That’s what I kept telling myself. At least until I dropped the entire tray of frosted cupcakes on the floor. Count backward from ten. Everything will be fine.

Chapter Five

By that night I was practically climbing out of my skin. I needed the release that my monthly date nights provided. They were rough, dirty, and more than a little unsafe—but they were on my terms. Without my fix I felt panicked and jumpy.

It must have showed, because Shelly took one look at me and told me to drop Bailey back off before her bedtime. I said no and took Bailey to the park, then to the library, anything to distract us both from the anxiety that threatened to tear me apart. In the end I gave in, tucking Bailey into Shelly’s bed and singing her to sleep before heading out to the club.

As I entered the building, the stench of stale alcohol and sweat hit me. I took a deep breath, a drag. Unsteady on my heels, I wove through the crowd toward the bar. Without planning it, I ended up where Colin had sat last time, and I felt an irrational pang of disappointment to find the bar stool empty. I sat there instead, my ass where his had been, nostalgic over some dirty, cracked plastic.

I signaled the bartender for my usual, but it burned on the way down. I glanced around, feeling cornered, even though I was right in the middle. Everything—the bar, the people, the strobing lights—was covered with a film of grime and dirt and shame. No, that didn’t make sense. It was me.

A hard body pressed against me from behind. Some part of my brain flickered with hope that it was Colin. But the body pressed harder, grinding its erection into my back, and I knew it wasn’t him. Not that I could recognize his cock print, just that it was too cheesy of a move for him. Too aggressive.

The acrid scent of sweat wafted from behind me. I started to turn, but hands clasped around my waist and squeezed.

“Where do you think you’re going?” a rasping voice whispered in my ear. Cold lips slid down the side of my neck, leaving a trail of wetness like a slug.

I shivered. He chuckled.

At the other end of the bar the bartender was serving a group. If I screamed, he would probably hear me, even over the racket of music. He’d help, maybe.