So I made a boo boo. I accidentally fucked the numbering up in my document, and therefore both this chapter and the one before was labeled as "22", when this one is actually 23.
I was wondering why you all were so worried about where Jane went, when how would you know if you didn't read this chapter?
Major face-palm. I'm so sorry for the confusion! Hopefully everything can be sorted now!
Fran betas. Jill, Ariel, and Pearly preread. I fuck it up anyways, but I still love you guys!
The indignant huff from Jane is the only thing that alerted me to the fact that she's still there. I'm too busy worried about the fact that I just asked my subject on a date like an actual idiot.
But watching Bella's face transform from anger to shock and then soften a little? Yeah, that makes it worth it. At least for now, until I get home and contemplate quitting my job and fleeing the country like the cockroach I am.
Of course, Jane storms off. Are any of us shocked at this point? I can't blame her. No, I blame myself. Every bit of this is on. Fucking. Me.
"You're asking me on a date in front of another date? Real classy," Bella says in a bored tone as she watched Jane storm out of the bar.
"It's not something I make a habit of."
"How do I know? Look, I've had my fair share of skeezy, pieces of shit dudes that just want in my pants. I'll pass, but thanks for the award-winning offer."
"Bells! Can you come here for a second?" Vick yells from behind the bar. I should probably stop sabotaging my life and let Bella get back to hers.
And promptly remove myself from it. In every way. Fuck.
"At least let me get you a dry shirt," I offer before my mind can tell itself to shut the fuck up and stop offering this girl fucking anything. "In fact, here…"
And then I strip—in the middle of the bar.
Okay, that's dramatic. I only take the plaid shirt off, and I'm wearing a white tee underneath; this isn't Chippendale's.
"Take this. It's the least I can do."
She eyed me warily, slowly taking the shirt from me. "You're literally giving me the shirt off your back? It's going to fit me like a tent."
"So do that thing girls do where they tie it up in a way men can never pull off. The knot, I mean. Not that we could pull off a shirt that shows our midriff. Who wants to see that?"
"Why are you rambling?"
"I don't know," I scowl. "I'm not usually talkative at all. Just take the shirt. Please."
"Okay…let me get you a drink as payment."
"I thought the shirt was my way of paying you back?"
"So, you don't want a free drink?"
"Valid point. Thank you."
I may let go of the self-loathing for the time being as I sit down at the bar. This girl isn't interested in dating me, so I chalk it up to getting to know my subject better. No one ever said I couldn't befriend the people I monitor. I didn't need to make a habit of it, but surely an exception to the rule...bending it a little bit for the first time in my entire career...couldn't be the end of me.
But then she leaves and comes back out in my shirt. Smelling like a mix of the two of us when she got closer. She's right; it is big on her, even tied up as I suggested. But it suits her. I want to see her walking around in nothing but my shirt after I fucked her brains out.
And then I realize just how fucking wrong I was. This would undoubtedly ruin me.
