Her Dirty Bartenders (Men at Work #5) - Mika Lane Page 0,25

It wasn’t easy to hide a car.

Or was it?

I drove straight to Marni’s and found a spot in the far back of the parking lot where people rarely left their cars because of the leaves and other crap the overhanging trees dropped. That might just work.

It was a little dishonest to not tell her my car was out of the shop. Maybe a lot dishonest. But I eventually would. I just wanted a few days to think through my next steps and develop a new plan.

Because I loved a plan.

I’d ask her if I could hang around long enough to take the yoga teacher training at Altitude. And if I kept working my butt off like I had been, I could even offer her some money for rent. Not that she’d take it.

I’d do anything to keep from having to ask my parents for money, that was for certain. Everything with them came at a price, and with Dad’s reelection looming, god only knew what they’d expect of me.

After I’d successfully ‘hidden’ my car, it was time to get ready for work. It was going to be a busy night, and I was looking forward to making good money. I’d bought special insoles for my sneakers to cushion my feet. I was good to go.

I let myself into Marni’s apartment, stopping for a moment once inside to take a deep inhalation. It always smelled so good there, partly because of the roses she kept in vases, and partly from the yummy lotions and reed diffuser air fresheners she bought from the local fancy pharmacy.

I grabbed my work shirt from the dryer—the black logo’d polo shirt that all the Tableau employees wore—and went back to my room to put on a little makeup. Just as I was changing, I heard water splash.

It had come from my bathroom.

Oh no. Was there a leak? Had the toilet overflowed?

Ugh. I knew nothing about plumbing.

Or was there an intruder?

An intruder who splashed water?

I looked at the door. I could easily run.

But I was mad at the world, and ready for a fight.

My heart started to pound. I looked around for some sort of weapon and only came up with the heavy glass bowl that sat on my dresser. It would have to do. I hoisted it over my head, and tiptoed toward the bathroom.

I could do this.

When I was just outside the door, there was another small splash, followed by the sound of a man clearing his throat.

Oh my god. Was this the day I was going to die?

I screwed up my courage, ready to go on the big time offensive to take out whomever I had to.

Raising the heavy bowl over my head, I charged the bathroom.

“I'll kill you with this,” I screamed, getting ready to swing.

“Wait. Please.”

What the fucking fuck?

There was a man in my bathtub, his arms raised over his head in a defensive posture.

“Vaughn? Is that you? WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU DOING HERE?”

He peeked up at me, where he sat surrounded by bubbles.

“Don’t hit me. Please,” he winced.

I continued to hold the bowl up in the air. I didn’t care that he wasn’t an intruder, per se. I still didn’t want him there, and it would have been within my rights to smash him over the head.

At least I thought so.

“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HERE?” I screamed.

“Gimmee the bowl, Stell. Here. Hand it to me,” he said, his wet arms reaching for it.

“No! You get out of that goddamn tub, and out of this apartment now.”

He stood up, the water rivuleting down his hairy naked body.

Did I really used to sleep with this guy? Ew.

Stepping out, he reached for a towel and wrapped it around his midsection, dripping water all over the place, just like he had when we’d lived together.

“Calm down, Stell,” he said, holding his hands up like a criminal.

“How did you get in here?” I snapped.

“Marni. Marni let me in,” he said, continuing to shrink away from the bowl in my swinging arm.

Marni? She knew he was here? And she let him in our fucking home? Oh, she was going to hear about this.

I suddenly didn’t feel so badly for misleading her about my car.

“Well, get the hell out,” I yelled. “You are not welcome here.”

He rushed past me into the bedroom and down the hall to Marni’s second guest bedroom. Where his shit was scattered all over the place.

He’d really made himself at home. Fucker.

“Pick this shit up and get out.”

He dropped his towel and began