Disorderly Conduct (The Academy #1)

“At least there will be a bill to split.” Shit. Why did I say that? I need him to leave now. All these suppressed desires for our nonrelationship picked a really inconvenient time to reveal themselves. “See you around, Charlie.”

He plants both hands on his hips and looks down at the floor, staying that way for a few seconds, then moving toward the door. When he opens it and stalks out into the hallway, he doesn’t look back. “See you around, Ever.”

The door slams.





Chapter 5





Charlie


One week has passed since I walked out of Ever’s apartment.

Life is good. Great, actually. I feel like I can take a deep breath for the first time in ages. Birds are chirping. I’m seeing everything through clear eyes. My world is full of color! Exploding with the light.

Just kidding. I want to die.

Jack told me to go out and find a new girl. Which went really well. I made it to my building’s lobby before I got the urge to vomit. That’s normal, right? Missing your nongirlfriend enough that you almost paint your shoes with stomach sauce? I mean, I barely know a damn thing about her. She’s the hottest woman I’ve ever laid eyes on. That’s a given. She’s got a great sense of humor—at least, that’s what I’ve gleaned from our short banter sessions that preempt sex. Her culinary skills seem tight, though I’ve never actually tasted her food.

And that’s it. I shouldn’t be sitting on the last stool of a dive bar on Bowery—still in my training gear—trying to erase her voice from my head. Christ, she was moaning most of our acquaintance. So why can I only remember the times we actually talked? I keep playing that ridiculous conversation about lavender water over and over in my head, like it holds the secret to life. She was just so . . . unguarded in those moments. What else would she have said if we’d talked longer? Why had I shut her up with my mouth so many times?

“Another, please?” I ask the passing bartender. Without responding, he uncaps a Heineken and sets it in front of me. “Thanks.”

All right. After this beer, I’m done. No more wallowing. No more obsessing over how well her turn on the dating scene is going. I don’t want to know. Don’t want to think about other hands settling on her hips. Or other ears listening to jokes about quinoa. Or maybe a guy getting to the bottom of what spooked her about relationships in the first place. I’d never gotten that far.

And I shouldn’t have. I don’t want a commitment. They eventually land you in dank, smelly-ass bars with a layer of dust on the whiskey bottles, don’t they? Or pouring yourself twice as tenaciously into a job, the way my father did when Mom left.

Guilt twists in my belly, remembering the silence in my childhood house.

Yeah. No commitments for me. I just want my uncomplicated, nonrelationship with Ever back.

As if my words floated up to the atmosphere and danced right into God’s ears, a girl clomps into the hazy bar. I recognize her right away, which is a relief. My training isn’t going to waste. I’m meant to be a cop. Ask both members of my family.

Loosening the tightness from my throat, I watch Ever’s roommate—Nina, I believe—hand a dollar to the bartender and ask for change to pay the parking meter outside. There’s a restaurant supply place next door—see? More capable police work—and she’s probably picking up kitchen equipment or catering gear. Jesus, is Ever with her? I almost jump off my stool and sprint out of the bar to go see, but manage to remain seated like a normal human.

Nina had been with Ever the day we met. Thanks to my Ever-induced tunnel vision, however, I didn’t speak to her and I haven’t seen her since. But I remember two observations about her from that day in the packed bar. She’s a redhead and her hand gestures are dramatic. As her gaze cuts down toward me at the end of the bar, I see recognition dawn. Yeah, I doubt she would forget the guy who mauled her friend’s face in a packed bar, right? Somehow, just having someone acquainted with Ever acknowledge me makes me less nauseous than I’ve been in a week. I lift my beer bottle in greeting and after accepting the coins from the bartender, she comes toward me.

“Hey,” Nina says, a huge sigh pushing the words free. One of those conversation openings that alerts one party that the other party has been through some rough shit since waking up that morning. “I don’t have a lot of time, but I guess if I get a parking ticket, you can get it dismissed.”

I smile into a sip of beer. “Not until I graduate.”

Nina falls down onto a stool, propping both elbows on the bar. “You know what?” She wiggles her fingers at the bartender. “Jameson, please. Neat.”

“Shit. That bad?”

“The worst.”

Join the club, I start to say. But it might get back to Ever that I’m miserable. I want her to think I’m living it up, right? No. Shut up, Charlie. God, I hate this version of myself. This version wants to ask Nina about Ever and her activities over the last week, but I can’t do that. Women tell each other everything. But maybe I can come at it from a different angle. Nina and Ever work together, right? So . . . “Is this a work-related problem, or . . .”

“Man related.”

Uh-oh. Abort mission. If there is one guarantee in this life and the next, it’s that I will probably put my foot in my mouth. I have no experience with comforting words because I’m surrounded by men who’ve either sworn off women or go through them like water, never settling on one in particular. My roommate Danika doesn’t count, because as far as I can tell, she operates like us dudes, emoting about as often as an eclipse takes place. “A man, huh?” I’m stuck. I have no choice. “You don’t say.”

“My boyfriend broke it off this morning.” She screws up her face, nostrils flaring. “Through a direct message on Twitter.”

Okay, I don’t need experience with ending relationships to know that was fucked up. “No way.”

“Yes way.” The bartender sets the drink in front of Nina and she tosses it back in one go, following it with a satisfied ahhhh sound. “He’s seeing someone from work. I’ve suspected for a while, but . . . I thought he was losing interest because I was working too much, so I tried to be there more.” She shakes her head. “Turns out, he wanted me there less. Never. Gone. Replaced.”

“He shouldn’t have done that to you. It’s not your fault, either, Nina. It’s his.” I pick up my bottle and gesture at nothing in particular. Because I’m not seeing anything but Ever. Haven’t seen much else in a week. “Sometimes people, you know, they grow apart. One minute everything is fine—it’s fine—and the next, you’re being offered lavender water and blurting the names of the royal family.”

“Why do I get the feeling we’re not talking about me anymore?”