Before I can process this sudden 180, she’s bolting for the door, leaving me standing there clenching my jaw. One minute she’s all over me, the next she’s running like I’m some kind of predator.
I’ve never had a woman try to escape from me this fast. Hell, I’ve never had a woman try to escape from me period.
“Hey, hold up a minute,” I call after her too late, the door already swinging shut, heels clicking rapidly into the distance.
I haul myself over to the sink, throwing cold water on my face in an attempt to wash away the stupor. The dim lighting throws back a reflection of my puzzled scowl, amplified in the expansive mirrors.
What the actual hell just happened here?
Did I misread her signals? Was I so focused on getting what I wanted that I turned into some entitled creep crossing boundaries until she felt threatened?
Seriously, what the hell went wrong?
I lean against the sink, self-loathing churning.
My drinking has gotten out of control, no doubt about it. Making moves on random women in the bathroom. I’m missing signals, messing up.
Is this seriously who I’ve become? Some volatile creep prowling my own bathrooms for random hookups, only to get brutally rejected?
Lexi
Scalding water pounds my face until the bathroom fills with steam and I’m half-boiled. I need the heat to scald away the guilt eating me alive after what I did tonight.
“Why’re you hogging the bathroom?” Grace’s voice cuts through the steam. “I gotta poop!”
“Hang on,” I croak, shutting off the tap before I turn into a human lobster. I wrap a towel around myself, resisting the urge to melt into a sad puddle on the floor and sob hysterically for a week straight. Now I get why Macbeth was so obsessed with washing his hands after offing Duncan.
On the bright side, I’ve got the cash. I can pay the she-demon tomorrow. Mom’s care is covered. For now.
I de-fog the mirror and meet my own bloodshot gaze. I try to take a deep breath, something more substantial than the shallow gasps I’ve been huffing out all day.
I don’t even know if my smooth moves liberating Connor’s key fob were enough to have his car stolen. If it is taken, and Mr. Hot Richness calls the cops . . .
There’s no proof you had anything to do with it.
I wasn’t caught on CCTV taking the keys. It all went down in the bathroom, out of sight.
My pulse pounds a panicked beat. The guy seems like an arrogant jerk. Definitely not the forgive-and-forget type if someone screws him over.
I fling open the door, unleashing a steam bomb like I’ve been cooking meth instead of marinating in regret.
Grace frowns at me, squinty-eyed. “What were you doing, a spa session in there?” Her eyes go wide. “Holy crap, have you been crying?”
She looks terrified, as if seeing me cry violates the laws of physics.
I wave her off with forced nonchalance. “I had shellfish at the work thingy. I don’t react well, that’s all.”
She’s not buying it. “But you had shellfish the other day and you were fine.”
I let out a tired sigh, wishing she’d just let it go. “Maybe it was the caviar then.”
She bites her lip, unconvinced.
I shrug, the lies flowing easier now. “Really, I’m fine. Just stressed with work stuff. I’m gonna crash.”
She still looks skeptical but shrugs. “All right . . . if you say so.”
I cut a path for bed, drained. I hear the sink running, along with her off-key humming. Ignorance really is bliss.
