Desperately Seeking Epic(69)

He ignored me and pulled her toward him, but she stopped him, placing one hand on his shoulder as if to hold herself steady. “Just one more dance, sweet thing,” he purred, tugging at her.

“No!” I roared.

“She can decide,” he boomed back.

Clara tilted her head as she stared at him with a thoughtful expression. “One more dance. Then I have to go.”

Then she looked at me, her gaze glazed over, and gave me a little shrug. I was livid. She was telling me to fuck off. That she was going to stay and hang with the douche bag to spite me. And I wasn’t having any of that. I stepped toward them, fully intent on yanking her ass out of the bar if I had to.

And that’s when it happened.

She puked.

All over him.

Like projectile puked.

It was awesome.

And horrible.

It was the best and worst all at once.

Everyone in the bar lurched away, even the ones in the back farthest from us, the bar falling silent except for the music blasting in the background. A few people let out some groans of disgust, covering their mouths and gagging. The guy looked down at his body, covered neck to feet in vomit.

“What the fuck?” he shouted, his tone rich with disbelief.

“Shouldn’t have had that chili dog for lunch,” Clara noted as she grimaced at the sight of her own vomit. Somehow she’s managed to hose this guy down and not get a drop on herself.

Her gaze met mine again. Same glazed look. And she shrugged. She’d planned that. I’d thought she was telling me to fuck off. She was really saying, watch this. I wanted to laugh hysterically but I decided I better get her the hell out of there before she puked again.

“You bitch!” he shouted. He knocked her hand from his shoulder and she stumbled. I caught her and pulled her to the side, propping her so she could hold the top of the booth seat to steady herself so I could grab her purse.

“She told you she wasn’t feeling well, man,” I pointed out as I handed her a napkin from the table so she could wipe her mouth, while I collected her things. “You should have listened.”

The guy was beet red with fury, his eyes fixed on Clara like he wanted to hit her. Dropping her shit in the booth seat, I turned to him. “Let it go, man,” I warned him. “Go clean yourself up.”

His angered stare trained on me. “Get that bitch out of here,” he fired back.

“You’re a real classy guy,” I piped back as I returned to collecting Clara’s things. I shoved the large envelope containing her separation papers in her purse with another envelope I only took a second to observe before putting it in her bag. It had her name on it written in my uncle’s handwriting.

“Come on, Clara,” I murmured as I took her arm. She stumbled out beside me and just before we exited, I looked over to Mandy at the bar. She was already talking to some other guy. Her eyes met mine and she shrugged, raising her beer bottle in silent farewell.

I looked back down at Clara who had just rested her head on my shoulder as we walked.

Cock-blocker.



“We have five minutes until we meet with Clara,” Ashley points out. “We should probably stop here.”

After they remove my mic and I stand to go, Ashley asks, “Do you really think she made herself puke on that guy?”

I laugh. “Knowing Clara, yes. She’s good at making assholes look and feel like assholes.”

Ashley nods a few times and gives me a small wave. “See you next week.”





“So we heard about the chili dog puke scene at the bar,” Ashley informs me once we’re all set up.

I scrunch my face in embarrassment. “He told you about that?”

She laughs. “Yes. Did you do it on purpose?”

“Knowing me, yes, but I was pretty smashed so I really don’t remember.”

“So Paul took you home that night. What happened?”



He had to stop twice on the way to my house so I could relieve myself of more vomit on the side of the road. It was awful. Made worse by the fact that each time we stopped Paul got out and stood with me, getting a front row seat to my humiliation. I was mortified. By the time he got me home, I had nothing left in my stomach. He followed me inside and into the kitchen where I poured myself a glass of water. I turned and leaned against the counter as I chugged it, noticing he was staring at me, arms crossed, eyes angry.

“Thanks for bringing me home,” I murmured. “I’m sure you have other things to do tonight, so you can go.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he informed me. “I want some answers.”

Placing my glass on the counter, I asked, “Answers to what?”

“Why did you go in there and get smashed? Because of Marcus? Because if that’s the case, I thought you had tougher skin than to let him bring you down.”