Page 29 of Airhead

“We’ll talk later,” he said, rushing out the door when the shouting graduated to a crash of beer bottles being broken.

Katie watched the empty space where he’d been standing for longer than she meant to considering her arch nemesis—who had seen her banging the one guy in town she should be staying away from— was still there. Emotions spinning around inside her like a tornado on cocaine, she tried to figure out what she was supposed to do now. All she wanted to do was bask in her post orgasmic glow. But like nearly everything else in her life, what she wanted didn’t really count for much. It was all about what she had to do. She had to give up her dreams of adventure. She had to come home. She had to be the smart twin who didn’t fall for a guy who’d spent enough time in the supply closet that Sandy had known to look for him here.

God. What had she done?

“So you and Frank, huh?” Sandy asked, cocking her head and giving Katie an accessing once over. “I wouldn’t have pictured you two being a thing.”

“We’re not a thing,” she mumbled.

“Whatever you say.” Sandy reached into her purse, pulled out a Bonnie Bell compact, and held it out to Katie. “Here, you’d better use this. He left a hickey.” Her glance dropped to Katie’s panties on the supply room floor. “Also, you probably don’t want to leave Friday behind.”

Cheeks burning, Katie scooped up her panties that hadn’t literally melted and balled them up in her fist, promising herself that she would do whatever it took to avoid Frank Hartigan. Because non-melted panties or not, she couldn’t trust herself when he was around him. She was already halfway to falling for him, and if she was ever going to get out of Waterbury, falling for Frank was the last thing she could do.

Chapter Fourteen

“Hi, you’ve reached Connie⁠—"

“And Katie. Leave us a message and we’ll call you back.”

“Hi Katie, it’s me. Just checking in because you Irish goodbyed out of Fitz’s party.”

“Hi, you’ve reached Connie⁠—"

“And Katie. Leave us a message and we’ll call you back.”

“Frank again. Are you there, listening to your messages? Please pick up.”

“Hi, you’ve reached Connie⁠—"

“And Katie. Leave us a message and we’ll call you back.”

“If I did anything to upset you, I’m sorry. I left a note on your car and these messages and I’ll stop, but I just wanted to talk. Katie, please pick⁠—”

“Hey Frank, it’s Connie,” Katie’s sister said, interrupting his latest pathetic message on her answering machine. “She’s busy and can’t take your call.”

He sank back on his couch and ran his fingers through his hair hard enough that he didn’t need a mirror to know it was all sticking straight up. “Okay, what if I call back tomorrow?”

“She’ll be busy then, too,” Connie said, not unsympathetically.

“And probably any time I call.” He banged the back of his head against the wood frame of the couch he’d gotten in the second-hand shop. He barely heard Connie’s confirmation, but it wasn’t like he hadn’t known what was coming. “Okay. I get it. Damn. I really fucked this up. didn’t I Connie?”

Katie’s sister let out a weary sigh. “Look, I like you, but she’s my sister.”

“I get it. I’m the same way with Paul.” How many times had he saved his brother’s ass or diverted attention so his twin could do something they both knew was stupid? At least a million—and that was only since New Year’s. “You gotta always have your twin’s back, right?”

“Right,” she said.

He should hang up now. He knew that. But still, he couldn’t. If there was a chance, even one so small it could slide between the joints of a dovetail drawer, he had to take it.

“Tell her, if she changes her mind,” he said, trying and probably failing to keep the foolish hope out of his voice, “she knows where to find me.”

There was a beat of silence, and then Connie said, “Bye Frank.”

The line went dead before he had a chance to tell her goodbye, or thank you, or beg her for help. That was probably a blessing.

He settled the receiver onto the phone that was on the table by the couch, then slumped down lower on the cushions. He’d fucked it up. He’d had one chance and he’d fucked it up.

“I don’t know who that was, but I’ve got a poker game going tonight, in the city,” his brother Paul hollered from the kitchen where he was raiding Frank’s fridge. “You want in? It might help you forget about her.”