12. Ashley #2
There’s a security guard halfway between where we’re standing and the hallway to the restrooms, so I stand next to him and catch his eye. He nods.
Clint decides not to push it, just turns and yells, “Have a nice fucking night, Miss Midtown,” as he walks away.
I watch him leave, willing myself not to cry until I figure out the next steps, both for the social media account and for me.
I need to get home and I’m not okay. My body is shaking.
Why did I come here alone? I’m so stupid.
I find a relatively quiet corner to pull myself together and weigh my options, hoping that by the time I leave, he’ll be long gone.
What I really want to do is call Laurel.
If I could, I’d get in my car, drive to where she is, and crawl in with her, even if it meant kicking Cal out of bed.
But she’s in North Bay, and I can’t exactly crash at Cal’s parents’ house.
Plus, she was freaking out over tonight; she’s probably still out with Cal’s friends, and the last thing she needs is to be pulled away to deal with my crisis.
I consider calling Stevie, but she’ll flip out and want to come down here, and I don’t want to take her away from her family so late at night.
Sebastian. I have a sudden longing for my old friend, to have him hold me and let me cry. I’ll have to talk to him anyway, since Clint may go on a social media tirade, but I also know that Sebastian will make sure I get home safe, if he’s not with some chick right now. Only one way to find out.
Bash, are you around? I had a bad night. My date turned into a creep. Don’t want to say more over text. It was rough. I’m still at the bar.
He writes back immediately.
Who do I have to kill?
Kidding, kidding. Sort of. Where are you?
I give him the address.
I’ll be there in 10 minutes.
He shows up in sweatpants and a hoodie eight minutes later, looking like he ran all the way, which is possible since his condo is only a few blocks from here. I press myself into his shoulder and let myself cry at last. He calls us a car, and I don’t even ask where we’re going.
We get in the back seat together and I tell him the whole story. Sebastian tenses up, his hands balling into fists and his breath coming quickly. It’s endearing, but the last thing I want is to have to deal with his emotions when I’m a mess myself.
“God, I’m sorry, Ash. It’s my fault. I asked you to do this for us, and I didn’t even think about how it puts you in unsafe situations. Typical man, I didn’t think at all.”
I sigh. “It’s not your fault. I should have …” I trail off, my thoughts assaulting me with guilt and shame. “I didn’t follow all my rules. I don’t usually meet guys this late in the evening, or at a club without a girlfriend. I got carried away by our texts and let my guard down.”
My radar should have pinged. I’ve been off-kilter lately, and maybe I was chasing the rush from our hot dialogue.
I didn’t bring a girlfriend because Tess was busy and I’m running out of single friends who can stay out late on a Saturday, like I’m the last of a dying breed.
I sniffle, and Sebastian raises my chin with his hand to look me in the eye.
“Ashley, this is not your fault. That guy is an asshole and it’s all on him. Everything is on him. I wish you’d squeezed his balls until he cried.”
“Me too,” I murmur. It would have been deeply satisfying. Then reality hits me. “What are we going to do now?”
Sebastian looks confused. “We’re going back to your place. I’ll make you some tea.”
Tea. The thought of him doing this domestic task starts to warm the parts of me that froze up after Clint yelled in my face.
“No, I meant the social media situation. If he figured me out, he might attack us online.”
He waves his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry about that. I’ll email Cleo tonight; it’s her job to deal with this stuff. In the meantime, block him if he comments and I’ll get his info and kick him off the app.”
There’s a sinking feeling in my stomach, and my brain is spinning. “But what if he retaliates? What if he blasts you online?”
Sebastian shrugs. “He can do what he wants, but I have no qualms about telling everyone that he almost got his gonads squashed and claiming we’ve got a witness. He’ll back off.”
I open my mouth to protest, but he gives me a look. “Ash, this is not your problem to deal with. It’s ours. Let Cleo take care of it.”
We’re almost to my place; the lights of the city blink at us as the car travels up Yonge.
I haven’t looked at my phone since Sebastian came to meet me.
I pull it out now and find a dozen texts from Clint calling me all variety of names, and I let out another sob.
Sebastian takes the phone out of my hands and blocks him, muttering expletives under his breath.
He opens my Instagram and deftly checks my Miss Midtown profile, holding it away from me so I won’t see any nasty messages, but I can see him blocking a user.
Dammit. That asshole wasted no time in going there.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say when he hands the phone back. “I’m a big girl. I can handle a few nasty words.”
“I know, but it’s nice not to have to see them.” He leans back and closes his eyes. “Plus, I hired you to do this, so please let me shield you from the worst of it.”
I’m not usually a person who likes being protected. I’ve been independent for a long time and can hold my own, but it’s nice to have someone take some of the load.
Sebastian gets out first when we arrive at my building and holds the door open for me. “I can go up by myself, Bash. You could take this car back home.”
He looks me in the eye. “No way. Let me go up and take care of you. Then I’ll email Cleo so you’ll know it’s dealt with before you go to bed.”
I nod, and we go up the elevator, his arm around my shoulder holding me close.
When we get home, he makes tea while I shower.
I feel in my bones how much I want to wash this whole night off me, to let the hot water slough everything off: Clint’s hands grabbing at me, the shame of him tearing at my clothes in front of all those people.
When I enter the kitchen in my fuzzy robe, Sebastian has prepared not only chamomile tea but toast and strawberry jam, my favorite post-bar snack back in university.
We sit on the couch in silence while Sebastian furiously types out messages on his phone.
Cleo and Seth are going to have a rude wake-up tomorrow morning.
I shouldn’t enjoy his scowl, but it makes me warm inside to see how seriously he is taking me and my safety.
When he finally tosses his phone unceremoniously onto the chair opposite, I lean on his shoulder. “What a fucking night.”
“Uh-huh,” he mutters with a low sigh. He gives me a small smile that wipes away the frown lines visible moments ago, then reaches out to cup my face.
“You’ve got …” He trails off, brushing a crumb from the side of my mouth. The intensity of his gaze reminds me of that night a few months ago when I made us mojitos and kissed the lime juice off his lips. The room is hot suddenly.
Sebastian feels safe and solid, a way to forget the rest of the night.
Don’t do this, my brain warns. Danger.