Speakeasy (True North #5)(25)

“How was it?” Griffin asks as I come through the kitchen door forty minutes later. He’s sitting on a stool at the kitchen table, flipping through a seed catalog and sipping a pint of cider.

“Fine.” I can hear the strain of the lie in my voice. Sorry, Alec.

He was so much better than fine. But how crazy am I? Attacking Alec was an insane thing to do. I am acting just as nutty as my family expects me to.

My brother is staring at me, waiting for more details. And I realize that I left my brain in Alec’s truck, along with my dignity.

“Um…” What were we talking about? “The dean gave a very boring speech.”

“Was the bitch there?” That’s Griff’s name for Daniela. Nobody misses a chance to trash her. They used to say these things behind my back, but now they don’t bother to hide their disdain.

What they don’t understand is that I feel like a bigger idiot every time they do.

“Daniela was there. We didn’t speak.”

“And Alec?” Griff peers at me over the rim of his cider glass. The amber liquid is screaming my name. “Did he have fun?”

Did he ever. “Alec was cool,” I say, hoping my face doesn’t turn bright red. “He got the bartender to make me a mocktail.”

“That’s nice of him.”

“Uh-huh.”

I unzip my only sexy pair of boots and turn my attention to wiggling out of them. I can’t believe I just boinked Alec in the front seat of his truck. Who does that? “Why are you hanging around the kitchen, anyway?” I ask my brother. He should be home at the bungalow with Audrey. It’s almost like my family is taking shifts, and it’s his turn to look in on me.

“Our washer isn’t working, so I’m doing a load here.” He jerks a thumb toward the utility room.

“Oh.” Then again, maybe I’m a wee bit paranoid.

“Want to watch an episode of Mrs. Maisel?” my brother asks. And there’s my proof that the whole family is worried about me. Griffin never volunteers to watch anything without a space ship or Hobbits in it. He’s basically martyring himself right now.

“Kinda tired,” I say. Riding your friend in his vehicle was exhausting. “I think I’ll just go read.”

“Goodnight, May,” Griffin says. “Sleep well.”

“Thanks, you too,” I mumble, making my escape.

After I tuck myself into bed, I don’t even bother opening my book. I shut off the light, instead. Unfortunately, sleep doesn’t come easily. I lay there in bed, just cringing from embarrassment.

Worse, I’m also turned on. That was some sweaty, desperate sex we had tonight. It will be hard to forget.

Sex with a dude. Now there’s something I never thought I’d do again. Am I on the rebound or what? Men aren’t part of my life plan.

Then again, my life plan never works out.

My phone buzzes with a text, the screen casting a sudden bright beam into the dark.

Naturally, the text is from Alec. Hey. Did you make it home okay?

Uh-oh. I don’t want to talk to him. But if I ignore that friendly text, it’s just rude.

On the other hand, I don’t know how to compose a reply. If I thank him for a wonderful time, it sounds like I planned the sweaty truck sex. If I apologize, that’s weird, too.

What to say?

Yep. All is well, here. Thanks for checking on me. That’s the best I can come up with.

You were pretty quiet on the way home. Hope I didn’t complicate your life.

No, sir! I do that pretty well without your help. I’m trying to decide on a further response when he texts me again.

Anyway, here’s a goodnight joke for you. Ready?

Ready, I reply. I want to kiss him for changing the subject. Except I kissed him earlier and look what happened next.

The Barman says, “We don’t serve time travelers in here.” A time traveler walks into a bar.

Oh, man. :) That is the worst joke ever, and I still prefer it to discussing our earlier activities.

Goodnight, May.

Goodnight, Alec.





I spend the rest of the week making saner, wiser choices. I get up every morning, extract a set of lawyer’s clothes from my cramped closet and head to work. But I must be acting a little loopy, because my office mate and mentor—Rita—gently asks me if there’s something on my mind. “Yo! Chickie! Where is your brain? You keep staring out that window like you’re waiting for the aliens to come back and return you to your home planet.”

That’s Rita at her most polite.

“Sorry!” I yank my attention back into the room. “Did you need something?”

“I’m referring another real estate closing to you,” she says, kicking her hiking boots up on the desk and pulling a nail file out of her bag. “Check your inbox. Closing date is in January.”

“Thank you! I’ll get right on it.” We both think real estate closings are dull, but Rita is semi-retired and has the luxury of passing them to me. Whereas I have to take every little job that comes my way.

When Rita decides to retire permanently, I’ll get a lot more of her business. But it won’t be worth it. She’s too entertaining.

“So what’s your damage, anyway?” she asks me. “Besides your breakup woes. You haven’t heard from her, have you?”