Pressure came, and now we’re getting dinner tonight.
It’s probably the bad idea Annabelle thinks it is.
But it’s just dinner, I tell myself to keep the fear down.
It’s just dinner.
Blinking away thoughts of that night, black windows come into view again.
It’s just dinner.
It’s not a night that will lead to his fingers tightening around my throat until I can’t breathe.
I can barely breathe now, air stalling in my lungs as I feel the phantom touch. My gelled nails, courtesy of Annabelle, trace there.
It’s just dinner.
It isn’t him returning here because the doubts that he hasn’t changed are still in my head, along with thoughts of Lucky, who has his own girlfriend he’s hurt.
If last night had played out differently, I wouldn’t have given in to Shane’s messages.
I move back to the porch where I’d left my drink and take a sip of the bubble tea Annabelle picked up in town this morning when she stopped by for the paint stripper. It’s a little sweeter than I usually get, and it goes straight to my head as I re-read Lucky’s texts from last night.
Lucky:
Where have you disappeared to?
Don’t worry about Valaria. It’s not what you think.
I promise.
God, all men must be trained in lying because the look on that woman’s face last night—the pure rage—it’s hard to believe it could be anything else.
And I want nothing to do with that.
Clicking the settings at the top of my phone screen, I hesitate, but I block his number.
It was a one-week fling. A rebound to make me feel better that ended up making me feel awful.
And it’s done.
Shoving my phone back into my pocket, I glance up at the sound of a bark.
Bubbles lingers in the doorway with her arms around Ambrose’s waist. It almost looks like she’s smiling at me, with her pretty face tilted and her tongue out. I can’t help but smile.
My smile drops when my eyes rise up over dark clothes to see the clown makeup again. I step back, slipping down the steps and twisting my ankle as I create a safe distance between me and Ambrose.
I don’t fail to notice Bubbles shifts from his waist as his hand comes out to reach for me.
Those red lips move, asking silently,You okay?
My head bobs, and I shake off the spilled tea from my hands.
In one of my hoodies, Annabelle squeezes her way around the pair, accidentally brushing against Ambrose.
Wide eyes flick to her, and Ambrose jumps back, his spine and all those fresh scars hitting the solid doorframe.
The look on his face makes me think he’d kill her if he could avoid going back to prison.
