Page 16 of What About Us

“Show’s over.” I wipe down the bar and then get busy cutting fresh lemons, but Xander hasn’t moved. “Your brother’s waiting for you.”

“Ivy—”

I shake my head and look up at him, unflinching.

“Your brother’s waiting for you, Xander.”

Of course, the one time my mother decides to come into the bar, she’s wasted and makes a scene in front of about twenty people, all of whom I know and who are now looking at me with pity.

It’s fine.

I’m fine.

Pretending that nothing at all is wrong, I go about my business filling drinks and cleaning to stay busy. People stop looking at me, and before long, I can take a deep breath.

Xander slaps a hundred-dollar bill on the bar as he and Easton leave, and it only makes me mad.

I don’t want his money.

“I don’t need this,” I say, holding up the bill.

“It covers the tab,” he replies.

“The tab is eight dollars.”

He shrugs. “Plus tip.”

“Xander—”

But he’s already out the door, and I shove the money in my pocket with the intent to give it back to him tomorrow.

By the time I walk into my house, take a shower, and climb in bed, curled up with Cally, I’m so freaking exhausted that I slide right into sleep.

Sunlight shines in on my face, pulling me out of one hell of a dream, featuring a naked Xander, a shower, and orgasms.

My body hums as I roll over to check the time, and then I bolt upright, accidentally kick Cally, and groan.

I’m late.

I should have been at Xander’s house an hour ago.

“How did this happen?” I say to the ceiling, but no answer comes. I must have shut off the alarm and gone back to sleep, and now I need to simply die because I’m late.

And I’m never late. Not for work.

I see that I missed three texts from Xander.

Xander: Hey, Red, you okay?

Xander: Hopefully you’re getting some sleep, but just let me know if we’re going to meet today.

Xander: Don’t make me call my brother to do a wellness check.

“Christ,” I mutter as I tap his name and listen to it ring on the other end of the line.

“There you are.” His deep voice comes through the line, sending tingles down my skin. “You okay?”

“I’m so sorry. I overslept, and I’m so embarrassed⁠—”