Page 77 of Arrogant Puck

I use the time to pull up apartment listings on my phone, filling out application after application with increasingly little hope. The process is vigorous—credit checks, employment verification, references, security deposits.

I look at my credit score and take a long drink, knowing nowhere decent is going to accept my application. The Tyler situationtanked my credit when I had to break my lease and flee across the country with nothing but what fit in my car.

Maybe I need to find a roommate situation on Facebook, like how I found Emma. But that idea makes me nauseous. What if I end up in another awkward situation? The whole thing with Emma feels predatory and disgusting.

I take another sip, wondering if I left anything important at that apartment. Whatever I forgot is Emma’s now because I’m not going back.

“Thirsty?” a guy asks, sliding onto the stool next to me.

I shake my head without looking up from my phone. “Actually, I was just leaving.”

“I just got here,” he tries to charm me with what’s probably his best smile. “I’ve never seen you here before.”

“No offense, but I’m not interested.” I flag down the bartender. “Closing my tab.”

“Order her a Long Island,” the guy calls out to the bartender.

I glare at him. He doesn’t seem drunk, and he seems harmless enough, but I’m definitely not interested in whatever this is.

The bartender looks between us. “I’ll get this tab closed for you. You still want a Long Island?”

I’m about to say no when a shadow emerges from behind me.

“She said she wasn’t interested.”

My heart nearly explodes in my chest. I know that voice, can hear the dangerous edge in it that reminds me of how he played today.

The guy takes one look at Slater and walks off without another word.

Slater gets right in my face and whispers, “You trying to pick someone up?”

“No.”

“Then why the fuck are you here?”

The honesty spills out before I can stop it. “To get your attention.”

The bartender hands me back my card, and I thank him. Then Slater turns on his heel and walks out without another word.

“Slater,” I call out, but he keeps walking. I run up to his side. “What’s going on with you?”

He halts suddenly, towering over me. “You already have my attention... all of it and—”

“No, I don’t. You’ve been somewhere else ever since we got to Milwaukee.”

His jaw clenches, and then he storms off again. I catch up, grabbing his arm.

“Talk to me,” I whisper. God, I hate how I sound like I’m begging.

He rubs a frustrated hand down his face. “I don’t talk, Sage. I sure as fuck am not friends with anyone.”

“Is that what this is about? You don’t want to be my friend?”

“No,” he says, leaning in close enough that I can feel his breath on my face. “I’ve been holding myself back, but the truth is I want…”

“Want what?” My eyebrows shoot up as I try to imagine what he’s about to admit. This man who can’t admit to anything is ready to tell me something sacred. And I want to hear it.

I want to hear what he wants.

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