Page 22 of Trustfall

“We were just leaving,” Allie interrupts, her lips pursed in a no-nonsense scowl.

“Allie, don’t be rude,” I chide.

“Yeah, Alexandra. You’re way too beautiful to have that look on your face. I have to be honest. The scowl looks a little out of place.” Ashton advances toward her ever so slightly, but Allie is quicker, putting her hand up to his face.

“I’m going to stop you right there, buddy. I’m gonna need you to take two steps back and get the fuck out of my space bubble.”

“Oh, but it looks so cozy,” Ashton fake-whines.

“And…that’s our cue. Come on, Em. We’re leaving.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Emory.”

“She’s a grown woman, Alexandra. She can make her own decisions.”

Allie moves her gaze toward Ashton with deliberate slowness, and even in my inebriated state, I shudder. Ashton has no idea the amount of hellfire he just unleashed on himself.

“First of all, my name is Allie. Call me Alexandra one more time and I will personally ensure you never procreate. Second of all, don’t stand there and mansplain my best friend to me. I know she’s a grown woman, but she’s going through something, and she’s self-medicating. She needs to come home with me. Now, get the fuck out of my way.”

“You seem a little tense, Alexandra. I know something that might help,” he smirks.

Allie lets out a low growl, and I contemplate telling her that Ashton would probably welcome not being able to procreate, but I decide instead to take her distraction as an opportunity to sneak away and grab another drink.

I watch them arguing as I wait for the bartender. I guess it’s not so much arguing as Allie repeatedly pointing her finger and yelling and Ashton responding with a cocky smirk on his face. The bartender finally comes over and I give her my order, but when I turn back around, Ashton and Allie are gone. I feel a tap on my shoulder, and sure enough, Allie is standing behind me with her hands on her hips.

“Where did Ashton go?” I ask.

“I don’t know. He probably crawled back into whatever sewer he came out of. Anyway, I’m ordering an Uber. Now,” she barks.

“Sure thing," I say, saluting her. “Oh my god, is that Craig Holder?” I ask, glancing at the crowd in the opposite direction, pretending to point to the executive chef of her favorite restaurant in town—and her longtime crush, though she'd never admit it.

“What, where?” She turns, and I make my escape, grabbing my new drink and weaving in between sex-hungry bodies until I find a group of guys sitting at one of the high-tops on the side of the bar.

“Hey, guys. Mind if I sit here for a minute? I’m trying to ditch my friend. She wants to leave, but I’m not ready to.” I give them my best sweet girl smile. If Allie doesn’t know who I am right now, I sure as hell don’t either, but I guess I’m about to find out.

One of the guys immediately stands and gestures for me to take his seat. “Sure, sweetheart. You can sit here as long as you want.”

9

LUKE

I swipeup my phone to refresh my text messages for the twentieth time tonight like a goddamn adolescent. Except, I wasn’t this needy and anxious in high school. I was the one ghosting girls. Not the one being ghosted. Emory Caldwell has broken something in me. I’m not sure what. All I know is I haven’t stopped thinking about that kiss since this afternoon. Not the first one. That was nice, but I was too scared to even enjoy it. The first one had to be done. I had to let her know I wasn’t playing around with her for the hell of it.

I know I was supposed to back off and leave her alone after I almost kissed her a couple of weeks ago, but try telling that to my dick after she came outside in her underwear and started crawling around in the mud. Yeah, he didn’t seem to understand that she’s my best friend’s sister and off-limits.

The worst part is I knew exactly what she was doing. I pretended to realize it later when we were arguing, but I knew then that she was testing me. She was mad that I was avoiding her, and I can’t say I blamed her for it. I was giving her whiplash, and the only thing more fucked up than going after your best friend’s sister is making a girl think there’s a chance when there isn’t. I’ve always been straightforward and honest with women. I don’t date. I rarely fuck someone more than once, and I’m upfront about that. But Emory. Fuck, I don’t even remember my own name half the time when I’m near her. I can’t be expected to remember my rules about dating and hooking up.

And then she took care of me. She ripped her own shirt to wrap around my bleeding arm. She stole supplies from her job. I’ve been feeling guilty about that. I didn’t realize it was quite as big of a deal as it was until Nate laid into her about it. But before that. Before Nate walked in. Before she second-guessed what we were doing. That kiss—the one she initiated after staring so far into my eyes, she could see my soul. That’s the kiss I can’t stop thinking about. Her soft lips, the smell of her shampoo, lilacs and rain, the way she ran her hand down my naked back. Fuck, I’m getting hard again.

This is how it’s been going for the past few hours. I check to see if Emory has texted me back, realize she hasn’t, think about the kiss, pop a boner, and repeat. I can’t even do anything about said boner because it hurts to move my arm up and down. I could use my left hand, but that seems like a lot of work.

I know I should get myself out of the house. Nate texted a while ago to see if I wanted to meet up with him. I was so excited when I heard my phone buzz, only to be crushed when I glanced down to see the wrong Caldwell lighting up my screen. I couldn’t even bring myself to answer the text. Great, now I’m ignoring my best friend because I’m waiting for a text from his little sister.

I stand up to go grab a beer. Screw the no alcohol thing. She should have responded to my text if she wanted me to abide by her stupid post-operative rules. As soon as I open the fridge, my phone buzzes. Not once—it keeps buzzing. It’s not a text. It’s a phone call. I slam the fridge door shut and run over to grab my phone from the coffee table, but I end up pushing it further away, and it falls to the floor. I dive down to get it from the floor and pick it up to see Emory Caldwell lighting up the screen. She’s calling me.Emory is calling me.

“Hello? Emory?” I try to sound casual and not out of breath.

---