Page 8 of For the Plot

"Hey, Mr. Blackwood."

The corner of my mouth lifts and I’m pleasantly surprised she even remembers me. Her voice is softer than I remember,more mature, but still edged with that lightness I always associated with her.

There's a beat of silence before I gesture to the bar. "Can I buy you a drink?"

The words come out more casual than they should, and the second they're spoken, I feel it. The weight of them. The shift beneath the surface. I regret it almost instantly.

She doesn't answer right away. Her eyes flick to the table where she'd been sitting, then back to me. "I-I'm here with a friend. Maya."

She glances over her shoulder again, and I follow her line of sight to the woman watching us from across the room. "She sort of pointed you out like a casting call.”

“I’m surprised you remember me.”

“Really?” She blushes, looking down at her feet. “I wasn’t sure at first, but when I saw your profile, I recognized you immediately.”

“And what gave me away?” I ask because I’m genuinely curious.

She blushes again, darker this time, and the warmth that’s settled in my chest from the bourbon gently spreads down my stomach.

“I— Maya told me I'd be an idiot if I didn't come say hi."

I nod once, noticing how she ignored my question. "And you agreed?"

"Eventually. First, I said no. Then yes. Then no again. Then she started making faces and motioning dramatically across the table like I was going to miss my one shot at something scandalous."

That pulls a low laugh from me even though her cheeks are now so red she looks like she just ran around the block half a dozen times. She clearly didn’t mean to say that last part ormaybe she did and I’m just taking it the wrong way. "Sounds persistent."

"She's relentless. And kind of terrifying."

I gesture toward her drink. "So how many of those did it take to wear you down?"

"Two vodka cranberries, a crappy week, and one minor existential crisis."

My brows lift. "That bad?"

She gives a one-shouldered shrug accompanied by a tight little smile that doesn't quite land. "I got laid off. And dumped. Within a few weeks of each other. So, you know. Big month for me."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I say. And I mean it.

"It's fine. I'm fine." She waves a hand, brushing it all away like it's nothing. "Embracing the chaos. Making reckless choices. Reintroducing myself to ghosts from my past."

The music overhead suddenly feels too loud, the bass line thumping with a rhythm that catches my attention. It's unfamiliar, but there's something hypnotic about it. Something that makes the air between us feel heavier.

"Good beat," I say, nodding toward the speakers, mostly to fill the silence that's suddenly stretched too long between us.

Her eyes widen slightly, and she lets out a small laugh. "Oh, that's 'Love on the Brain' by Rihanna. I was just telling Maya I've been hearing it everywhere lately." She pauses, her cheeks flushing pink. "Sorry, that was random. I'm being nervous—er, I’m nervous."

I watch the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the way her fingers fidget with her glass. "You don't seem nervous."

"I'm an excellent actress when the situation calls for it."

I nod toward the empty stool beside me. "Well, I apologize if I’m making you nervous. If you're in the mood to keep making questionable decisions, feel free to sit."

She arches an eyebrow, considering, then lowers herself into the seat. "That depends. You planning to bite?"

"Not unless provoked."

She smirks. "No promises."