Page 79 of Of Karma and Corridors

I scrub both hands down my face, groaning. “I didn’t think so, but she keeps jerking me around. She’s hot and cold. Some days we get on like a house on fire, and other days it’s just silence. Like she disappears.”

That last word is bitter on my tongue. I clench my jaw, trying to hide the reminder that I’ve spent too much of my life around people who disappear. Foster siblings, foster parents, belongings, so many different beds. My past is littered with temporary places and temporary people.

“Damn,” Logan says. I hate pity, and I don’t need it. I spent most of my childhood training myself to get ahead of the hurt. To expect less, to care less, to trust less. Yet here I am, like a dumb fucking dog, standing by the door and expecting his person to come back. My hands ball into fists.

“Has she canceled before?” Thor asks.

I shake my head. “She’s not a flake.”

Logan shrugs. “Sometimes things just come up, man. Text her.”

“I did. She left me on read.” I unlock my phone, double-checking that I haven’t missed a message. Nothing.

“Okay, I hate to ask, but be honest with yourself. Do you really think the feeling was mutual, or did you just want it to be?” Thor winces.

Her words echo in my thoughts, the memory still feels like a hug. Her words seemed genuine. I like you. A lot. Probably too much. My palm works the back of my neck. “She promised me it was more than a hookup.”

“Then go after it,” Logan says, nodding once. He pushes off the counter and heads for the door to return to his appointment. “Don’t give up on it, confront her. It’s probably nothing.”

He walks out and I stare at Thor.

“And not with surveillance,” he says, staring back. “You’re going to have to act like a fucking adult this time.”

“I’m twenty-eight.”

His face turns somber. “What I would give to be twenty-eight and in your shoes. Don’t make the same mistake.” He picks up the packing slip and goes back to work. My gaze drops to where he marked his skin with Salem.

I nod in understanding. “Yeah.”

At five fifteen p.m. she pulls into the employee parking lot of Starlight. I knew she’d show up eventually. This has gone on long enough and I’m done fucking around. As soon as the door marked Employees Only closes behind her, I round the front and stroll through the entrance, taking a seat in one of the dimly lit corners of the club that smells of stale beer, perfume, and sweat.

My eyes are fixed on the door I’ve seen dancers come out of. Then I see her. She’s in a wig, giving the appearance of a platinum-blond bob. A shimmering purple bra and mini shorts leave little to the imagination. She can try to cover up her identity, but there’s no mistaking the ink. I tattooed every single one. The manager whose tires I slashed last week walks by me and I stand up, grabbing his arm. He spins on me with a scowl. Funny how he expects his employees to deal with the same type of treatment.

“I need a private room for the night.”

That sweeps the grimace right off his face. “Anyone in particular?”

I point at her across the room. “Her.”