Page 31

Nineteen
Cari
Trevor presses his hand into the small of my back, steering me through the crowded restaurant, dodging wait staff and busboys while the hostess leads us to a table for two in the center of the room. As soon as she’s gone, I flip open my menu and bury my head in it like it’s made of sand. I don’t want to be here. I don’t want to be with Trevor.
“What looks good, baby,” he says, glancing at me over the top of his menu.
None of it. I shrug my shoulders, closing my menu before laying it on the table between us. “I don’t know. Sushi isn’t really my thing.”
Trevor laughs at me like I’m a three-year old, faced with broccoli for the first time. “Crunch rolls are my favorite,” he says, flicking his gaze over the menu. “Spicy tuna is good too.” He says it like it’s something dirty, lifting his gaze to pin it to my breasts.
I’m going to burn this dress as soon as I get home.
“Will you excuse me,” I say, pushing away from the table to stand. “I need to freshen up.” Not waiting for an answer, I swipe my clutch off the table and bolt across the restaurant, asking directions from a random waiter on the fly.
The bathroom is a unisex one stall. As soon as I push my way through, I bolt the door behind me. Shoulders sagging, I snap open my clutch and pull out my phone. Dialing with one hand, I use the other to turn on the tap while it rang.
Please answer. Please answer. Please answer.
The call was dumped into voicemail halfway through the second ring. “Hey, this is Patrick. I can’t get to the phone right—”
I hang up without leaving a message. To be honest, I have no idea why I called him in the first place. What could I possibly say that would make this situation better.
Hey, I know I’ve been a giant cocktease for the past six months. Sorry about that.
Jesus.
Sticking my free hand under the spigot, I let cold water run through my fingers for a few seconds before pressing them to my chest. Not ready to give up, I shut off the tap before dialing a different number. This time the call is answered almost right away.
“Fuck,” Tess says, grunting softly. In the background I hear Poison’s Talk Dirty To Me and the jangle of metal tools hitting concrete. “I thought you were on a date.”
“Where are you?” I say cautiously, even though I know. “Am I on speaker phone?” Tess works for Conner. He owns his own garage a few blocks away from Gilroy’s.
“Competing in the Miss Universe pageant. Where do you think I am?” she says, delivering the last few words through gritted teeth. “I’m in the middle of dropping a transmission—” She grunts again, the sound followed by a satisfied sigh. “And yes, you’re on speaker phone.”
“Take me off.” I can barely say what I need to say out loud, let alone broadcast it across the garage Tess works at on speakerphone.
“Con’s not here,” she says, reading my mind. “It’s just me, Brett Michaels and a ’57 Chevy—so spill.”
I sigh, leaning against the bathroom sink and do what she says.
I spill.
To Tess’s credit, she doesn’t interrupt while I tell her what happened between Patrick and me. In fact, the only way I know the line is still open is because while I’m blabbering, Poison gives way to Skid Row. Even so, as soon as I run out of steam, I say, “Are you still listening?” It’s only been a few minutes but as much as I’d like to, I can’t stay in the bathroom forever.
“Yup.” More tools clatter, one being exchanged for the other. “Let me see if I got this straight,” she says, her words punctuated by the rasp of a socket wrench. “You’ve been spending the past six months whipping Patrick Gilroy into a sexual frenzy and when he finally snaps, you leave him and his raging hard-on to go on a date with Trevor?” Tools clang again, this time metal on metal. Finished with whatever she’s doing, she’s tossing them into her toolbox. “Is that what you did?”
“Yes.” Hearing Tess say it makes me sound as horrible and stupid as I feel. Tucking the phone between my shoulder and my ear, I wash my hands. “What should I do?”
“That depends,” Tess says, blowing out a heavy sigh. “Do you still want to fuck him?”
That’s Tess. As delicate as ever.
I think about this morning, my ear pressed against the bathroom door. Listening to him while he touched himself. The way he said my name, right before he came.
“Yes.”
“So, order an Uber and get your ass back home.” The Chevy’s heavy hood slams shut. “And hope like hell he’s still there.”