I was, however, pumped for my first vacation this year. I’d been approved for a week off in the spring, and I could already picture my time in New Zealand: crisp blue skies, snow-capped mountains, the sensation of weightlessness as I free fell and the adrenaline rush that set my body alive whenever I indulged in one of my favorite adventure sports.
“Shut up.” Clara groaned. “I’m so jealous. Which hikes are you going to do?”
I’d done extensive research on the best hikes in the country, and I regaled her with my plans until the bartender returned and she got distracted. Since I didn’t want to cockblock—or pussyblock, in this case—I focused on my drink and the Wizards vs. Raptors basketball game on TV.
I was about to order another beer when a soft female voice interrupted me.
“Is this seat taken?”
I turned, taking in the cute blonde I’d made eye contact with earlier. I hadn’t noticed her leave her spot at the bar, but now she stood so close I could see the faint smattering of freckles across her nose.
Habit kicked in, and I flashed a lazy smile that caused the blonde to blush. “It’s all yours.”
The whole hookup song and dance was so familiar by now I barely had to try. Everything was muscle memory. Buy her a drink, ask her about herself, listen attentively—or appear to do so—with the occasional nod and appropriate interjection, brush my hand against hers to establish physical contact.
It used to be thrilling, but now I did it because…well, I wasn’t sure. Because it was what I’d always done, I guess.
“…want to be a vet…”
I nodded again, struggling not to yawn. What the hell was wrong with me?
Robin, the blonde, was hot and willing to take this somewhere private, if her hand on my upper thigh was any indication. Her childhood adventures in horseback riding weren’t exactly riveting, but I was usually good at finding at least one interesting tidbit in every conversation.
Maybe it was me. Boredom was my constant companion these days, and I didn’t know how to get rid of the bastard.
The parties I went to were the same old, same old. My hookups were unsatisfying. My dates were chores. The only time I felt anything was when I was in the ER.
I glanced at Clara. She was still flirting with the bartender, who was actively ignoring her customers and staring at Clara with an enamored expression.
“…can’t decide if I want a Pomeranian or Chihuahua…” Robin droned on.
“Pomeranians sound nice.” I made a show of checking my watch before saying, “Hey, I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to pick up my cousin from the airport.” It wasn’t the best excuse, but it was the first one I could think of.
Robin’s face fell. “Oh, okay. Maybe we can meet up sometime.” She scribbled her number on a napkin and pushed it into my hand. “Call me.”
I responded with a noncommittal smile. I didn’t like promising things I couldn’t fulfill.
Have fun, I mouthed at Clara on my way out. She shook her head and gave me a small smirk before shifting her attention back to the bartender.
It was my quickest exit from a bar in a while. I wasn’t upset about how the night turned out. Clara and I often went drinking together and split when we got…distracted, but now I had to figure out where to go.
It was still early, and I didn’t want to return home yet. I also didn’t want to hit up one of the other bars lining the street in case Robin went bar hopping later.
Fuck it. I’ll finish watching the game at the dive spot near my house. Beer and TV were beer and TV, no matter where they were located. Hopefully, the metro was running on time so I wouldn’t miss the rest of the game.
I turned the corner onto the quiet street leading to the metro station. I made it halfway when I spotted a flash of red hair and a familiar purple coat in the alleyway next to an out-of-business shoe store.
My steps slowed. What the hell was Jules still doing here? She’d left a good twenty minutes before me.
Then I noticed the glint of metal in her hand. A gun—pointed straight at the scraggly, bearded man in front of her.
“What the fuck?” My words echoed in the empty street and bounced off the shuttered storefronts in disbelief.
Maybe I fell asleep at the bar and entered the Twilight Zone, because the scene in front of me didn’t make any fucking sense.
Where the hell did Jules get a gun?
Jules shifted positions so she could look at me without taking her eyes off the man. A threadbare beanie sat on top of his longish brown hair, and a black coat that was two sizes too big hung on his skinny frame.
“He tried to mug me,” she said matter-of-factly.
Beanie glared at her resentfully but was smart enough to keep his mouth shut.
I pinched my temple, hoping it would jolt me out of whatever alternate reality I’d stepped into. Nope. Still fucking here. “And I assume that’s his gun?”
I was somehow not surprised Jules had turned the tables on her would-be mugger. If she got kidnapped, the kidnapper would probably return her within the hour due to sheer irritation.
“Yes, Sherlock.” Jules’s hand tightened on the weapon. “I called the police. They’re on the way.”
As if on cue, the wail of sirens sliced through the air.
Beanie stiffened, his eyes darting around with wild panic.
“Don’t even think about it,” Jules warned. “Or I’ll shoot. I don’t bluff.”
“She’ll do it,” I told him. “One time I saw her nail a guy in the ass with a Smith & Wesson because he stole a bag of chips from her.” I lowered my voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. “She takes hangry to another level.”
The situation was already absurd enough. I might as well play into it.
Like I said, I was bored.
Jules’s mouth twitched at my fabrication before her face resettled into a stern frown.
Beanie’s eyes widened. “You serious?” His gaze ping-ponged between us. “How do you two know each other? You banging?”
Jules and I recoiled in unison.
Either Beanie asked such a stupid, out-of-place question to distract us, or he wanted to make me throw up. If it was the latter, he was close to succeeding. My stomach churned like a cement mixer on overdrive.
“I would never. Look at him.” Jules gestured at me with her free hand. “Like I would ever touch that.”
Beanie squinted at me. “What’s wrong with him?”
“I wouldn’t let you touch me if you offered to pay off all my med school loans,” I growled.
I didn’t care if Jules Ambrose was the last woman in the world. She was one person I’d never sleep with. Ever.
She ignored me. “You ever hear the saying, the bigger the ego, the smaller the penis?” she asked Beanie. “Applies to him.”
“Oh. That sucks.” Beanie glanced at me with sympathy. “Sorry, dude.”
A vein throbbed in my temple. I opened my mouth to inform her I would rather douse myself in bleach than allow her anywhere near my penis, but the slam of a car door interrupted me.
A cop the size of the Hulk got out with his gun drawn. “Freeze! Drop your weapon.”
I groaned and almost pinched my temple again before I caught myself.
For fuck’s sake.