Her Dirty Bartenders (Men at Work #5) - Mika Lane Page 0,2

my wedding at the last minute, she dutifully called each guest, apologized, and ensured them that their gifts would be returned.

“So, let’s go outside. I want to see what happened to your car,” she said, standing.

I wrinkled my nose. “We’re in our pajamas.”

She shrugged. “Nobody here cares. Plus, I’m friends with most everyone in the complex. So, c’mon.”

I followed her outside to the guest parking spot she’d directed me to, and got a lump in my throat when I looked at my poor car.

Something white caught my eye and I peered in the window at the registration citation I’d forgotten. I opened the car and tried to snatch it before Marni saw it. She already felt sorry enough for me.

“You got a ticket, too?”

I tried to hide my crumpling face in the dim light of the parking lot, and I might have if a stifled sob hadn’t given me away.

“Oh, sweetie,” Marni said, rubbing my arm. “Let’s go back inside. You’ll feel better soon. You've had a lot going on. First, Vaughn, now this.”

“But… you don’t… under… stand,” I wailed.

She slung an arm around my shoulders. “What? What don’t I understand?”

I buried my face in my hands as the tears flowed. “I… I don’t know how… I’ll get to LA now. This car repair is going to take the last of my… money.”

I figured insurance would pay for the repairs, but who knew how long that sort of thing took. I’d probably have to pay up front to get the car fixed.

“Every… thing… is so… fucked up,” I sniffled.

“Okay. Let’s get back inside.”

She led me like the pathetic thing I was.

She sat me down in her living room, and paced the floor in front of me. “You’ll stay in Denver with me while you get back on your feet. Stay as long as you want.”

My mother had always said fish and company started to stink after three days.

I didn’t want to stink. I loved my friendship with Marni way too much for that.

“Maybe you can find some temporary work here, and earn a little money before you move on.”

Ugh. Doing what? I’d just left my short-lived profession as a kindergarten teacher. I didn’t mind the kids, but I felt like more of a babysitter than a teacher. And then there were the dads who always hit on me.

I had big plans for LA. I was going to become a yoga instructor and live on the beach. I’d probably see celebrities all the time, and eat gobs of good sushi.

At least that was the plan. But instead, here I was, stuck halfway across the country.

Her generosity moved me, regardless. “Thank you, Marn. That’s so generous. But I don’t know.”

She threw her hands in the air. “What’s not to know? You’ll stay here until you have a little money saved, and then continue on your journey.”

I looked up to find her wearing her ‘case closed’ expression.

The problem was, I didn’t want to stay in Denver any longer than I had to. It seemed nice and all, except for the fender bender and ticket I’d gotten the moment I arrived in the city limits, but I wanted palm trees and sunshine. And white sandy beaches.

That was my plan. Hanging out in Denver was not. And no one loved a good plan more than I did.

But maybe I shouldn’t rush to judgment. The truth was, I didn’t know a damn thing about Denver, except that my best friend from childhood, Marni, lived there.

It was the first time I’d seen her in probably three—or was it four—years? Her trips to Philly, our hometown, had become less and less frequent over time thanks to the demands of her difficult father and disinterested mother.

“Just sleep on it, okay?” she asked sweetly.

God, if I wasn’t careful, I’d start bawling all over again.

“So tell me,” she said, clapping her hands and changing the subject, “how’s the congressman?”

The congressman. Also known as my dad.

I shrugged. “As self-absorbed as ever. Bitter about the humiliation of his daughter bailing on her wedding. And pissed about all the money it cost him.”

Marni scrunched up her face. “Would he rather you marry the wrong person?”

Did she really even need to ask that?

“Yes. Yes, he would. Plus, he seemed to like Vaughn. Maybe he’ll adopt him and disown me.”

She shook her head. “Families. Always a shit show.”

She should know.

“The press was hounding me. It was awful,” I said.

“What? Why did the press give a shit about your wedding? Or non-wedding?”

I shrugged one shoulder “Some election