Page 18 of Feathers From the Sky

“Well, I lost mine today,” I say, tossing back my water like a shot, and I narrowly avoid choking on it.

“What for?” he asks, a slight drawl to his accent. He sounds like the old men who have lived here their whole lives. The ones who say “Naw-fuck” instead of “Nor-folk” or “Nor-fuck.” I laugh to myself because the way locals insist on “fuck” is one of my favorite things.

“Inappropriate representation of the company,” I say, rattling off what Donna in HR told me when I was let go from the job I’d held the last five years. It should be a surprise anyone saw the pictures, considering I have a strict rule to not mix social media with coworkers, but it’s not. Because Donna is Josh’s aunt.

And Josh just can’t resist fucking me over.

“You say some racist shit or something?” the man beside me asks, lip curling in disgust.

“No! What the fuck,” I mumble. My phone dings with a text message just as I’m about to explain.

It’s a number I don’t know from an area code I don’t recognize. Normally, I’d look up where the person is texting from, but I don’t know if my thumbs will cooperate.

Hey Gwyn. Sorry I left so quick the other day. Let me make up for it?

I huff a laugh, realizing it’s Roman.

I wondered if u was ever going to hear frog you again.

Not gonna lie, I was embarrassed. But I’ve decided to get over it so I can see you again.

idk if that deal is till on the table. Convince me.

I think the typos must mean you’re excited at the prospect. I bet you’ve already convinced yourself.

Get over yourself. The typos are thanks to the whose

whittier

WHISKY

Are you out somewhere?

Yep

Want some company?

I wan to go home. But Aileen :/

Who is Aileen? What?

dads car. I don’t want to leave here.

What bar? I’ll drive it/you home.

Oh no mr. Serial killer

I don’t honk so.

I take a selfie, giving him the finger and a glower. My vision goes double as I make sure I look decent. Despite my smudged makeup, I decide it’s good enough and hit send. The guy next to me leans over, reminding me of his presence with a brush of his fingertips down my arm.

“That your man?” he nods toward the phone.

Laughter bubbles up my throat, and I can’t help the cackle that falls from my mouth. I hear a swoop of a reply from Roman, but I’m too distracted. “Definitely not,” I say. Mostly naked and close to an orgasm, I should have been disappointed he left. But he did me a favor; I’d let it go too far.

I’m flagging down the bartender for another drink as the man from the bar snags my phone.

“Hey!” I object, and I see Bar Guy add his number into my contacts.

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