Page 91 of No Judgements

He swallowed. It appeared that I had really gotten through to him. “Y-yes.”

“Great. Good-bye forever.”

I turned and left the house. Outside, Drew was leaning against one of the porch rails examining his cuticles while Caleb was sitting back in the porch chair, uneasily eyeing the pitties, who were panting heavily while sitting and staring at him.

Drew looked up as I came out. “Everything go okay?” he asked brightly.

I smiled at him. “I think we came to a pretty good understanding. Thanks for asking.”

Caleb nearly exploded from his seat—but kept a safe distance away from us, due to the pit bulls.

“What was that sound?” His eyes were nearly bulging from his head, and his face was shining with nervous sweat. “Was that a gunshot? Did you shoot him?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” I scooped some of my hair from the back of my neck. It was terribly hot outside. “He’s fine. But I did explain to him that I don’t accept his apology, and that I don’t want to be friends with him anymore, or you, either, Caleb. I don’t like either of you, and I especially don’t like this sneaking around, lying thing the two of you did to get in touch with me. It was really dishonest, and it wasted our time”—I pointed at Drew and then at myself—“while we’re trying to get some really important rescue work done. So please don’t ever contact me again.” I looked at Drew. “Are you ready to go?”

He lifted his lanky frame from the porch railing with a shrug. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Fine,” I said, and began untying the dogs. “Good-bye, Cal.”

“Wait.” Cal looked confused. “That’s it? You’re just... going?”

“Yes, we’re just going.” I had to hand the leashes over to Drew, because the dogs were too strong for me. Apparently, they were familiar with the wordgo,and upon hearing it, were ready to take off. They’d practically yanked my arm out of its socket rocketing down the porch steps. “I’ve moved on, Cal. I suggest you do thesame.”

“But—”

I’d turned my back on him and started down the path through the home’s front yard toward the sidewalk. Alongthe way, Drew reached out and took my hand. I didn’t look back, even though Caleb kept calling, “Sabrina! Sabrina, I need to— Sabrina!”

“Keep walking,” Drew said, under his breath.

“I know,” I whispered back. “You don’t need to tell me.”

“There’s something wrong with that guy.”

“Duh.”

“Why did you ever go out with him?”

“Um, I could ask you the same thing about Ms. Pink Salt.”

“At least she didn’t wear Lacoste.”

“Shut up. That’s still a thing in some places.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sabrina!”

We made it to the corner where we’d parked the scooter without either Caleb or Kyle chasing after us. I was riding the scooter—slowly—while Drew walked the dogs so as not to traumatize them by making them run alongside the motorbike.

“So what happened in there?” Drew asked. “Did you shoot that guy, I hope?”

“No. I shot a bottle of tequila.”

He winced. “No! Good stuff?”

“Cuervo.”