Hallpass

Chapter 1

The room was spinning.

It wasn’t necessarily a bad thing, all things considered. But it was something that was happening to me.

In this dive bar.

Just a few blocks from our — sorry, his — apartment. Nothing was mine anymore.

My clothes.

My car.

My cat.

He’d gotten the apartment, our boat, that stupid fucking rental property I begged him not to buy.

Stupid fucking prenup.

I packed my entire life — sans cat — into my Corolla.

I hated that fucking car.

I shook my empty glass at the bartender with a scowl. “Another, barkeep.” I managed it without barfing.

An incredible feat, really.

I was loud. I was abrasive. Even sober, I was a lot.

He knew that, though. I’ve always been a lot.

And now it was seven pm, and I was drunk.

Alone.

And drunk.

Crying wouldn’t help, not anymore. I had done enough of that when Joel told me he wanted a divorce.

I’d like to say it was totally out of the blue… but I knew it was coming. He was short with me. I was annoying — he made damn sure that he reminded me of that every chance he got. It was an even give and take.

I gave him headaches, and he took my joy. Hell, it could have even been an amicable split, one that might have been a fresh start for me — if it weren’t for the fucking prenup.

I should count myself lucky that he didn’t try to claim my cat, Lance.

No, he’s not named after the singer.

Yes, he’s named after the Arthurian knight.

Lance was waiting at my dad’s place. Thirty-three years old and I’m moving back in with my dad.

I worked at a bookstore, for god’s sake. He made all the money, never asked me to do anything more, to make anything more. I liked my little job at the tourist trap store I worked at.

I couldn’t survive on that money, though.

Pulling me out of my spiral, someone sat down next to me. I turned, brow furrowed at the new arrival.

It was seven pm.

There were other seats.

The side profile of the man next to me made my jaw drop.

It was Ansel Barlowe.

Ansel fucking Barlowe.

I blinked, hard.

Once.

Twice.

Three times — for good measure.

I was drunk… but I wasn’t that drunk.

Before I could stop it, before I really even realized what was about to happen, the most disgusting laugh punched out of my mouth.

He turned towards me, glowering.

“Can I help you?” He snapped, and I almost fainted.

“You’re Ansel Barlowe,” I said — stupidly.

Of course he was.

He knew that.

“I’m aware,” he practically growled.

I shouldn’t have felt it everywhere.

I’m really not sure how long I sat there, with my jaw hanging open like an idiot, absolutely star-struck.

I should have stayed frozen. It was better than what came out of my mouth next…

“You’re my hall pass.”

“Your what?”

“Hall pass-” I spluttered, amazed that he was still looking at me.

Looking at me with his deep blue eyes, even as he glared at me, he was to die for.

His peppered brown curls fell just about his shoulders, and the broad lines of his chest were addictive.

He had been attractive as a scrawny kid but now…

My god. He was the kind of man you would leave your husband for.

Thick, veiny arms, decorated with a lightning bolt tattoo.

“You know… like the one person I can cheat on my husband-” The word snagged in my throat. “Well, it doesn’t matter. Sorry, so sorry.”

I waved a hand in his direction as my cheeks flushed deep red. “It’s just a fun thing,” I kept speaking, despite my raging shame. “He picked the main actress from that one big vampire series… I can’t remember the name.”

Shut up. Shut up. Shut up.

“So your husband got to choose a young, hot bombshell. And you went with a washed-up actor that people still mock for a performance from almost two decades ago?”

“Not my husband.” My eyes went big, and, if it was even possible, the blush on my cheeks deepened. “Ex-husband.”

I was out of body. That’s the only explanation that I would accept. I was drunk, I was sad, and Ansel fucking Barlowe was sitting next to me.

At seven pm.

In a bar.

Just outside of Seattle.

“Hey, Ansel Barlowe?”

He groaned, dragging his hand down his face. “What?”

“Why are you in Seattle?”

“Oh my god,” he muttered as he pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Hey,” I said a little too loud, “big empty bar, pal. You sat next to me.” I jabbed my finger into his shoulder.

