Page 28 of Over You
Kirby swayed from side to side by the curb. Her short dress was hitched up on one side. Her blond ringlets a mess. “Oi! You mingebag.” She took a few sloppy steps forward, then yanked off one of her hooker-heels and lobbed it at us.
We both ducked even though her aim was off.
“Look at you and your manky slag.”
Tom slapped a palm over his forehead. “What’ve I done to deserve this?” he mumbled.
“Oh, I’ll tell you, you twit. You been plugging her holes with your scabby dick.”
“I’ll see you tomorrow, Tom.” I patted his back, and when I went to step away, Kirby lunged at me.
Tom grabbed her by her bony shoulders. “Kirby, leave her alone. She’s not had a thing to do with me.”
Kirby fell into his chest, sobbing. Tom glanced at me and tilted his head in the direction of my townhome. “Ah, come on now, Kirby. . .” Turning her around, he draped one arm over her shoulders and headed the opposite way.
The soles of my Converse padded over the pavement. Two houses down from mine, I heard a clink before a bottle of liquor came rolling along the gutter.
I fiddled for the mace in my purse. Not once had I felt unsafe in this town, but the way tonight was shaping up had me on edge. A shadow emerged from the side street, and my finger rested over the trigger.
“I’ve got mace!”
“I’d prefer handcuffs,” Spencer slurred, and staggered under the street light.
I shook my head before brushing past him. The scuffle of uneven steps came from behind me.
“Hey. Wait up.” He chuckled, and I felt it between my legs. “Baby.” Then I cringed. That was a pet name he knew I hated. “Babycakes.Babygirl.” A loud clang bounced off the buildings.
I glanced over my shoulder in time to see Spencer pick up the trash bin he must have stumbled into.
“What dick leaves a trashcan on the sidewalk?” He hiccupped. “And by the way, you owe me a talk.”
He wasn’t getting a talk. Our track record suggested talks typically led to things. “Sign the papers. Then I’ll talk to you.”
“Talk to me, and I’ll think about signing them.”
I jogged up the stairs to my door. He, of course, ended up right beside me. The flame from the porch light flickered over his face. My chest tightened. The problem was, I still loved him in a way that felt bone deep. Love was irrational while survival was rational, and Spencer put the two ideas at war.
“There’s not much to talk about.”
“Oh, please.” He snorted. “There’s plenty to fucking talk about.” He hiccupped again and rocked to the side, catching the railing to steady himself.
Remember why you left. Why you stayed away.I thought about all the broken promises, and my lips flattened into a disapproving line. “Let me guess, it’ll start with:you’ll be sober tomorrow?” The latch clicked when I turned the key in the lock.
“No, I’m not saying I’ll be sober tomorrow,” he said, sounding less inebriated than the pungent aroma of whiskey creeping across my face suggested. “I learned that lesson.”
“At least you’re being honest about it now.” I cracked the door, and he grabbed my hand.
“I miss you. . .”
My stupid heart faltered. “You’re drunk.”
“And you’re hot as fuck.” He fell into me. His chin dug into my shoulder.
“Glad you still think so.” I pushed him away. “Now, if you’ll just excuse me, I’m trying to get on with my life.”
Spencer gripped the edge of the door, then yanked it open. I braced both arms and legs in the doorway like a human starfish to block his entrance. His fingers burrowed into my hips, his hardening dick pressed against my ass, and I stumbled over the threshold, sending us both tumbling right into the wall.
“Oh my God!” Lottie shrieked. “Georgia. You scared the bloody. . .” She went bug-eyed and clutched her chest, clawing at the Midnite Kills tank top she donned. “It’s. It’s. . .Oh. My. God.”
