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“Cinnnnnamonnnnnnnnnnnnnn, I need a ride home. Olive ran off with a new mannnnnnnnnn.”

“Can I get you a ride? I’ve got to finish sett—”

“Don’t you love me? I came and bailed you out after you hit that cop car.”

He sounds weirdly sober all at once, and I open my mouth to defend my brake failure that decided to propel me into the worst vehicle imaginable but change my mind.

It’s the middle of the night, no one is going to email me until at least tomorrow, if they do at all.

“Okay, text me the address.”

***

The loud thumping of bass pours out from the nightclub I am currently parked across the street from. The one where Durian is and now refuses to answer his phone. The one in a notoriously dangerous neighborhood in our town, even worse than mine.

Part of me wants to leave him, but I do owe him, a lot.

He and Olive had stayed by my side for longer than anyone else, navigating their lives around my extreme bad luck.

It didn’t seem to ever affect Olive, but the same couldn’t be said for Durian. And I still was surprised he hadn’t disappeared from my life as so many had before him.

But he’s such a dick when he drinks.

Exhaling loudly, I turn the keys and take them out of the ignition, praying to the vehicle gods they’ll allow my shitbox to start again. Tucking the keys between my knuckles, I get out of the car, not bothering to lock it.

Looking left, right, and left again, I cross the street.

It’s so late that there isn’t security outside anymore. I beeline to the front door, but before I can open it—CRACK—it slams directly into my face.

I am all too familiar with the sound of my nose breaking.

Fuck.

“Shit.”

The voice is familiar, but not in a way that makes any sense.

My eyes are watering, there’s blood gushing down my face, and the obnoxious music is hammering directly into my temple as I attempt to gain my bearings on what happened.

Looking up, I try to figure out who just broke my nose, but all I catch is a flash of tight muscles packed on a lean body as they rip their shirt off and shove it into my hands. The ones currently cupping the blood running down my face.

“Uh, thanks?” I try to look at my accidental assailant again.

“Cinnamon! OH FUCK, NOT AGAIN! THE BLOOOOOOOD,” Durian shouts as he knocks his way past the stranger and to my aid.

Except he’s drunk, and I have to catch him as he stumbles over his own feet, his shoulder knocking aggressively into my nose.

I hiss in pain, but swallow it down.

“Cinnamon?” The stranger’s voice has changed. And I want to catch his eyes, to see his face, but Durian is already dragging me away and back to my car.

“Fuck, you have the worst luck!” Durian screeches as we go.

I don’t look back, but I feel the stranger’s stare.

The blood is still slipping down my face as I turn the ignition, but there is an uncomfortability that has settled into my gut.

That prickles along my skin.