Forgotten Rules (Rules 4)

He speaks before I can answer, tucking one hand into his sweatpants pocket. ?

??Not too hungover?”

“I’m fine. You?” Ironically, the pounding in my head gets five times worse when I say that.

“Can barely remember half of my night, but I’ll live.” He ruffles through his messy hair with his available hand.

Wait.

“Yeah, that tends to happen when you drink double your body weight in tequila.” I slap on a weak smile, debating on asking him about his memory loss. To hell with it. “How much do you remember exactly?”

“First half of my night at best.” He shrugs. “I know we played some lame-ass game with shots. Then everything is kind of a blur.”

My heart sinks.

“Oh.” I nod, failing to keep my feelings beneath the surface. Without another word, Will makes his way over to me, his steps slow but determined. My pulse throbs in anticipation. He only stops once the space between us is so small I catch a whiff of his cologne.

He nudges a piece of my hair that swerved in front of my eye behind my ear, and I stiffen, just as affected, if not more, by his touch sober as I was drunk as a skunk.

“Why? You remember something I don’t?” He gazes down at me, trying to read into the scowl I can’t wipe off my face.

“No, nothing.” The disappointment in my croaky voice is so impossibly obvious I wish I could suck the words back in and give this another shot.

“You sure?” He arches an eyebrow.

“Positive.”

He nods, turns away, and retraces his steps to the back door. Right. He was just on his way out. I watch him twist the knob, despising my stupid, flawless memory for remembering what his won’t. A split second before he’s out of the door, he shoulder checks me and says,

“Funny. One would think you’d remember my hands up your dress.”

My lips part.

He doesn’t give me a chance to pull myself together, enjoying every bit of the shock swimming in my gaze.

Then he’s gone.

“I’m so sorry I’m late. Traffic was crazy.” I burst into the empty pet store five minutes after the beginning of my shift. I had to drive Zoey back to her place, and truthfully, I wasn’t looking forward to an eight-hour shift alone with Jenny. It’s not that I don’t like her, but I can’t seem to get past her professional, guarded personality.

I’ve tried connecting with her, the way I’ve connected with Ethan, in vain. The two of us are worlds apart, which is weird considering the relatively small age gap between us. Behind the counter, Jenny is adding up the register cash. She doesn’t acknowledge my presence. She looks… sad.

Something’s wrong, no doubt.

“Jenny?” I request her attention.

She looks up.

“Oh, hey” is all she says.

Not a single comment about me being late for the first time. She doesn’t crack a smile or initiate her go-to polite chitchat. Trying not to look too far into this, I drop by the break room to dump my belongings and return to the storefront. Ten minutes of awkward silence later, I succumb to curiosity. The store is completely empty. Might as well confront her and spare myself a mind-numbingly boring eight hours.

“Jenny, what’s wrong?”

Color spills from her face. She knows she’s busted.

“That obvious, huh?” she breathes.

“I knew from the moment I walked in.”