The Return of Bad Decisions

Tessa met me at the staff entrance of After Hours and hugged me hard enough to qualify as a workplace incident.

"There you are. I was starting to think I'd invented you for tax purposes."

"You couldn't afford my imagination fee."

She stepped back and inspected the red shirt, the fitted black trousers, and the expression I was trying to keep steady.

Her smile disappeared.

"What happened?"

"Grant and I broke up."

"You've been together for three days."

"He likes efficiency."

I gave her the short version. By the time I finished, she was holding a corkscrew with unnecessary conviction.

"Put that down," I said. "Our liability insurance is adequate, not heroic."

"He pretended he didn't know you? In front of his parents?"

"He hasn't admitted it yet. I'm allowing him time to discover a talent for honesty."

She put the corkscrew down.

"I'm sorry, Miles."

That almost did it. Fury, I could manage. Kindness had worse timing.

I bumped my shoulder against hers. "Introduce me to the excellent shoulders."

The main room glowed amber and rose. Bass traveled up through my shoes. The bar smelled of citrus peel and the expensive candle Tessa insisted made us a venue instead of a room with alcohol.

On the low stage, a young man finished a routine with a turn so clean I stopped walking.

He had dark blond hair, strong arms, and a face that suggested somebody had taken a very sweet boy and given him cheekbones as a practical joke.

"That's Noah," Tessa said. "Twenty-one. Started as a server. I paid for some classes after catching him practicing behind the delivery door."

"Your talent development program sounds very formal."

"I yelled, 'Don't kick the beer crates,' and everything developed from there."

Noah looked toward us. Tessa waved him over.

Up close, he was taller than I had expected. There was a loose thread at the cuff of his black T-shirt, and he kept his hands folded behind his back.

"Mr. Bennett?"

"Miles. I'm twenty-six. If you call me mister, my knees will start making noises."

His smile arrived slowly and then improved the room.

"Tessa said you used to dance."

"Tessa says many cruel things."

"He was incredible," she said. "He also knows it, so please ration the compliments."

We moved to the office, where the music became a comfortable pulse through the wall. Noah declined a drink and accepted water.

Tessa had mentioned he was trying to return to college. I asked about it without meaning to make him look so careful.

"I took leave during my first year," he said. "My brother got sick. My parents were missing work to take him to appointments, and the expenses kept adding up. I thought I'd go back after one semester."

"How long has it been?"

"Two years."

He looked at the label on his water bottle.

"Ben's doing better. He still has treatment appointments. We've covered most of what we owed, but there's about eight thousand dollars between the remaining bills and what we need for the next stretch."

"And college?"

"They approved my return for the late-start term. I need to sort out the balance on my account and my aid paperwork."

He said it plainly. No tragic performance, no attempt to make me ask the helpful question.

I thought about the resignation sitting in Caroline's inbox. Three years spent arranging my life around a man who could afford everything except a straightforward conversation.

Eight thousand dollars wouldn't wreck me. Years of bar distributions, a salary I barely had time to spend, and no expensive hobbies beyond being stupid had seen to that.

"I can cover the family shortfall," I said. "And we can work out what you need to get back into class."

Noah stared at me.

"You don't know me."

"Tessa does. She complains about everyone. She hasn't complained about you once. That's practically a federal background check."

He glanced at her. She nodded.

"I would need to pay it back," he said.

"After you graduate. We'll write down whatever makes you comfortable."

"Why would you do that?"

For once, I had no clever answer ready.

"Because you want to go back," I said. "And I can help you do it."

His fingers tightened around the bottle.

We exchanged numbers. I sent the first transfer after he checked the account details twice. He thanked me with a seriousness that made my throat uncomfortable.

Naturally, I handled this by escaping.

"Tessa, play something I know. I'm about to commit an age-related embarrassment."

Out by the stage, I took off my jacket and handed it to Noah.

"Hold this. You can tell me afterward whether I should retire."

The first beat landed.

For a moment, I was twenty-two again, dancing to keep customers inside a bar we couldn't quite afford to run. Then I was twenty-six, with stronger legs, better clothes, and absolutely no reason to make myself smaller.

I loosened my tie. The crowd noticed.

I unfastened two buttons. The crowd became supportive of my personal development.

Noah stood beside Tessa with my jacket in his arms. When I caught his eye, I let my hand travel down the open edge of my collar and smiled directly at him.

He stopped blinking.

Excellent. Still operational.

By the end, people were shouting my name. I jumped down, breathing hard and grinning without having to manufacture it.

Noah held out my jacket.

"Your teacher must have been very good," he said.

"I've been dancing since I was eight."

"That explains the technique. It doesn't explain everything else."

He looked at my open collar, then very deliberately back at my face.

I nearly missed the sleeve of my own jacket.

Grant called before I could decide whether that had been intentional.

"Come to the hospital," he said.

"Is there a work emergency?"

"Someone sent me a video of you."

"I hope they got my good side. Fortunately, I have several."

"Why are you dancing at a bar?"

"Because my bedroom charges terrible admission. Good night, Grant."

I ended the call.

Tessa's eyebrows climbed. Noah watched my face instead of my phone.

"You don't have to explain," he said. "But whoever made you feel bad tonight made a spectacular mistake."

I opened my mouth. Nothing useful came out.

Owen appeared before I recovered.

He said Grant had asked him to make sure I got home. I agreed to a ride because I had handed my car keys to Tessa before accepting a cocktail, and apparently I had not yet used up the evening's bad judgment.

We were two blocks away when Owen said, "Would you consider going out with me?"

I turned so fast the seat belt objected.

"I beg your entire pardon?"

"I liked you before Grant did. I pointed you out that first night."

"Owen, I appreciate the compliment, but I'm not working my way through your family."

His ears reddened. "I had to ask."

"Now you have. The answer is no."

He nodded, disappointed but decent about it.

Then Dylan Price called.

"I heard you and Grant split," he said. "Would dinner tomorrow be inappropriate? I've wanted to ask for years."

My phone slipped into the gap beside my seat.

Owen stared straight ahead with the expression of a man discovering competition in a sport he had already lost.

I retrieved the phone. "Dylan, I'm retiring from this entire social circle. Please respect my pension."

He laughed, then accepted my more explicit refusal.

At home, I found a message from Noah.

Thank you again. Also, your jacket has a loose button on the inside pocket. I didn't want you to lose anything.

I looked down. He was right.

Of all the men who had wanted something from me tonight, only one had noticed a thing I might need.

My work phone buzzed.

Grant had copied me on a request for a briefing Monday morning. In person. At the hospital.

Apparently, forgetting me had done nothing to improve his scheduling habits.