"Thanks for letting me know." My stomach drops like a stone. This is inevitable. Obvious. But it feels like a surprise.

"I'm sorry, Mr. Williams."

"Don't worry about it." My fingers curl into a fist. I press my cell to my cheek. There's nothing else to say. Nothing that will change this. Still, I'm not going to shoot the messenger. "Thanks for your help." I end the call and slide my phone into my front pocket.

The cool air gets hot.

The sounds of the party flow into my ears. Laughter. Conversation. Booming bass.

Bullshit.

It's all bullshit.

This isn't fun.

It's toxic.

The loud music fails to fill my head.

To drown out the thought running through my mind.

Again?

She pulled this shit again.

I'm surprised again.

My heart is a lead weight again.

I'm not taking this anymore.

She's on her own.

She wants to destroy herself. Fine.

I'm done being collateral damage.

I take a deep breath and let out a heavy exhale. Peel my shoulders from my ears. Perfect my poker face.

I step through the open door. Back into Sandy's living room.

She's over the moon. Dancing with her boyfriend, amber beer bottle pressed to her bright pink lips.

We're here to celebrate their new place, them moving in together. I'm happy for them. Really.

Love is great for other people.

I'm not interested.

Don't get me wrong. I love women. I love planting between a woman's legs, throwing her on my bed, getting her screaming my name.

But that's where my relationships stop and end.

Sandy's eyes catch mine. She pulls the bottle from her lips. Mouths you okay?

I nod of course. I will be. As soon as I find someone to get me out of my head.

I grab a plastic cup from the bar and fill it with room temperature whiskey. It's not good shit. It burns my throat.

Someone is behind me. Pressing her chest against me. "Are you okay, Walker?"

I turn to face a pretty woman with a red pout. One of Bree's friends. An old one. Her name escapes me.

"Fine, yeah." I take another swig. Let the drink sand off the rough edges. I'm a hypocrite, yeah, but it's necessary.

"How is Bree? I haven't seen her in forever."

"She's Bree." And this conversation is over. I nod a goodbye and move through the makeshift dance floor. The song flows into the next one. I think. I can't tell this music apart.

Friends chat on the couch.

A couple is sitting in the arm chair, making out.

A woman is leaning against the wall, her fingers wrapped around her plastic cup, her lips curled into a frown.

She looks as miserable as I feel.

And as desperate to be somewhere else.

Perfect.

I move closer. She's curvy. Pretty. Dark hair in one of those asymmetrical cuts. Like Leighton's, but shorter. Blue eyes. Soft lips.

She looks smart. Serious. Like a suit.

But there's something else about her. The tight jeans, the leather jacket, the purple gem hanging between her tits.

Fuck, she has nice tits.

There goes my train of thought.

Good riddance.

I move next to her. Copy her stance.

She looks to me. Gives me a long once-over. It's slow. Deliberate.

I bring my glass to my lips. "Let me in on your secret. This is where the cool kids hang."

"What makes you think I'm a cool kid?" She taps her glass with her purple fingernail.

"I don't."

"You don't?"

"Not yet. Just want to make sure I'm in the right place."

She laughs. "Because you're cool?"

"You think otherwise?" I run a hand through my wavy hair. This is easy mode shit, but I'm not in the mood for a challenge tonight.

"I spend most of my time with PhD candidates. My cool scale is skewed."

"What are you studying?"

She stares back into my eyes, assessing something. She nods like she's sure. "Psychology. If you want a fighting chance don't make a dumb comment about it."

"A fighting chance?"

"At taking me home."

I laugh. "You have me figured out?"

She takes a long sip of her drink. "Just that."

"You don't like people making comments about you studying psychology but you guess their motivations."

"Are you suggesting there's a correlation?"

"It's possible."

Her lips curl into a smile. Her eyes fix on my chest. My forearms. My eyes. "And you…"

"And I…"

"What do you do?"

"Does it matter?"

She laughs. "No."

"How do you know Sandy?"

"I live next door."

"You want to get out of here?"

She finishes her glass. Her eyes fix on mine. She nods. "Yeah."

I take her hand and lead her to the door.