Page 67 of Trustfall

“What? I swear she was just behind me. That girl needs a fucking bell.”

“You’re telling me,” I agree as I take a sip of my club soda and the crisp liquid slides down my throat. There’s the lime I asked for but also a hint of…I look at the side of the glass…mint.Spice and mint.I shake the thought from my head and make small talk with Nate. He tells me how our father is annoying the ever-loving shit out of him, and I almost divulge that he’s been trying to set me up for the last few months, but I catch myself. Then Nate gets dragged away by some friends and I’m left alone again.

I decide it’s a great time to go hide out in the bathroom, so I head toward the hallway where I assume the restrooms are. I’ll hide for a few minutes, then I’ll check to make sure Allie hasn’t decapitated Ashton. I enter the hallway, but there are no restrooms. Just a bunch of metal kegs stacked up in the corner and a rack with bar supplies. I start to turn around, but I hear footsteps, and someone calls out to me.

“Little Wells,” the person slurs.Luke.Is he drunk? I haven’t seen him all night. Did he drink before he came here? But when I round the corner, it’s not Luke. Mason, the guy I forgot from Thanksgiving, is standing at the end of the hallway. His eyes are bloodshot and glossy, and a faint flush spreads across his cheeks. He takes a step toward me, his feet unsteady, the scent of alcohol wafting across the small space with his movement.

Something feels off. I didn’t give him a second thought earlier. He’s one of Nate’s goofy buddies. But now I feel threatened. He advances again, and my fight-or-flight instinct takes over.

But there’s nowhere to go. He’s blocking the only exit.

“Hey, babe,” he slurs again. “You sure grew up, huh? You were always pretty hot back in high school, but now you’re a fuckin’ smokeshow. I noticed it at Thanksgiving, but I was too chicken shit to do anything about it.”

Think, Emory. De-escalate the situation. What would I do at work? I often have to deal with patients who are drunk, high, or combative. Sometimes all three.Speak in a calm and even tone.Keep things casual. Don’t provoke. Ask questions to distract.

“Hi, Mason. I was looking for the restroom. Do you know where it is?” I say softly, mustering up a calmness I don’t feel.

He shakes his head, taking another step forward, and I can see the lust in his eyes.

Okay, fuck calm. Scream.Just scream. Everyone will hear.

He stumbles towards me, and I’m about to act when I hear another set of footsteps behind Mason. “Hey, buddy, you lost?” I hear someone ask in a friendly but firm tone.

Ashton.

I let out a breath.

“Nah. Just talking to Little Wells over here,” he says as if we are having a consensual interaction. Ashton’s eyes meet mine, and I give him a pleading look.

“Doesn’t look like she’s up for talking right now, man. And you look a little green. Maybe take a break and grab some water.”

He turns his head to Ashton and then swallows a couple of times. I know that look. I see it all the time at work. He rushes out of the hallway, stumbling on his own feet while turning sharply around the corner.

Ashton chuckles. “What an idiot. He fell for the oldest trick in the book. You tell a drunk person he looks like he’s going to throw up, and nine times out of ten, he does.”

Not thinking, I walk over to him, throwing my arms around his neck. “Thank you,” I nearly sob.

“Hey, hey. He scared you, huh?”

I nod my head, my nose rubbing up and down his chest. Then I move my head back, my arms still holding tight, and look up at him. My eyes are glassy, but I refuse to let the tears fall right now. Ashton rubs my back, speaking soothing words into my ear.

“It’s okay, Em. He’s not going to hurt you.”

Ashton continues holding me, caressing me, telling me it’s going to be okay. My breath starts to even out, and the noxious pit in my stomach grows smaller. I’m about to let go and tell him we should go back to the party when I hear a low growl. I peek up and over Ashton.

“What the fuck?” A masculine voice pierces the air. It’s not Nate. Or Mason. I glance up to see Luke standing at the hallway's entrance. His eyes, dark and narrowed, are like two storm clouds. Tension etches his face, and a purple vein pulses in his neck, straining against his skin like a warning siren.

He’s not angry. He’s seething.

23

EMORY

I releaseAshton and turn toward Luke. He’s pulling at his hair now, pacing back and forth in a little line across the entrance.

“Luke,” I start, but I’m not sure what to say. I know how this looks. I sleep at his house for an entire week. We eat together. Sleep. Fuck. Without a condom, I might add. I ghost him, ignoring all his texts and calls. Then he finds me in what looks like an intimate embrace with another man in a dark hallway. I would be pissed if the roles were reversed.

“No, Emory. Don’t bother. I thought—never mind. It doesn’t fucking matter anymore,” he mutters.

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