Free Burn: A Novel by Linda Howard Page A

beer,” she said to the waitress. “I can’t stay.” She readjusted the shoulder strap of her purse as she stood. “I just wanted to stop by and let you know, since you were expecting me,” she said to Michelle. “I knew it’d be so loud in here you’d never hear your cell phone ring.”
    Michelle stared at her, the smile sliding from her face. “What the hell?”
    “I’m tired,” Jenner said.
    “Yeah, because shopping and counting money all day is so exhausting.” Michelle laughed at her little joke, and so did the others at the table.
    Jenner didn’t laugh. “I gotta go,” she said, turning on her heel and trying to escape before she said something she wouldn’t be able to take back. She and Michelle had been friends a long time, but she could sense that relationship was suddenly teetering on the point of no return, and she didn’t want it to tip over. Michelle was half-drunk—maybe three-quarters—and tomorrow she would apologize and they’d go on as before. Jenner hoped that was what would happen, anyway.
    She made it to the door and stepped out, into relative coolness and quiet, before Michelle caught her and grabbed her shoulder. “You can’t go,” Michelle said, no longer laughing, and not sounding quite as tipsy. “I didn’t bring any cash with me. You have to pay for our drinks.”
    Reluctantly Jenner turned and looked Michelle in the eye. Michelle tossed her dark curls, her expression defiant. Behind them, bar patrons were drinking, talking, laughing, dancing. A few squeezed out past them, and some people squeezed in to take their places. Finally Jenner said, “You just expected that I’d be here and that I’d pay for everything.”
    Michelle’s expression changed to incredulity. “Well, yeah,” she said, as if that was the most obvious thing in the world.
    Fatigue slammed down on Jenner’s shoulders. Was what Michelle expected really any different from her dad, and Dylan, and the endless parade of charities and cons that had stopped calling her only because she’d disconnected her landline? At least Michelle had been there for her in the past, which the others hadn’t been. That counted for something. She opened her purse, intending to give Michelle enough cash to pay for her evening. Maybe tomorrow they could get things straightened out. Maybe when Michelle hadn’t been drinking she wouldn’t be in such a bitchy mood.
    “You know,” Michelle said, her full mouth twisting in a little sneer, “you’ve changed since you won that damn money. You used to be fun. You used to think about something besides money, money, money. Now you’re just—”
    “Your personal ATM machine?” Jenner shot back, her tone scorching as she pulled a stack of bills from her wallet. She had changed? Sure she had. Everyone around her had changed, so was she supposed to remain the same, untouched by what was truly a gigantic shifting of her world? She had to deal with them, so damn straight it had changed her.
    Michelle’s expression hardened, and her eyes narrowed. “I don’t like you very much, anymore. The people who used to be your friends aren’t good enough for you now, just because you can buy things.”
    “You liked me and my money fine when I was spending it on your shoes and jewelry, and your new couch,” Jenner pointed out. “You liked me when I bought every single meal we ate out, when we went on vacation together, and when I paid for every round we drank in this place.” She took Michelle’s hand and slapped the bills into it. “Well, here it is, all I have on me. Have fun.”
    Michelle’s fingers clenched around the money, but the sneer didn’t leave her face. “Bitch,” she said.
    The word stunned Jenner. Even though she’d stood up for herself, she had still been expecting that, tomorrow, she and Michelle would make up. Now, staring at the venom in Michelle’s face, hearing it in her tone, something in her realized there was no apology coming