Page 27 of Mating Theory
Which one is the real Ashleigh? I’m not even sure anymore.
I step outside the bathroom, and a body slams me into the wall. Before I can catch my breath I’m pushed into a closet. From the corner of my eyes I see brooms and toilet paper. A closet. I’m in a closet. There’s a heavy weight holding me in place, stealing my air. I force a breath, prepared to scream, but a hand clamps down over my mouth.
“I don’t think so,” comes the voice. “What would Sutton think when he finds you downstairs with another man? Lord knows the man’s already been humiliated enough tonight.”
I struggle against the body, against the cruel laughter. Nothing. I’m trapped.
“There, I think we understand each other.” Slowly he moves his hand off my mouth and leans back into the light, and I can see the blue eyes that look so much like Sutton’s. It’s my first customer. God. I feel sick. “You acted all innocent with me, but now I see you dancing here with Sutton Mayfair, pretending to be his date. How much is he paying for the girlfriend experience? I didn’t know he was that desperate for a woman.”
“He’s a hundred times better than you.” It’s the wrong thing to say. I know it, but I can’t stop myself, not when I’m faced with this vicious, pathetic jealousy. Sutton stood there proud and strong today. Anyone should be able to see that. The fact that this man would insult him—
A hand grasps my neck. And squeezes. I gasp out a cry—it’s not even pain, this sound. Not even fear. It’s pure anger right now, and I scrape my fingers down the side of his face, catching blood in my nails.
He screeches, pulling away before lunging for me again, and I know, this is it, I’ve finally done what Ky warned me not to, pushed a man too far. I’ll end up buried in a shallow grave made of trash.
I close my eyes, bracing myself for what happens next.
A whoosh of air by my face. A muffled sound. Nothing slams into me. Nothing hurts, except a lingering pain around my neck. I open my eyes to see Sutton in the closet with us, holding the other man off the ground, his legs dangling, his eyes bulging.
Sutton’s voice sounds completely ordinary and calm. “Take my wallet out of my coat pocket. The valet ticket’s inside. Have them pull the car around.”
What’s he going to do while I’m gone? “But—”
“Ashleigh.”
“Are you going to hurt him?”
“I’m going to have a talk with him.”
I don’t particularly care about the man making gasping fish noises, but I don’t want Sutton to get violent. But I fumble around in Sutton’s coat pocket. Something soft brushes my fingertips. A velvet ring box—empty now. Then I find the wallet and rush out of the room.
It takes me five steps to realize I’m holding a thick billfold of cash. I could take the money and run. It’s more than he was going to give me. And it’s not like he would miss it. God, even if I pawned the wallet, I’d get enough to eat for days.
It shouldn’t matter what he thinks of me.
It does.
When I get downstairs I pause for one terrifying moment. The sidewalk leads to a thousand different restaurants and hotels and bars. There are a thousand alleyways to lose myself in. I could disappear in a matter of seconds.
Instead I go to the valet desk and turn over the ticket. “We’d like the car brought around.”
* * *
Sutton
When I hear her footsteps disappear, I take a step back, releasing Mason from my chokehold. He rubs his throat. “Fuck,” he says. “I understand wanting to play the hero, but you could take it easy.”
“Put your guard up,” I say, my voice guttural.
He doesn’t understand. “How much are you paying her? I bet you got her for cheap.”
He’s gotten enough warning. I throw a punch. It lands, solid, on his jaw. The connection feels right on my knuckles. He called her cheap. He put his fucking hands on her. I throw another one.
He spits on the ground. “Jesus. Stop. Fuck.”
“Stand up.” I have a rule about fighting fair. My father had no problem kicking me when I was down. I don’t fight often, but when I do, I make sure the other person has a real goddamn chance. It’s a point of pride for me, but the idea’s eroding fast in the face of this asshole. “Stand up.”
A knee on the ground. A hand on the wall.
Close enough. I throw another punch, this time low. The impact with his gut makes him wheeze. He retches on the ground while I shake out my fist. It aches in the way that soothes me.
“You don’t talk to her. You don’t even talk about her. Understand?”
