Page 20 of That Last Secret

My plan tonight was to get out with the guys from work, have a few drinks, and hopefully end this everlasting relationship I’ve been having with my right hand each night. There’s no way I can take anyone else home tonight because she’ll be the center of every thought I have until I close my eyes and haunt my dreams.

I should be ashamed of that.

I should hate myself for thinking about her this way.

But I don’t.

Instead, I’m standing here, staring at the one woman I can’t have.

“You aresofucked.” Silas laughs to my side as if I’m saying all of my thoughts out loud for everyone to hear.

Yes, yes, I am.

For the last half hour, Silas and I hung out at the table while the rest of the guys with us went off to hang by the bar.

The place got even more packed in just a matter of minutes after I left the dance floor and forced myself in any other direction but there. I didn’t want to see what Emiline was doing. I didn’t want to watch his hands all over her for another second or even the way her body would react to it.

But even without looking, I know she’s still here.

“Ready to head out?” Silas asks.

I nod. “I’m gonna hit the restroom first.”

I take the long way, rounding the dance floor to avoid sightings.

Whether I want to or not.

After washing my hands, I walk out of the bathroom and nearly collide with someone barreling down the hallway past me. I have to do a double-take as the person continues to run without even stopping.

Emiline.

“Emmy,” I call her name.

She doesn’t stop as she turns into the women’s restroom at the other end of the dark hallway.

What the hell is that all about?

I turn to walk away, but alarm bells ring in my head, forcing my body to stop moving.

What if she’s not okay?

Can I live with myself if I walk away only to find out something happened to her?

I immediately turn around and approach the door she just entered.

I push it open, realizing it’s a multi-stall bathroom, unlike the men’s bathroom.

“Emmy,” I call out louder this time.

“Go away,” she shouts, her tone clipped and irritated.

“You can’t be in here,” another girl says, standing at the sink and applying lipstick.

“Get out,” I order.

She stares at me with her lips slightly parted from my tone before she realizes I’m serious. She stuffs her lipstick back in her purse and pushes past me to leave.

When she’s gone, I find the stall where the sound of Emiline’s voice just came from.