Page 32

I take Tess’s advice. As soon as I hang up with her, I use the app on my cell to order a car. I wash my hands again. I’m stalling. I have fifteen minutes before the Uber arrives. About fourteen more than I needed to tell Trevor it’s over.
Someone knocks on the bathroom door, the impatient rap telling me I’ve stalled long enough. I turn off the tap and dry my hands before tucking my clutch under my arm.
Time to face the music.
I visualize marching across the restaurant. Stopping in front of Trevor and telling him the truth. That while he’s a nice enough guy, I don’t have feelings for him. At least not the sort of feelings I’d need to take the next step.
As ready as I’ll ever be, I pull the bathroom door open, apology poised for the person I kept waiting. “I’m so sorr—”
It’s Trevor. As soon as I open the door he pushes me back and slips inside, closing the door behind us both, His hands grab at the hem of dress, trying to pull it up, mouth plastered to mine, tongue shoving past my lips and teeth. I jerk away and slap him, hard across the face. He stumbles back a few steps, looking confused. The confusion doesn’t last. Now he looks angry.
“Jesus, Trevor,” I say, scrubbing at my mouth with my knuckles. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I got tired of waiting,” he says, touching the corner of his mouth with his fingertips before pulling them away, checking for blood. There isn’t any but that doesn’t seem to matter. “Thought maybe you did too.” His voice is soft, seductive but he’s glaring at me like he wants to hit me back.
“You thought wrong,” I say, inching for the door. Concern flows into panic when he matches my movements. He’s not going to let me leave. Not without a fight. “I called an Uber. I’m going home and I don’t want to see you anymore.”
I take another sidestep for the door and he follows suit, close enough to reach out and grab me if he wants to. And he wants to. I can see it in his eyes.
“It was just a misunderstanding, baby,” he says, shaking his head. “I’m sorry. No need to overreact.”
Overreact my ass. “I’m leaving, Trevor.” I put as much force into my tone as I can muster while my hands curl themselves into fists. “And just so you know, I hate it when you call me baby.”
He smiles at me again. “Okay, Cari. If that’s what you want.” His face goes soft, the smile does too. “At least let me drive you home.”
Fuck. No.
Before I can put my refusal into words, there’s another knock. “Is everything okay in there?” A female voice, unsure yet determined.
I dart toward the door and yank it open to find a waitress on the other side, her gaze bouncing between my face and Trevor’s before settling on mine. “Are you okay?” She sounds concerned.
“I’m fine,” I say nudging her out of the doorway so I can slip into the hall. “I’ve called an Uber. Can you wait with me until it gets here?”
She looks over my shoulder at Trevor, her eyes narrow slightly. “Absolutely.”
“James says hi, by the way,” Trevor sneers at me and my shoulders stiffen. Trevor knows James. Six months later and I can still see his face, angry and cold because I finally, after nearly a year of being his doormat, told him no. It makes me wonder what would’ve happened if I’d let Trevor take me somewhere private.
We leave Trevor in the bathroom, the two of us weaving ourselves between tables and booths, moving toward the exit as fast as possible. “So, your boyfriend is kind of a dick,” the waitress says behind me and I can’t help but laugh.
“He is not my boyfriend.”
I’m settled into theback of the Uber and halfway home when my cell phone rings. Thinking it’s Trevor, I dig it out of my clutch to tell him to fuck off but it’s not Trevor. It’s Conner.
“Hello?”
“Hey, Legs, sorry to interrupt your date but our boy’s in pretty bad shape.” Connor’s usual lazy drawl sounded strange. Almost urgent.
“Patrick? What happened?” I sit up, pressing my shoulders forward. I can hear Gilroy’s Friday night crowd, a dull roar in the background. It can get pretty crazy sometimes, especially when Connor is there to lead the charge. “Is he okay?”
“Depends on your definition of okay,” he says. “He’s pretty wasted. My dad cut him off and sent him home. He took a tumble down the stairs.” There’s a pause, the sound cut off like Conner’s covered the mouth piece with his hand.
“Conner?”
And then there’s sound again. “Think you can come home?”
“I’m on my way.”
Twenty