Hard Pass by Sara Ney Page 0,18
me now.” Sure, I’m being a little overdramatic, but dramatic is how I’m feeling with no desire to rein it in. My friend might have my back when it counts, but he sure did shit in my cereal bowl today. Took a big dump in it and didn’t bother cleaning it up.
“Wait—are you saying she’s butthurt because I put the moves on her?” His brows are raised, as if he’s genuinely perplexed by the notion that a woman might possibly react in an adverse way.
Stereotypical spoiled jock.
“Put the moves on her?” I move, jerking open the fridge and staring inside. I’m not confrontational, but I want to punch him in his arrogant face, so instead, I stare at the glowing shelves of my Sub-Zero, seething. “Sounded more like you propositioned a hooker at a truck stop.”
“Huh?” He has no idea what I’m talking about.
I slam the fridge shut, stalking back over to the counter, a caged tiger with nowhere to go.
“She told me you implied she could suck your cock.”
Wallace doesn’t even blink. “I might have made a joke about blowing, but it was just a joke.”
“Who the fuck makes jokes about that to a stranger?” Oh, that’s right—he does. “Well newsflash, fucker, she doesn’t want to sell me the rest of her card collection because you creeped her out. She has morals, apparently, and doesn’t want her grandfather’s legacy belonging to a total pervert.”
“Morals.” He considers this, thinking hard. “Oh, you mean her moral compass won’t let her sell you the cards based on principle, not because she doesn’t still need the money.”
What kind of idiot savant am I dealing with here? Christ almighty, this guy. While all other concepts seem foreign to him, he latches onto this one immediately.
“I get it. And I’m sorry—my bad.” Funny thing is, he does genuinely look apologetic. “What are you going to do?”
“Uh, excuse me? What am I going to do?” My eyes bore holes into his skull. “Don’t you mean what are you going to do? You got me into this mess—you get me out of it.”
“Hey man, I was doing you a favor—you’re the one who didn’t want to go, which makes no fucking sense. If you want something done right, do it yourself. I’m not your errand boy.”
He doesn’t get it. He’s a fucking god among mere mortals; they all fall at his feet. Everyone else disappears when Buzz Wallace waltzes into the room, myself included.
“Please. If I can arrange it, will you just help me out one more time? If I can smooth it over and get her to sell me another card?”
I have the card I want, but now it’s a matter of principle—just like he said before—and I won’t let this rest until the entire collection is mine. Even if I have to beg. Even if…
“Fine, but then that’s it. Fight your own battles and stop being a pussy about it.” Buzz cocks his head and considers me. “Why didn’t you want to meet her to get the card, anyway? What’s the big deal?”
I’m not explaining it to him—he wouldn’t get it. I also don’t want to listen to him riding my ass or making fun of me, which he absolutely would do if I told him I didn’t want to meet Miranda because I was developing a weird, anonymous crush on her. I didn’t want to meet her because I didn’t want to feel the crushing blow of rejection.
All this over someone I haven’t met.
And now it’s likely I never will, because Wallace has to go finish the job he screwed up.
“It’s not a big deal, but she’s already met you and then I don’t have to explain.”
“Real mature, Harding. Women love being lied to.” He pauses. “Not.”
“Right. They just love being molested in parking lots instead.”
His hands go up defensively. “Hey, I didn’t touch her! It was just words—no harm, no foul.”
“The police station parking lot isn’t a nightclub, dipshit.”
He grabs an apple from the fruit bowl on my counter, bites, and chews. “Speaking of nightclubs, we’re going out on Saturday.”
“No we’re not.”
“Yeah we are. Davis from the Blues invested in that club downtown and he wants us to come see it, so we’re going.” He begins walking to the mudroom, exiting stage left.
Grant Davis is a linebacker for the Chicago Blues football team and a friend of ours. Young, hungry, and a great goddamn guy, he wouldn’t understand why I wasn’t at his club, especially if they’re all there celebrating.
Baseman couldn’t come—he’s at