Maybe I’m just too picky.
Mandy says I’m too picky.
Oh well. Looks like my vibrator is stuck with me.
The cool breeze assaults my lungs when I walk along the side of the bar, my heels clacking against the pavement. I tug my cardigan around my navy blue dress, trying to dilute the chill, then reach into my purse for my cell phone. I’ve never actually used Uber before—maybe calling a taxi would be less complicated. Do taxis still exist?
I continue to fish through the pockets of my purse and locate my phone, but then my eyebrows crease when I realize my purse is feeling a lot lighter than usual. Huh. I shine my cell phone flashlight inside to assess further and a tight knot of anxiety starts weaving itself in the pit of my stomach.
Well, shit.
My wallet is missing.
Did that son-of-a-bitch inside take it because he knew I wouldn’t close the deal?
I storm back into the bar, my heart thumping like a wild stampede beneath my ribs. My credit cards, my driver’s license, over one-hundred-dollars in cash. Photographs, my insurance cards, passwords I’ll never remember.
Goddammit.
I smack my hand against Seth/Sam’s shoulder with a heaving chest. I don’t even wait for him to turn around. “Did you steal my wallet?”
He slowly turns in his chair with a look of disgust. “Excuse me?”
“My wallet is gone. You’re the only person I was talking to tonight.”
Seth/Sam huffs. “Exactly. You were talking to me all night. When would I have had a chance to steal your wallet?” He shakes his head at me, then turns back around and reaches for his beer. “Sleep it off, bitch.”
I ignore the insult, too wrapped up in my current dilemma to slap him. The dude has a point. I was literally facing him the whole time I’d been sitting at the bar—albeit, half asleep and drooling on my hand—but I would have noticed him messing with my purse. In fact, my purse was perched on the bar counter, slightly behind my right shoulder.
That means someone behind me would have stolen it.
Shit, shit, shit.
The bar is almost empty at this point. I question the bartender who only shrugs at me, then puff my cheeks with air, blowing out a breath of frustration. I wander back outside and mentally prepare myself for begging people for rides since I’m suddenly broke.
I start with Mandy, already knowing she sleeps with her phone on silent.
Voicemail.
I try my best friend, Lily.
Straight to voicemail.
There’s no way in hell I’m calling my parents.
I go through my list of contacts, attempting three more people.
Voicemail, voicemail, voicemail.
My thumb hovers over another name, and I scrunch up my nose and pucker my lips, dreading the mere thought. Walking seven miles home in my high heels sounds more delightful than a ten minute car ride with Dean Asher.
The wind picks up, forcing my hair to take flight. The cold almost chokes me.
I click on his name and immediately begin muttering profanities into the night.
“Corabelle?”
I don’t know if I’m more annoyed or relieved that he picked up. “Don’t call me that.”
“Why are you drunk dialing me in the middle of the night?” Dean’s voice is raspy, laced with sleep. I probably woke him up—good. A silver lining.
I’m about to explain, but he interrupts. “Let me guess, you had one too many shots of Fireball and you’re calling to confess your undying love. I always knew you had a thing for me.”
I grit my teeth, regretting my decision with monumental proportion. I can feel his smirk from here. “You know what? Forget it. I’ll walk home.”
I’m about to end the call when Dean cuts in, “Wait, wait—you need a ride? I thought you were calling an Uber.”
“Yeah, well, some jerk stole my wallet and now I don’t have any money. But it doesn’t matter. I’d rather walk.” I really want to hang up on him.
“Don’t be stupid. Your sister would kill me if I let you walk home.”
“Your empathy astounds me.”
He chuckles. “Sensitive and good-looking. I’m a triple threat.”
“You mean a double threat. You only named two things.”
“What?”
I pinch the bridge of my nose, searching for a semblance of self-control. Deep breath. “Never mind. Just hurry up.”
I hit the ‘end call’ button like it’s my alarm going off on a Sunday morning. These are the moments I wish I smoked. I debate heading back inside, but I don’t have any money for drinks and I really don’t want to be sucked into another riveting conversation with Seth/Sam, so I lean back against the brick building instead.
Only a few minutes pass before some moron sidles up beside me asking for a light. I glance in his direction and quickly inch away. He’s a balding, pot-bellied man who smells like cooked carrots. I try not to gag.
“I don’t smoke. Sorry.” I continue to put distance between us, but I can feel the man leering at me from a few feet away. Ugh.
“Let me buy you a drink, kitten.”
I cross my arms when I catch him staring at my cleavage. “No, thank you. I’m just waiting for my ride.”
“I can give you a ride,” he sneers, his innuendo thick and not at all subtle.
Cue more gagging.
“Again, I’ll pass. Have a nice night.”
I never thought I’d be wishing for Dean to hurry up and get here. Even that jerk face is more tolerable than John Wayne Gacy over here, boring his x-ray vision through the front of my dress.
The man prattles on, making my stomach churn. “You’re a pretty little thing, you know.”
Ew, ew, and more ew. The man is creeping his way into my personal bubble, and before I decide to head back inside the bar, Dean’s black Camaro comes careening into the parking lot with its beast of an engine and supercharged tires. He pulls up in front of me and exits the car, tossing his keys into the air and catching them with his opposite hand. He glances at me, waiting for me to ‘ooh and ahh’ or something.
So not impressed.
My arms are still folded defensively as he approaches, his gaze flickering between me and Gacy. My body language screams I hate you, but my eyes are sort of pleading for him to get me out of here. “Hey,” I mutter with little emotion.
Dean frowns at the man beside me, so I turn my attention to the right and notice the creep is still staring at my boobs with a salacious grin on his face. Dean’s eyes narrow, then cut back to me. “Ready? ‘Cause I’m tired as hell, and—”
“She your girl?”
Gacy interrupts, and we jerk our heads towards him simultaneously.
Dean is quick to reply. Too quick. “Hell, no.”
Jesus. As if I have leprosy or syphilis or the bubonic plague. I glare at him, insulted. “Gee, thanks.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Let’s go.”
I stalk forward towards the passenger’s side, feeling Dean close on my heels.
Gacy issues us a farewell that makes my skin crawl. “You two enjoy your evening.”
I hop inside the car and slam the door, locking it instantly. Dean follows suit, looking over me and out the window at the stinky carrot man.
His eyes are still narrowed and thoughtful. “That creep touch you?”