Page 4 of Wait For Me

If I follow him, I won’t have to awkwardly elbow my way through the crowd and can justappearnext to the guy.

Casually.

Before I lose my nerve, I jump into the busboy’s wake, keeping my eyes pinned on Tan Jacket.

For a moment, I think it’s going to work. But over the busboy’s shoulder, I see the man down the last of a glass of beer and toss a bill on the counter.

No. My heart thumps in panic. I can’t go home unsuccessful. I can’t go home to my lonely apartment to feed my cat, having failed at my only chance to prove to myself I’m not a total failure.

I must kiss this random man.

Never mind that I have no idea if he’d even be willing to kiss me back.

It’s this blind panic that has me picking up speed, my eyes following Mr. Tan Jacket as he skirts the crowd I’m now stuck in. He’s still ahead of me, so if I cut left, I should be able to?—

I don’t see the busboy pause in front of me until it’s too late. I smash into his back, hard, pushing him forward and the tray he was holding tipping back, directly onto me.

It’s not the warm dregs of other people’s beer soaking my hair and shirt that are the most shocking parts of this scenario either. It’s not even the pummeling of beer bottles hitting me before they crash to the floor, or me beginning to lose my balance on my four-inch heels.

It’s that I see now why the busboy stopped. It was to let a man cross in front of him. The scruffy man in a pale blue T-shirt and ball cap. The same man who’s leapt toward me, wrapping his hands around my waist to keep me from falling directly back onto my ass on the floor.

CHAPTER 2

Cora

Istagger backward into broken glass, nearly rolling my ankle. But the guy still has hold of me, and I manage to steady myself on my wobbly heels.

“You all right?” The guy asks, then he grimaces, taking in my soaking, sticky hair and sputtering mouth. The crowd is beside themselves laughing and hooting. I catch sight of Tan Jacket, a smirk on his face before he turns around and walks out.

Humiliation rips through me.

The guy is still holding onto me. I grasp his forearms; their thick muscles barely registering under my palms. “I’m fine,” I say, my cheeks burning. I take a step backward, nearly falling again. He reaches out, but I hold my hands out. “I said I’m fine!”

But his eyes widen as he takes me in, and instead of staying away like I asked, he steps closer.

“I said?—”

“Your shirt,” he says, standing directly in front of me.

I look down and suck in a breath. The blouse Mia insisted I wear tonight—a thin, white flimsy slip ofsilk—is drenched, and because the bra I chose tonight is just as thin, my nipples are clearly visible.

I might as well be topless.

My vision blurs with tears as I clutch my arms over my chest and run.

I push my way through the crowd, my throat choked with humiliation. Someone calls my name, but I don’t know who it is and I don’t care. I came here to take control of my pain. Instead, I made it a thousand times worse.

I don’t stop until I’m outside, and by then, I’m sobbing.

At least out here, there are only a couple of people milling by the entrance, and they don’t see me. I consider waiting for a moment, hoping Mia saw me tear by. She was my ride. But there’s a sports bar across the street with a patio packed with people. The last thing I want is more people staring, and my apartment is only a few blocks away.

I begin walking fast. I’m nearly at the corner when I hear my name.

“Cora!”

It’s not Mia. It’s a man’s voice. I whirl around, my arms still folded over my chest. Then I freeze, my mouth open.

It’s the guy from inside. Beard and hat. The whole reason I’m out here soaked in beer. “Leave me alone.” I start walking again.

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