Jase does his best to act coy, but that mischievous grin can’t be contained. “Well, shucks, darlin’. You’re gonna make me blush.”
“Is there a story to go along with that?” I ask, tapping the spot below my own eye where the thin scar mars his cheek.
“Yeah, it’s called I’m a dumbass.” He laughs. “Word from the wise, don’t go down to Skid Row at two in the morning trying to find your drunk friend, especially when you’re drunk too.”
Jase’s smile collapses the longer he looks at me.
“Why didn’t you say anything when I called earlier? I had to hear about the photo leak from Dash.”
I chuckle, the sound horribly flat. “Because there isn’t anything that can be done about it. At least not right now. I figured I’d be better off doing something Icouldcontrol.”
“Which is…?”
I shift my eyes to the thin plastic shopping bag sitting on the table.
Jase lifts the opening to peer inside, and his eyebrows immediately shoot up. “And when did you come to this decision exactly?”
Unsurprisingly, he’s scoping out the table, no doubt looking for more shot glasses or beer bottles.
“It was purchased at the drugstore across the streetbeforeI came here, and that’s only the third beer I’ve had in over five hours,” I laugh, gesturing to the half-finished bottle in front of him. “Even broaching the subject with Maggie will likely make me chicken out, so I figured I needed a little liquid courage before bringing it up.”
He smirks. “And how’s that going?”
“I’m still here, aren’t I?”
“Have you thought this through? Because I’m pretty sure there’s no going back. Once you start, you’re pretty much locked in.”
“I’ve already been considering doing it for the past few weeks,” I admit.
“Well, in that case…” Jase plucks up the bag, lays some cash on the table, and slides back out of the booth, offering me his free hand. “Shall we?”
I don’t move. Call me a procrastinator, but I’d like to keep my head buried in the sand and avoid my problems for a little while longer, which stepping outside will no doubt ruin.
I don’t need to explain myself, though, because Jase clarifies, “Don’t worry. We’re not going far.”
Confused, I follow after him to the back of the establishment and into the dimly lit hallway. “We’re doing it in the barbathroom?”
All Jase offers is a sly smirk as we reach the end of the corridor. To the right are the restrooms, and to the left is a doorlabeled “AUTHORIZED PERSONNEL ONLY.” Can you guess which one he takes?
“What’re you doing?” I hiss, trying to pull him back over the threshold, but he just continues up the stairs that greet us on the other side.
The bar occupies the ground floor of the building alongside a tattoo parlor and thrift shop. From the signage out front, I’m pretty sure the levels above it are rundown apartments. The carpet in the second-floor hallway smells as old as it looks, the paint on the walls is chipped, and sparse fluorescent lighting flickers like we’re in a horror movie.
Still, Jase offers no explanation, strolling over to the door labeled 2A. Maybe the glasses of water and Coke I had downstairs were spiked, because surely I’m far more drunk than I thought. It’s the only explanation for what I’m seeing.
Because Jase pulls out a key, unlocks the door, and heads inside the apartment. And it only gets weirder from there. The space inside is essentially a tiny loft, laid out to look more like a hotel room than anything else. There’s a short hallway with a vanity sink and interior bathroom to the left, a closet to the right, and then it opens up to a room with nothing more than a desk, TV stand, nightstand, mini fridge, and mattress. I’m assuming Jase knows the owner, but nope.
He opens the closet, peeling off his wet t-shirt and replacing it with a fresh one. The action allows me to see the inside of the wardrobe to confirm that, indeed, it’s filled entirely withhisclothes, shoes, and suitcases. I also recognize the Jim Butcher paperback on the nightstand that I’d seen him reading in my kitchen last week. That’s also his brand of deodorant, as well as his mouthwash, aftershave, and toothpaste sitting on the vanity countertop.
I’m too busy trying to process everything that I’m caught off guard when Jase hands me a large, worn white t-shirt splattered in black and red paint stains.
“There’s about a hundred and ten percent chance this will get messy,” he clarifies with a grin. “I promise to find you something better when we’re done.”
Yeah, since I’m still wearing the clothes Aria lent me earlier, I especially don’t want to ruin them, so I disappear into the bathroom to change, where I also spot Jase’s shampoo and conditioner inside the shower.
Everything that had been missing from his bedroom back at my family’s place ishere. That much is clear.
But the question iswhy?
