Free More than Friends - Monica Murphy by Monica Murphy Page A

head straight to the bathroom, taking out all of my frustration and disbelief on the toilet and sink counter. I scrub the hell out of that bathroom, and by the time I’m finished my forehead is sweaty and wayward strands of hair stick to my cheeks.
    In other words, I look awful, but I don’t care. My body’s tired and my muscles ache. I’m ready to go straight home and collapse into bed. At least I can sleep in tomorrow. My next shift doesn’t start until noon.
    “You ready?” Blake asks after I put away the cleaning supplies in the small closet.
    Turning, I nod. “Yeah, let’s go.”
    I gather up my things and head outside with Blake, watching as he locks the front door before shoving the keys into his front pocket. He offers me a faint smile as we start for the parking lot. “You did good tonight, Amanda.”
    “Thanks.” I walk right beside him, headed toward our cars, which are parked relatively close to each other far out in the lot. I see the Range Rover out of the corner of my eye, but I ignore it.
    I refuse to acknowledge him. Acknowledging means I accept what he’s doing, and I don’t.
    “You kept up and tonight was like a trial by fire. I don’t think I’ve ever seen it that busy since we first opened,” he continues.
    “Guess I proved my worth then.” I smile at him and he gives me that somber Blake look, with a hint of wonder in his gaze. Like he can’t believe I’m walking with him.
    I can feel his pain. I really can.
    “Yeah, you did. I’ll have to tell my mom.” His cheeks go red and I almost think it’s cute.
    Until I remember that a certain someone is lurking in the parking lot like a stalker.
    “That’s my car,” I tell Blake, pointing at my Toyota. Blake nods, waves goodbye and practically sprints to his older Nissan truck. He hops in it, fires up the engine and pulls out of the parking lot without any hesitation whatsoever.
    “What a jackass.”
    Whirling around, I spot Tuttle leaning against the side of his SUV, looking as casual as he pleases with his hands shoved into the front pockets of his black pants. He’s still wearing the same clothes from earlier, though he looks a little more mussed. Wrinkled. Cuter.
    Argh. I hate my thoughts sometimes.
    “Are you talking about yourself?” I ask with raised brows.
    He inclines his head, a silent acknowledgement, I guess. “He didn’t even bother waiting to see if your car started.”
    “It’ll start,” I tell him, sounding more confident than I feel. Sometimes my car won’t start. Back when my older brother was still in high school and drove the car that eventually became mine, he’d always leave the lights on and drain the battery. I try my best to never do that, but sometimes other things happen. The car is almost as old as me. So I can’t always count on it.
    “He should’ve waited.”
    I ignore his statement. This isn’t about Blake ditching me. It’s about Tuttle lurking in the parking lot waiting for me. “Why are you even here?”
    “Thank God I am. Otherwise you could’ve been left stranded.” Again he avoids my question. He’s really good at that.
    “I’m not stranded. My car will start.”
    “Prove it.”
    Heaving an exasperated sigh, I unlock my door and climb in, pushing my key into the ignition with a little more force than necessary. Whispering “sorry” under my breath—because yes, I do talk to my car sometimes, thank you very much—I turn the key and the engine starts right up.
    I roll down my window and smile triumphantly, not surprised to see him approaching my car. “See? Told you so.”
    He looks like he’s been socked in the chest as hard as possible. Weird. Did he really think my car wouldn’t start? What would he do then? Gloat? “Good. Now get out of here.”
    My scowl feels extra scowly and I aim it right at him. “Why aren’t you with your girlfriend?”
    His frown is almost comical. “Who are you talking about?”
    “Are you dense?” I roll my eyes, immediately feeling