“Why not him?” His thumb jerked towards the television, where a red-carpet premiere was taking place, redirecting the conversation. The actor on the screen was tall and lean, with blonde hair and a winning smile. “Or her?” The camera had shifted to the leggy brunette on his right.

“Weren’t you in a movie with her?” I tried to tame my wild grin. I have only ever dreamed of a moment like this.

Granted, when I dreamt of meeting my hero, idol, and celebrity crush… I wasn’t newly divorced.

And drunk.

“She’s high-maintenance.” He said with a shake of his head, a sandy-blonde curl falling into his eyes. “Don’t pick her for a hall pass.”

“I don’t need a hall pass anymore, Ansel Barlowe.” I giggled. Giggled. Oh my god, who is this person?

“You don’t have to call me by my full Actors Guild given name, hon.” He turned to face me fully.

With what someone could have considered a smile, he took a sip of his drink, gaze never leaving mine. “Isn’t Ansel… your legal name?”

His eyes just tightened up.

I didn’t know when to stop. “Are you telling me I’m officially on a first-name basis with Ansel Bar-?”

His eyes narrowed even further, threatening me to finish my sentence.

A little thrill curled in my stomach, just thinking about all the things I was trying to keep my mind from. “Very well, Barlowe.” I stuck my hand out towards him. “Juniper Haddock.”

“Like the fish?”

It was my turn to scowl at him, shaking my head. “I mean, I guess. I prefer the Canadian locality, but if the fish is what helps you remember.”

“Am I going to need to remember your last name?” His grin turned smarmy, an eyebrow quirked as his eyes roamed, blatantly taking me in.

“You frequently moan last names in bed?” I leaned in, dropping my voice low.

I don’t know who this girl is.

“Nuh-uh.” He leaned backwards, frowning. “No way.” His arms were crossed, brow furrowed. “You’re drunk and newly divorced. I might be a has-been. But I’m not a sleaze.” He took a long swig of his drink. “Besides, you’re what… twenty-four?”

The laugh that came out of my mouth was atrocious. Loud and annoying. Everything Joel had always said I was.

Unladylike and crass.

“Oh, you are a charmer,” I grinned, refusing to lean backwards, refusing to shrink. “I’m drunk, newly divorced, and thirty-three, Barlowe.”

“I’ve been your hall pass since when?” Changing the subject again, I see.

“Since the red leather pants in Battle for the Cosmos.”

He choked on his drink. “That was objectively the worst outfit in cinematic history.”

“It was,” I agreed. “And yet…”

He didn’t smile. Just stared. “You’re dangerous… Were you even old enough to be ogling me in that scene?”

“I was thirteen. I was at peak ogling age.”

“And I was, what, nineteen?”

“And you rocked some red leather pants, my friend.”

His gaze didn’t falter, but he huffed before rolling his eyes. He took another long look at me before grabbing something from behind the bar. “What are you drinking?” He nodded towards the empty glass in my hand.

“Lemon Drop.”

He waved the bartender over, requesting two more drinks.

“Oh my-”

“Don’t say it.” He laughed a little, but there was a smile hiding behind his mock-serious eyes. “Yes, Ansel Barlowe is buying you a drink. Try not to overreact.”

I nodded vigorously.

My cheeks were already hot, and it wasn’t just the vodka. This was the kind of moment I’d imagined a hundred different ways — usually alone, in the bath, with candles burning and shame knocking on the door. And now here it was, real. Tangible. Ansel Barlowe ordering me a drink like it was nothing.

Like I was nothing new.

But I wasn’t thirteen anymore. And Ansel Barlowe was sitting next to me. He wasn’t just laminated in a magazine and hidden under my bed.

He was here. Real and infuriating and stupidly hot.

By the time the drinks arrived, I was warm everywhere. Everything around me continued to spin. Ansel didn’t say much else, much to my dismay.

And yet somehow, there was a certain sort of drunken comfort that came from sitting next to him.

I just prayed I would remember this in the morning.