Page 18 of Blueline Baby

He scrubs a hand over his face. “How much do you remember?”

“I kissed Chloe. That’s it.”

He takes his time answering. That's how I know it’s bad. “You kissed her. And then you yelled that you loved her⁠—”

“Okay—”

“—to the whole room. And then you turned to a girl standing right next to her, and you kissed her too.”

“No.”

“Jack—”

“No. I didn’t do that.” I get to my feet, which is an immediate mistake because the room swings and tilts away from me. “I wouldn’t do that. Not to her. I spent three weeks figuring out what to say to her. That’s not⁠—”

“I watched it happen,” he says quietly. “So did forty other people. So did she.”

And here’s where I wish I took it like a man. I didn’t.

“So I had a few drinks at a party.” I start pacing, immediately stumble sideways, and catch myself hard on the arm of the couch. “At my own party. In my own place. That’s a crime now?”

“That’s not the⁠—”

“She came to a party, Smitty. What’d she think it’d be, a book club? She knows exactly what I am, and she came anyway. And now I’m the villain because I acted like myself for one night?”

Smitty just stares at me.

“I’m a hockey player. I let loose. Everybody lets loose. She doesn’t get to hold me to some standard I never⁠—”

“You done?”

I’m not done. But I quit talking, because every word coming out of my mouth is just me trying to make this her fault. Even I can hear it.

So I do what I’ve always done with a mess. I decide I can simply charm my way back out of it.

I go down to her apartment in last night’s clothes and I knock.

I hear movement on the other side of the door, but no one answers.

“Chloe. It’s me. I know you’re in there.” I put my forehead flat on the door. “Last night was bad. I blacked out, okay? It wasn’t me, it was the beer, none of it meant anything. The other girl, I don’t even know her name. I don’t know anybody’s—” I stop. That is somehow the worst possible thing I could say in my own defense. “That came out wrong.”

Silence.

“The kissing-you part meant something. That part I’d do again sober. It’s everything after. Come on. Open the door and let me explain it right.”

I can feel her on the other side. I know she’s standing right there.

“Chloe. Please.”

I thunk my head back against the wood. I leave it there, staring up at the hallway ceiling. I’m about to give up when the door suddenly opens.

I fall backward a bit, but I don’t go down. Not this time. I catch myself. I end up tipped against the doorframe, looking up at her. She’s standing in the doorway with her arms crossed, not giving a single inch.

“There’s nothing to explain,” she says. “Go home, Jack.”

And she shuts the door.

I don’t go home. I stay sitting on the hallway floor, and this is where it finally gets through my thick skull: charm isn’t going to work on her. The charm that has always worked is going to do absolutely nothing.