Running From Forever (16 page)

***

It was abnormally slow
for a Friday night. As I started to wipe down the bar and clean the
remaining dirty glasses, I contemplated closing up early, but
changed my mind when Kayla came barreling in the door in a fancy
black dress, eyes full of tears, makeup smeared down her face. I
did what any other guy would do; I dropped everything and met her
on the other side of the bar, pulling her into my chest and asking
repetitively what was wrong? Was she hurt? Did something happen? I
didn’t know which it was. She was crying so hard I worried someone
did something to her. I’d beat the son of a bitch that did. She
shook her head no, calming my rage.

I knew very little about Kayla, I had only had
talked to her a few times—a little bit both nights she came in with
her coworkers and then again this afternoon when I say her and her
sister walking by when I was opening up. I hadn’t spent much time
with her, but I was inexplicably drawn to her. She was hot, of
course, but that wasn’t it. She was just one of those girls that I
felt I could get close to; she was easy to talk to, and made me
smile like an idiot. It was safe to say that I had a little thing
for her, but it was pointless to act on because she had a
boyfriend. Not just any boyfriend, though, her boyfriend was the
biggest rich boy douchebag in the city. I didn’t stand a chance.
The man had more fucking money than he knew what to do with.

Once her sobbing subsided and she could breathe
normally, I helped her onto a bar stool, taking a seat on another.
She hung her head low as she ran her fingers beneath her eyes,
attempting to wipe away her ruined makeup. I shoved a few cocktail
napkins into her hand. I didn’t have the heart to tell her that it
wasn’t any use—her face was covered. Now that she’d calmed down,
she looked embarrassed. I didn’t want her to feel that way.

“Hey,” I said, lifting her chin. “What
happened?”

She swallowed so hard that I could see her jaw,
then throat, move with it. She was contemplating her answer. I
didn’t want her to feel obligated to tell. I just wanted her to
feel comfortable here.

“You don’t have to tell me,” I added before she
could open her mouth. “I’m just glad you’re not hurt.”

“Not physically,” Kayla grumbled softly, so low
that I almost couldn’t understand her.

That fucking douchebag did this to her.
I
wasn’t the least bit surprised. I knew he would eventually. I was
just pissed that he proved me right so soon. The fucker paraded
around Manhattan with a new rich slut almost monthly, flooding the
tabloids. I didn’t understand what he was doing with Kayla in the
first place; he caught me off guard when he showed up here Tuesday
looking for her. Don’t get me wrong, Kayla’s a hundred percent
better looking than the rest of his arm candy, but she wasn’t one
of them. Even though she carried herself well, she wasn’t part of
the bitch list. She was better than that.

“Thank you,” she grumbled again; this time
looking up to me. My chest caved. She looked so broken and lost,
not the fun-loving person she’d been each time I’d seen her this
week.

“I haven’t done anything.”

“For just being here,” she continued. “I didn’t
know where else to go.”

My lips turned up in a smile as my shoulders
relaxed. “You came to the right place.”

“Thanks,” she said again, her lips mimicking
mine and forming a partial smile.

“Well,” I stood, reaching over the bar and
grabbing a bottle of the house tequila and two shot glasses, “this
is just a shot in the dark, no pun intended, but I’m guessing that
you’re in need of one of these.” I poured some in each of the
glasses, then picked one up, handing it to her.

She snorted. “Your guess is correct.” She
smirked, taking it from my hand.

“To assholes?” I raised my glass, hoping it
wasn’t too much to declare that our toast, but her smirk grew
larger, stretching into a smile.

“To assholes!” she agreed, clicking her glass
with mine before tossing it back like a champ.

I lifted the bottle. “Another?”

She nodded her head, agreeing. “I’m gonna need a
few.”

“Bar’s closed, buddy!” I shouted to the
customer walking in.

“Sign says ‘open.’”

“Well, go ahead and flip it to ‘closed’ when you
leave,” I told him, motioning to the sign on the window of the door
and causing Kayla to bust out laughing. Her laugh was contagious,
making it hard to keep a straight face. I was having too much fun
with her and far from sober— running the bar wasn’t a priority at
the moment.

The guy didn’t budge, only rolled his eyes and
left, flipping the sign over with attitude before slamming the door
shut behind him.

“I don’t think he was very happy,” Kayla
observed, continuing to giggle between sips of her beer.

“Yeah, something tells me he won’t be a repeat
customer.”

“Pretty sure he has to be a customer in the
first place to be a repeat one,” she pointed out.

I looked at her, confused, not understanding a
word she was fucking saying. I wasn’t sure if it was because she’d
had too much to drink or if it was me. Probably a mix of both. Her
laugh grew louder, seeing my confusion.

“You just turned him away, dumbass, so he wasn’t
a customer yet.”

I still wasn’t getting it—clearly I was fucked
up.

“Oh, Christ, never mind.” She waved her hand,
taking a long gulp of her drink. “It’s not even funny anymore.”

We both busted out, laughing our asses off.

