Page 3 of Falling Backwards (The Edge of Us #1)

Merritt’s closes at two in the morning on weekends, and we got here around ten forty-five since Joy and I worked late.

Between talking, being lazy, and savoring food and drink, last call arrives before we know it.

I, for one, don’t mind the night wrapping up.

I’m glad to have relaxed and had fun for a while, but I’m very tired.

I want to put on pajamas and fall into bed.

Also, the guy I knocked into earlier has made direct eye contact with me more than a few times from the seat he took at a tall table, and it wasn’t long before that made me feel tired in a different way.

Not that there’s anything wrong with him—he smiled at me most times and he’s pretty cute, I guess.

But although him looking at me seemed to happen organically at first, I quickly started getting the feeling that he was looking out of interest, and I rather wished I could turn invisible.

I’ve never been as confident with flirting as my friends, plus I haven’t felt like dating over the past month since my last relationship turned out to be a bummer.

So by the time we girls are heading out into the cold night, the last hour or so has been on the uncomfortable side, and I’m quite relieved that guy won’t have me in his sights anymore.

The same can’t be said about Luke.

Like us and many others, he and Paxton are only just now leaving the bar.

I’ve heard that the latter lives on the next block and so Luke crashes with him on nights like tonight when he can’t drive but doesn’t feel like calling a ride.

That means they aren’t rushing to any of the cars currently waiting along the wide sidewalk, and that means Luke’s focus is reserved for me while his friend is distracted with texting somebody.

His only rush is to open the back door to my and the girls’ new Uber before I can.

“Let me get that for you,”

he insists in a faux-sweet voice.

“It’s been a long, clumsy day for you. Don’t want you to break a nail on top of everything else.”

“I’m not cl—”

I bite my tongue, not caring to repeat myself on this. After a second, I just smile in as much of my own fake sugariness as I can muster.

“You got nothing?”

he taunts, his breath a white puff in the cold air.

I get into the back seat.

“I have no more energy to spend on you today, no.”

“Oh. Good. Then I win.”

With that, he abandons the car door and turns and walks off.

Slumping my shoulders, I stare blankly after him.

Didn’t realize we were competing for who can annoy the other most in one day.

Grow up, man.

At least he paid for the drink he made me spill, I guess. I hadn’t expected that.

Joy and Emma burst into drunken laughter from where they, too, have taken up the same seating arrangement as earlier.

After we’re all closed into the car, a second of tuning in to their conversation tells me they’re not paying attention to me and Luke; they’re trying to remember the words t.

“Buy U A Drank.”

As over this day as I am, they still pull a giggle out of me. They tend to drink more than I do and it makes them extra funny to me. I don’t get very funny, in my opinion, but I do often get giggly.

It helps with my mood.

Then the driver zooms away from the curb and we aren’t buckled up yet and—oh my God—I suck in a terrified breath because there are other cars and pedestrians around here that we might—

“Uh, excuse me!”

Emma shouts over the sounds of us smacking for seatbelts and buckles. Her playfulness is gone just like that.

“Fella, when you’re driving this car, you’re responsible for the lives of the people in it and the people around you! You wanna fucking respect that? Or would you prefer to respect my decision to fucking report you for being reckless?”

Same as our driver from earlier, he clearly has the fear of God struck into him by her attitude.

My ears are full of my pounding heart and the echo of clicks of secured seatbelts, but I also catch apologies firing out of him.

And although my very bones feel shaky, I notice he has quickly started caring about the speed limit sign we’ve just passed.

We’re safe.

But what about everyone else?

I twist anxiously in my seat to look behind us for pedestrians who might’ve had a close call just now. Thankfully, I see none.

Look at that. It’s all right. No one was in the wrong place at the wrong time. No one was truly in danger.

Relief is what my heartbeats are stumbling with now.

With a sigh, I settle back into my seat, ready for the swell of panic to lower from its quick peak.

A hand closes around my arm and squeezes.

“You okay?”

I glance over to protective Emma, then to the front seat where Joy is turned around enough to extend her own fingers back to me, her expression pinched and worried in the lights we’re passing.

I grasp for both of their hands, and we spend a few moments simply holding on, wordlessly assuring one another that everything is fine.

“I really am sorry,”

the driver cuts in nervously.

In my peripheral vision, Emma shakes her head.

And unlike with our first driver of the night, Joy doesn’t respond kindly to the apology.

She sends the guy a cold sidelong glare that doesn’t seem out of place even on her—there are some things you can’t say, ‘It’s okay,’ about.

Putting people in danger by being stupid is one of them.

But it is smart of him to realize how upset we are. He should be more careful and keep in mind what kinds of consequences could come from him driving like an idiot.

Here’s hoping that will stick with him after we’re gone.

The ride to our four-story brick-and-glass building isn’t long enough for me to fully calm down before we arrive.

I only really start feeling better once we’re inside, knowing we’re back on our own feet and very close to home.

It’s especially comforting to have my friends’ arms linked with mine while we walk, which the car hadn’t allowed; even having purses smushed between us can’t ruin that.

“How’s about we have one more drink upstairs?”

Joy suggests as we crowd onto the elevator without letting go of each other.

“Just us. Just some wine or something, and maybe more snacks, to wrap this day up without any other crap going on. Which was our entire goal to begin with.”

I nod. That sounds comforting as well.

Emma squeezes my arm with hers.

“Yeah? I’m game.”

“Yeah,”

I confirm.

“Settled,” Joy says.

After she presses the button for the second floor, she gasps, causing me and Emma to quickly look at her. She turns excited eyes on us.

“And we can turn on 10 Things I Hate About You!”

Exhaustion aside, a smile breaks out on my face.

Emma exclaims.

“Oh my God! Yes!”

My giggles are even returning.

“Why did we even bother going out when we could’ve stayed home and done this stuff?”

They burst out laughing and agree with me big time—although Emma points out that we don’t know how to make margaritas and mojitos and snacks as good as the ones at Merritt’s.

True.

But you know, we could live without those things if we had to. What we can’t live without is each other.

Magnolia Moss, Emma Haledan, and Joy Ritchens.

Best friends for life.