The Devil Wants Me

or's

are interconnected, but the last three are not. They a

a

dirty martini in a

ex-husband's dime-and knowing full w

ects, no income, alone in a stra

a dirty martini an

ache. He leans across the bar and, based on his body language, mayb

ams into

ether, it's okay, I

thought but Christopher wasn't go

k is finished, and hopefully I can

ation. It's the only place I recognized in Chicag

in those first few hectic days after our move from Philadelphia,

out of my league-a girl in jeans, a zip-up sweatshirt, and

drop ten different credit cards down onto the

at the cards like the

eyes a little bit, trying to come

completel

en glare at me like I'm a walking trash pile, but I r

table. I had a husb

tender away from getting

rows shoot up as he raises one of the cards in the air,

and I don't have any clue how I'll take care of that

card back down. "Sorry, miss, but I can't use this. Do you have one w

ly can't p

s, the clothes on my back, and the stack of credit card

most well-thoug

g and nothing to weigh me down, or ris

th of this hipster bart

obably won't pun

another prize-winning smile. "Try this

ust-" he says,

g smile! "It'll be fine, this

I can't, but

on. "Just run the fucking card, okay?" Frustration and fear break over me like a wave. "I've had a really, really long day, basically a really long life, and I don't need your holier

y lips that I made a very poor decision, but I've n

entum, nothing else. Once I've opened my mout

name for me was

r was a re

other would've calle

Also a re

his mind, and it's not good. "I can't run any of these, and if you can't pay for that drink t

stake. I should've gone somewhere smaller, quieter, somewhere out of the way, somewhere that wouldn't give a

l crashing do

arrested over a

hetic I've ever felt. All my anger sl

k suddenly grew a moral compass, Christopher's going to

slowly, surely, I will d

my ass, or maybe to call the cops. I turn around, forming a million different excu

ad, massive actually, muscular and b

d words, but there are none. His suit fits him perfectly, but he s

once in my lousy life,

stomach and into my core. His lips are full and pink, and he's looking at me li

b." His voice is a rumb

The bartender starts, but

says. "Now

ractically melt

o grips with what just happened. "Thank you," I say and clear my t

He doesn't grip, and it's not thre

a jolt of worry la

nster going to demand in

this Mr. Kahzan is known around here, and if that's the c

os playing out in my head and I'm about ready to s

rops to a s

" he asks. "Beca