Record, Rewind by Ava Lore Page A

at me again from the corner of his eye. Jamming my cigarette between my lips I grabbed my purse and pulled it in front of me, popping it open and rummaging around for my phone. Old receipts and loose tampons and a couple of dry pens attempted to foil me but at last my fingers closed around the rubber casing of my cell. I pulled it out. A few stray receipts came with it and fluttered to the floor.
    Sneaking a glance at Damien, I saw him still studying me from the corner of his eye. He’d crossed his arms over his chest and was leaning against the wall next to the button panel. The well-tailored lines of his coat pulled across his broad shoulders, emphasizing his athletic physique, and when I forced myself to crouch down and gather my trash I remembered just how tall he was, too.
    My cheeks burned with embarrassment as I straightened and stuffed the receipts back in my purse, but I made a valiant attempt to stay cool by turning my phone on and checking my texts. I was supposed to meet my downstairs neighbor, Dwayne, for a night of mutual liver-destruction, and I wanted to make sure that was still on. I needed it.
    Except my phone was out of batteries. The blank screen mocked me.
    Fuck.
    I angled my body towards Damien so that he couldn’t see my screen and pretended to scroll and read. Stop being such a loser, I imagined my text messages saying, loving reminders from my friends to get my shit together. The thought made me scowl.
    “Bad news?”
    I started and looked up.
    Damien was staring openly at me now. He wore a faintly puzzled expression, and I realized he was trying to place my features. He had recognized me.
    Good. Fuck. Good. No, fuck.
    “Uh,” I said. “Not really. Just drama.” Reaching up I grabbed the hood of my sweatshirt and pulled it over my head. Gripping the phone with both hands I stared at the blank screen with fixed determination. If I’d been smart I would have taken my headphones out while I rummaged for my phone—I hadn’t lived in New York City for the past seven years without learning a thing or two about putting up a Don’t Fuck With Me force field—but I was doing okay A solid B plus. Hood up, phone out. Go away.
    To my deep chagrin Damien didn’t take the hint. “Shit,” he said. “Drama? Fucking tell me about it. I got drama up the ass. What’s your drama?”
    Yeah. Damien was not a New Yorker. But I knew that. He wasn’t a New Yorker any more than I was, and I’d had more time than him to adapt. Unfortunately I still had the residual Midwest politeness tickling my guilt reflex and telling me to answer the nice young man’s question.
    Shiiiiiiit.
    I had to talk to him, didn’t I? Blindly I groped for a bit of workplace gossip to feed him so he would stop staring at me and leave me alone. Lucky for me, the workplace was brimming with gossip.
    I didn’t look at him as I answered. “It’s nothing. Just this guy I work with,” I said.
    From the corner of my eye, I saw Damien still staring at me. Inviting me to fill the silence.
    Don’t do it, I told myself. It’s a trap! But reflex took over.
    “He, uh... keeps trying to sleep with our supervisor,” I added. He kept staring, so I pressed on. “And she’s married. He likes to keep me posted about his progress.” That, at least, was a true story. Stupid Randy.
    To my shock, Damien threw his head back and laughed.
    Except it sounded weird. Stilted. Nothing like the laugh of the boy I remembered.
    “Shit,” he said, oblivious to my inner observations. “I wish my drama was that amusing.”
    I couldn’t help the reply that leapt to my lips. “It’s not amusing,” I said, “it’s irritating.”
    “But it’s drama that’s not happening to you,” he pointed out. “It’s happening to someone else and that makes it funnier.”
    I opened my mouth to say that it was happening to me because Randy wouldn’t shut the hell up about how much he wanted to motorboat Stacia’s boobs, but then I remembered I wasn’t supposed