Habit, which seems to be more subdued than we’d like but still stay for serval more beers and martinis before we end up at some no name place outside of Chinatown where a rowdier crowd thrives.

Things are getting a bit spotty now. We’re sitting in a booth we managed to snag after eyeing the couple in it like a hawk for an hour. There’s a lot of dancing happening on the dance floor and it’s becoming too hard to hear what we’re each saying, so we sit in silence while the music thrums around us. I stop drinking at this point because it’s getting too expensive but before I know it there’s a guy standing in front of the table and whispering something in Kayla’s ear.

He’s pretty hot. Athletic with big round shoulders and short dark-blond hair. A nice smile. Bright eyes. Young. Wearing a Giants shirt. Pretty standard stuff but whatever Kayla is saying to him has him eyeing me appreciatively. I would have thought she wouldn’t have been a very good wingwoman herself but she genuinely seems interested in Project #Dicks (hashtag needed) as she ended up calling it. I noted she called it plural, but I suppose there could always be one for her at the end. After all, Steph has her #dick at home.

Okay, I think I’m drunk. The guy is leaning forward and asking me something but I can’t hear him so I just nod. Then he holds out his hand for me and takes me to the dance floor. I look behind my shoulder at the girls and I can tell Kayla is yelling “Dicks!”

“What’s your name?” the guy asks, as he wraps his arms around my waist and brings me up to his chest.

“All yours,” I tell him with a smirk. I can’t believe that came out of my mouth.

And next thing I know, the guy is kissing me. He tastes like beer and his tongue is too sloppy but I’m into it. The alcohol, the music, the feeling of anonymity on the dance floor. I can be anyone, he can be anyone.

Yet, no matter how hard I try, he can’t be Bram.

The next thing I know, we’re in a cab. Steph is here. Flashes of Kayla. She’s making out with some guy, sitting on his lap. I’m on this Giants guy’s lap.

Then we’re in another bar. Woodbury or something. There are two bars inside. We stay at the one that’s just for beer and shots.

I do a lot of shots. After a while they don’t burn anymore. I make out some more with Giants guy and then he takes me into the handicapped restroom, a place I know is tailor-made for having disgusting bar bathroom sex.

The guy lifts up my dress and asks if I’m on the pill. I am – I’ve been ever since Ava – but I lie. I don’t know why. I tell him I’m not.

“You should be,” he says as he pulls down my underwear. “You don’t want to end up pregnant.”

I look around the bathroom and stop at my reflection. She looks like someone else. Drunk and pretending to be unafraid. The girl in the mirror breaks my heart.

So, I look down at the guy who is grinning up at me and I say, “Doesn’t make a difference, I already have a kid. Ava. Want to see her picture?”

That stops him dead in his tracks. He lets go of my underwear and I widen my leg to prevent it from falling to the dingy floor. I pull it up as he stares at me with panicked eyes. He’s young, too young for the truth.

“Look, uh,” he says, nervously running a hand through his hair. “I don’t mess around with moms. I’m only 24 and I—”

“It’s fine,” I tell him, pulling down my dress. I’m too drunk to try and pretty up my face though, so I just punch him awkwardly on the shoulder. “Thanks for the make-out session though, it was fun.”

“Yeah,” he says, looking sheepish now. “I had no idea. You’re just so fucking hot. And young.”

I nod him my thanks and then unlock the door, heading back out into the bar.

“What happened, did you score?” Kayla asks as I walk over to her and Steph. I notice her boytoy isn’t around either.

“No,” I tell her. “And it’s fine. I just…fuck it, let’s drink everything.”

We immediately order another round of beer and shots of Jameson and we drink until things go back to being blurry again.

When reality starts to fade in a bit, I find myself being walked to the door of my apartment building, my arms draped over both Kayla and Steph. We go up the stairs and now I’m standing in front of my door, wobbling back and forth, trying my hardest to look as sober as possible.

Steph goes to knock on the door but it’s already open. I guess we are being loud, giggling, in the hallway.

Bram looks at the three of us and my God is he a sight for sore eyes.

“We brought her home,” Steph says, motioning with her hand for Bram to get out of the way, “your shift is over.”

“No,” I tell them as they shuffle me inside. “He can stay.”

I know the three of them are exchanging a look over my head.

“I’ll make sure she goes to bed,” Bram explains. “No funny business, I swear.”

“Pinky swear?” Steph says and I turn to see her holding out her pinky to him. “You know I don’t break those.”

Ugh, Steph and her damn pinky swears. She wouldn’t even be married to Linden if it weren’t for one.

But Bram does a pinky swear with her.

“No funny business,” Steph warns him.

“Good thing I’m not funny!” I yell as I flop down on the couch. The room is beginning to spin.

“Nic, that was, like, five minutes ago,” Steph says. She reaches over the couch and pats my head. “Do you want us to undress you because Bram’s not allowed.”

“No one undresses me but me!” I yell, throwing my fist up into the air.

“Have fun with her,” Steph says to Bram. “And remember, she’s untouchable. Don’t make me make your brother punch you in the junk or something.”