He was kind of cute. I smiled at him. “No. What do you mean?”
“The one that goes something like: ‘you don’t have to go home, but you can’t stay here.’ Last call was fifteen minutes ago.”
I flushed red. I got unsteadily to my feet (how many beers had I managed to down, anyway?) and found my way to the exit. The floor was littered with peanut shells and beer bottle labels.
I suddenly felt desperately alone.
Outside, the air seemed to have dropped twenty degrees. Seattle could be like that: a balmy evening followed by an almost bitter cold early morning. I shivered and wished I had been practical enough to bring the Helly Hanson fleece I had decided was not cool enough (pun not intended) to wear earlier in the evening, when I left my apartment.
It was a long walk home and the streets of
