“For cheering me up. Every time I feel a little down, you make a joke to lift me up.”
I nodded like a mute idiot, not sure what would fall out of my mouth, a joke or the truth: making her laugh was like hitting a mini-jackpot.
She shuffled her feet. “Okay, well. I should get back.”
“Break a leg tonight,” I finally managed.
“I’ll be lucky if that’s all I break,” she said, with a weak laugh. She started to shut the door then stopped. “Thanks for being a good guy, Jonah. There’s a shortage in the world.”
She shut the door and walked away, her pale hair glinting like spun glass in the sun. I watched her walk to the entrance—to make sure she got in okay, I told myself—waiting until she entered the dark confines of the house. It swallowed her up and the door shut behind her.
Without Kacey, my apartment felt airless and sealed. And silent. Had it always been this quiet? I went to the couch to fold up the afghan. Remnants of Kacey’s perfume wafted up and I nearly put the damn thing to my nose to inhale.
You do not have the time for this.
I had to rebuild my fortifications, re-forge the armor I needed to make it to October. I had to erase last night and this afternoon, bury it along with the memory of Kacey’s eyes when she smiled, or how her bare thigh in her short skirt tried to wake up a physical desire I had been denying still existed…
With a silent apology to my departed grandmother, I wadded up the blanket and tossed it in the closet. Then my desire and I took a very cold shower.
After, I stood in my silent kitchen, drinking the dregs of a disgusting protein shake that was no match for the French fry Kacey had pelted me with…
For fuck’s sake, get over it.
Dwelling on this woman or any woman was a waste of time. I wasn’t a one-night-stand kind of guy. I’d never been wired that way, and starting a relationship now was out of the question. Not with Kacey Dawson, not with anyone.
No more taking beautiful women home with you, or even to lunch. Not anymore.
I checked my phone: it was five o’clock on Saturday night and I was dressed for work. I had two texts from Theo and a voice message from my father, as per usual. Tomorrow I would spend all day at the hot shop, then have dinner with my family. Everything as it should be. My routine had been shaken a little, but remained intact.
On my way out the door, I scooped up Kacey’s bustier and torn fishnets, then chucked them in the dumpster in the parking lot.
“We now return to our regularly scheduled program.”
My boss, Harry Kelton, had been out when I returned the car from last night, but he was in this night. I suspected he wanted to reiterate—in person—that taking drunk girls home was not in my contract.
“Fletcher,” he said by way of greeting, and pulled my paperwork for the night from the mess on his desk. He tossed me a set of car keys. I caught them one-handed as I studied the night’s assignment under the flickering fluorescents, and gaped at what I read.
“Rapid Confession? Again?”
Kacey…
Harry laced his hands behind his head, round circles of sweat darkening his button-down under his arms. “Their manager specifically asked for you.”
“After last night?”
“I guess he forgave you,” Harry said. “Lucky thing too. It’s a good charter.”
I shook my head in frustration. “It’s not lucky if he’s pissed off and trying to screw me out of another tip.”
“You ditched them last night,” Harry said, leaning forward and jabbing a fat finger on the mess on his desk. “I’m lucky he hired—and paid for—another charter. It would’ve well been within his rights to cancel last night’s payment, never mind your tip.” He leaned back in his chair, making it creak. “Win-win for both of us, Fletcher. I keep his business and you get a second chance.”
“Boss…”
Harry turned that jabbing finger in my direction. “You’re my best driver, Jonah, but I’m none too happy about last night. Finish the job if you want to keep yours.”
I left Harry’s office in a daze, his words echoing in my head.
A second chance…
“Goddammit,” I muttered. I almost turned around to storm back into the office and tell Harry to forget it, someone else could take the charter. Except Harry was on the verge of firing me, and I couldn’t afford to lose my job.
I strode through the garage, past rows of black and white limousines, town cars, and sedans, bolstering myself.
I can be professional. I’ll do my job, and get through this night.
“Hey, Fletcher…”
I turned to see Kyle Porter, another driver, headed to his car.
“I heard you got the Rapid Confession gig. Twice, you lucky bastard. The guitar chick is fucking hot.”
I climbed behind the wheel of my black stretch and slammed the door. “Tell me about it.”