“I’m gonna pee myself. Where’s your bathroom?”
she stood, her legs squeezed together, looking like she was going
to fall over and/or piss all over her fancy little dress.

With my stomach now aching from laughing so
much, I pointed to the back of the bar. From the slow strides she
was taking, I wasn’t sure she was going to make it, especially
since every other step she took she stumbled into something, making
us both laugh even more.

I still had no clue what the hell happened
tonight with her, and I didn’t care. The fact that she was laughing
and having a good time was all I cared about. Kayla was a unique
girl, unlike any other I had met. Our conversations flowed easily
and nothing was forced. She wasn’t looking for attention or asking
the stupid, space-filling questions like where I was from, if I
owned the bar, where I lived, blah, blah, blah…no, she was real,
laid back, and cool. It was like hanging out with one of my best
friends. The only strange thing about it was we were practically
strangers yet laughed and shot the shit like two old time
buddies.

“MERRICK!” I heard her yell from the back of the
bar.

I ran. Well, I stumbled quickly in the direction
of the bathrooms, yelling, “What?!” from outside the women’s door.
“Shit, are you okay? Did you fall in?”

“There’s no toilet paper in here.”

“Gotta be.” I cracked the door a little, making
sure not to peek all the way inside, but enough to where I felt I
didn’t need to shout anymore.

“Uh, there’s definitely none in here.” She
pulled the door open the rest of the way, almost making me fall on
the floor. The laughter came again when I saw her standing there,
her dress hanging down like normal but with a little lacy black
thong hanging around her ankles. “What the hell are you laughing
at?” she asked, trying to sound annoyed. The smirk on her face told
otherwise.

I looked down at her feet, nodding to her
panties. I could hardly process that I was standing in the bathroom
with a chick talking about missing TP. They were hot panties,
though, black and lacy and was she yelling again?

“What? You’ve never seen underwear before? I
can’t pull them up; I need toilet paper first!” she scolded me.

The girl was a fucking riot. I couldn’t help but
smile and fucking laugh at every flipping thing she said. I leaned
over, shaking my head at her statement, and opened the cabinet
underneath the sink, revealing the secret stash of rolls.

“I’m well aware of what women’s underwear looks
like,” I said matter-of-factly while handing her the toilet paper
roll in my hand.

“I’m sure you are,” she said slyly. “Especially
hung around a girl’s feet in a women’s bathroom.”

Burn!
Normally I would’ve taken that
statement as a sexual insinuation and jumped on the opportunity
immediately, but with Kayla, it was different. I didn’t see her
like that. I didn’t see her as a chance to get into her pants or in
this case, up her dress. It was more of a joke.

“True, but not from a sloppy drunk with piss
running down her leg,” I joked, already crediting myself with a
wise laugh.

“I don’t have piss running down my leg,
asshole.” She smacked my arm. “And what the hell are you even doing
in here anyway? Didn’t you read the sign or is there something I
should know about you?” She cleared her throat, her eyes fixed on
my junk.

“Fuck that!” I gripped myself, seeming insulted.
“I’ve got the whole fruit basket, sweetheart, and if I remember
correctly, it was you yelling that you needed me.”

“Toilet paper—not you!”

“Oh, whatever.” I nudged her out of the way to
exit. “Go wipe the piss off your leg,” I added on my way out.

“Ugh! I don’t have piss on my leg!” she shouted
from behind me, making me chuckle.

I loved getting under her skin; the annoyed
whine that came out every fucking time was hysterical. I couldn’t
help but belly laugh each time she did it.

“Oh my God! Oh my God!” Kayla was chanting,
pacing the side of my bed. Plod, plod, plod, swear, swear, swear,
and repeat.

“Chill the fuck out, we didn’t fuck. I didn’t
even see your tits,” I grumbled into the pillow, my head feeling
like it was going to explode.

“Then how did I get your clothes on and why was
I sleeping in your bed?” she moaned, continuing to harass me.

Annoyed, I sat up, but with my head still
hanging low. “Kayla, take a deep breath. I gave you a pair of
boxers and a t-shirt so you didn’t have to sleep in your dress and
the bed is a hell of a lot more comfortable than the forty-year-old
couch sitting in my living room. Any more questions?”

She looked at me a moment longer, contemplating
her answer before speaking in a much calmer tone. “So we didn’t do
anything?”

“Well, I didn’t, but you…”

Her hands immediately flew to her face, covering
her now blushing skin. “Oh God…I’m so sorry. I don’t…”

I managed to muster a small chuckle, amused.
“Calm yourself. I was kidding. Nothing happened.”

Relieved with my answer, she exhaled, becoming
visibly relaxed. “Oh, thank God.”

“Geez, thanks a whole fucking lot.”

“No. No, that’s not what I meant. I was
just…”

“Kidding. Again,” I reassured her, looking over
and seeing that the clock on my nightstand read only seven o’clock.
“Christ, woman, what’re you doing up this early? We just went to
bed three hours ago.”