The Girl I Was Before (Falling #3)(16)
“Paige Owens. She’s this pain-in-the-ass customer of mine,” I say, chewing at my lip wondering what else to say about her.
“She’s hot, dude,” he says, climbing back to his feet, to set up the next set at his table.
“Yeah…she is,” I say, my voice low enough I know he didn’t hear. I said it out loud, though, so it counts. I’m not too chicken to admit it. Paige Owens is hot. But she’s still a pain in the ass.
Casey lets me set up a series of mixes after the first hour, and after his touch, they don’t sound too bad. I work on some of the connections for him, making my computer jive with his equipment, then head to the restrooms in the back while we have a small break.
I’m in the back hallway thinking about what an easy gig this is for a thousand bucks when a mountain of a fist smashes into my jaw. My head flails to the right, bumping into the wall with enough force that I’m pretty sure I’m going to have a cartoon-type goose egg on my head in the morning.
“What the fu—” I’m about to protest when a second punch comes at me. I’m more prepared for this one, so I block most of its force, wobbling on my feet and getting my bearings back. My eyes finally focus on a very drunk, very big Carson standing in front of me. It might just be the effects of his punch, but I swear he looks like Popeye. His blond hair and barely-there beard frame his round face, and his body looks like it could crush me—and I’m not small.
“You see that girl right there?” I look around, and there are at least thirty people jammed into this tight space, all looking at us. I know who he means, but I’m not going to make this easy for him—not after he blindsided me with his knuckles!
“There are…lots of girls here?” I say, rubbing my jaw, but keeping my guard up. If he hits me again, I’ll be ready. And I have a feeling I might surprise him.
“Dude, don’t play that shit with me!” He comes at me, and I step back, raising my fist. He quickly moves his hand to my shoulder, turning me to face the back corner, where Paige and another girl are leaning, both of their mouths open, a little shocked at this ridiculous scene. “That. One! Right there! Red dress. Big tits.”
Okay, I’m done with whatever Twilight Zone episode this is I’ve walked into. “I’m sorry…which one do you mean?” I ask, just to be a dick. My eyes fall on Paige’s for a brief second, and she sneers at me. Seriously? I’m the one out of place here?
I feel his shove come from behind, and I falter a few steps in her direction, catching my balance with my arms stretched out on both walls. She sighs heavily, handing her drink to her friend.
“Carson, knock it off! What are you doing?” she says, looking around me. Her hands are on her hips while she confronts her unleashed boyfriend.
“I’m telling sandwich boy here to keep his hands off of what’s mine!” he yells. Out of everything he says, sandwich boy is actually what pisses me off the most. I spin around quickly, catching him by complete surprise, and punch him squarely in the nose. The blood comes fast. I shake my hand at my side, and flex my fingers. That felt both good and really f*cking terrible at the same time.
“She is not your property, *! And you’re way out of line. I’ve barely talked to her tonight…in fact, ever! So if you could just get the hell out of my way, I’d like to go take a piss now,” I say, pointing to the men’s room door behind him. There’s blood on my shirt, and that ticks me off, too. I have, like, four really nice shirts, and this is one of them. I hate this guy!
“Then why am I getting texts all night from people telling me you and her have a thing going? This one had these pictures, of you and her meeting up at the library.” He’s holding the phone out, like I can actually make out a postage-stamp sized photo from six feet away…after taking a few punches.
“Let me see your phone,” Paige says, brushing past me. Carson pulls it away at first, but she grabs his wrist and jerks the phone from him. He doesn’t fight her, but he looks at her with such contempt, I almost want to punch him again for no reason. Or maybe she is my reason. Why am I so involved in this?
“Who sent you this?” she asks, and Carson bunches his brow, pulling his eyes in and shaking his head.
“I don’t know, but I’ve gotten six or seven of them, just in the last half hour,” he says, grabbing the phone back from her to slide to another photo. He hands it back and she taps on his screen, her lips moving as she says the number. She takes over, tapping on his phone more, and holding her hand up when he reaches in to stop her. Putting the phone on her ear, she cups the other side so she can hear clearly. After a few seconds, her eyes close. She shuts the phone, and hands it back to him, shoving it at his chest, then turns to walk away. Her eyes catch me as she passes. For a split second, I think she’s telepathically apologizing for all of this.
“Hey!” Carson yells. I don’t turn to him, instead keeping my eyes on her. She downs the rest of her drink and hands her glass back to the girl standing next to her, then adjusts the strap of her purse on her shoulder, never acknowledging the shouts coming from the guy who thinks he owns her.
“I said hey!” he shouts again, and I can tell by the tone in his voice that he’s embarrassed that she’s ignoring him. Paige is incredibly calm, smoothing out the back of her dress, pulling it lower on her legs, careful to make sure she’s still covered. She may be hot, but she’s also a lady. I think that’s what I notice most. She whispers something to the girl standing by her, then takes a few steps toward the bar, toward the exit. “Hey, you stupid bitch!”