Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths, #4)(18)

Getting fired right out of law school would look terrible. Good luck finding another job in Miami after something like that, and I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future. My mama needs at least one of her children to stay close.

“And if he caught you with Reese . . .” Mason goes on, shaking his head.

Slapping my buddy over his shoulder, I promise, “Point made, and don’t worry. I told you, those days are over. Plus, something tells me that girl’s pride won’t let her give me the time of day.” Getting puked on isn’t something I strive for when I bring a girl back to my hotel room, but shit happens when you’re pounding booze. Hell, two weeks ago I was on a stage with Mercy’s thong on, my nut sac hanging out for all to see. Not one of my finer moments, but I’ll survive. Something tells me stuff doesn’t slide off Reese’s shoulders as fast, though. And maybe it’s not even the puking. I did watch her crawl naked across the floor, too. And I laughed at her while she was doing it. I don’t think most women would appreciate being laughed at in that situation. Even Kacey would probably beat me senseless, and she takes it like the best of them.

Mason’s mouth opens but he hesitates, a sour expression twisting his face. “What’d you do to her?”

I lift my hands in surrender. “It’s not about what I did to her.”

He’s on his feet and marching forward, shaking his head. “Just don’t tease her, Ben. You’ll regret it.”

Shit. Not teasing her about this is going to be really hard for me, seeing as that’s what I do best. Besides, I owe her for not letting me shower in my own damn bathroom. “Hey,” I call out and ask on a hunch, “what’d you do to piss her off so bad?”

His feet slow and I hear his heavy sigh as he turns, a guilty look plastered across his face. “I said some stupid stuff about her father.”





Chapter 7




REESE





“You really should try the key lime. We’re famous for it,” the waitress suggests with a smile as she places my order for a slice of chocolate pecan pie in front of me.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I answer, just like I’ve answered a dozen times before, eyeing the perfectly intact pecan halves that decorate the top of my sliver. It isn’t easy, finding a chocolate pecan pie. Sure, everyone’s got a pecan pie on the menu. It’s the chocolate that makes it unique. The pie is the reason I started coming to the Bayside Café six months ago. Remembering my borderline obsession for this particular flavor, Jack introduced me to it. The place has quickly become my safe haven.

And since starting at Warner—only a few blocks away—I’m here several times a week. It has a beautiful waterfront patio with teakwood tables and royal-blue umbrellas, crammed with palm trees and plants of all sizes, enough to make it feel like a jungle that you can hide in, which is exactly what I’m doing tonight, with my newspaper crossword puzzle and a law textbook.

I couldn’t bear being in the office anymore. Natasha kept poking her head around my door, Ben in tow, asking for this deposition or that contract. And as much as I kept my eyes averted, I still managed to see him at least a dozen times today.

I’d be lying if I said that Ben’s not an extremely attractive guy. Now that I’m sober, I can attest to that wholeheartedly. My only saving grace is that I’m too busy trying to block out my embarrassing memories to be in any danger of tripping over myself like half the women seemed to be doing today. It was pathetic. Even Natasha seemed more bubbly than normal. And the dimpled smiles he flashed each one of them tells me he loved every second of the fawning.

The first forkful of pie is sliding into my mouth when my phone comes alive with the sound of minions singing the banana song.

“Happy Monday,” I mutter into the phone.

“I hate numbers.”

“It’s a good thing you won’t be dealing with them on a daily basis for the next forty years, then.” Lina finished her undergrad degree last spring and passed her CPA exam with flying colors. Now she’s working at a small accounting firm down the street to collect a year of experience before she can apply for her license.

“What are you doing?” she asks.

“Hiding from karma at Bayside.”

“Don’t drink the coffee,” she warns.

“Too late,” I mutter, swirling the last bit of the toxic substance in my mug. Every time I come here, I order a cup to go with my chocolate pecan pie. It’s habit, I guess. There’s no other explanation. The coffee is weak, it has a salty aftertaste, and there’s always a weird film at the bottom of the cup. No one with taste buds would like this crap.

With a heavy sigh, I divulge the horror of my day.

“So Mason is friends with your botched exorcism,” she states flatly. I can always count on Lina to lay it out like it is. No beating around the bush. No softening the blow. “What did the guy say to you?”

“That I owe him a new shirt.”

She snorts. “Well, he’s got you there.”

“Thanks.”

“Maybe I’ll take a break and swing by. We can mock people together,” Lina offers. Another plus to this job: having my best friend only four blocks away from me.

“Don’t bother. I’ve been here for two hours. I actually have to go back to the office. The law bot dumped three new cases on my desk today.”