I groaned aloud as guilt twisted in my stomach. It didn’t matter how many times I told myself I didn’t know, that I couldn’t have known, it killed me now that I did know.

Leaning back, I put my feet on the coffee table and stared at the ceiling. Hopefully Nathan had taken my apologies to heart and didn’t hold it against me like I held it against myself.

Either way, it was done, and now that it was, I had the thrilling task of getting over it. I let out a breath and closed my eyes. Pity. He’s an incredible kisser and-stop it, Zach.

A furry head bumped against my hand, and I absently scratched the cat’s ears. He purred and flopped down on the cushion beside me. I looked down at him. It was Plato, my Himalayan, and even his rather undignified position-flat on his back, paws sticking out in every direction-couldn’t draw any humor out of me.

Homer, my orange tabby, hopped onto the other side of the sofa and cocked his head at me. He was just out of reach, his way of telling me he didn’t want to be petted, but he wanted something.

“What?” I had long ago stopped feeling ridiculous when I spoke to my pets. At least it kept the silence at bay and they didn’t talk back.

Homer’s head cocked the other way. Then he yawned.

“Bedtime?”

Both cats immediately jumped to their feet and onto the floor, thundering toward the hallway. There, they paused and stared at me, each with a look that said nothing if not, “Aren’t you coming?”

At this, I finally managed a half-hearted laugh as I stood. They trotted down the hall ahead of me as I turned off the lights and headed into the bedroom. Both sprang onto the bed and took their usual places-Homer by the pillow, Plato in the middle of the bed-and glared at me as I shoved them aside to make room for myself. At least it was just me tonight. They were less than thrilled whenever they had to sleep elsewhere because I had company.

I sighed again. Somehow I doubted they’d have to worry about anyone encroaching on their nocturnal territory anytime soon.

I flicked off the light, nudged Plato a little farther onto the other side of the bed and didn’t sleep.

Dylan, my business partner, eyed me over the top of his glasses as he came into our shared office at the back of the theatre the next day. “Long night?”

Oh, you could say that. I leaned back in my chair, tossing a baseball up in the air and catching it while I avoided his inquisitive expression. “Just one of those days.”

He chuckled. Though we never discussed intimate details of our relationships, he’d met Jake a few times. He’d probably long ago put two and two together when I’d say I was going out with Jake, then showed up bleary-eyed and clinging to a coffee cup the next morning. Most likely, he thought I’d been up all last night with Jake-and it wouldn’t have been the first time, by any means-but I let him keep thinking it. I just didn’t feel like explaining anything, let alone the truth.

My date was a bust because his boyfriend showed up. Then I took his boyfriend home, we fucked, he left, and I don’t know which part of last night I regret the most. Is the coffee ready yet?

As Dylan told me about the latest issues with ticket sales and employees, my mind was anywhere but there. Strangely, my lying, cheating ex wasn’t on my mind either.

I knew I should be trying to get over Jake, but I was too busy being hung up on Nathan. Even when I tried to think about Jake and the way things went down, my thoughts shifted direction as soon as I got to the part when Nathan dropped onto the bench and into my world. Maybe it was just my mind’s way of changing the subject. Avoiding Jake because it hurt too much. Rebound A.D.D.

Or maybe, just maybe, I really was that hung up on Nathan.

There was no point in letting myself obsess over Nathan. I had no way to contact him. I didn’t know where he lived. It was probably a safe bet that he wanted nothing to do with me. And really, how awkward would it be to date my ex-boyfriend’s ex-boyfriend? Besides that, what did we have in common besides Jake?

At least I knew the sex would be insanely hot. That thought made me shiver, and I narrowly missed the baseball on its way down. It hit the floor and rolled toward the other desk.

“You sure you’re okay, Zach?” Dylan asked, cocking his head as I leaned down to pick up the dropped ball.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I said, sitting back and putting my feet up on the desk again. I cleared my throat. “Anyway, what were you saying? About-” About what? I realized I hadn’t heard a single word he’d said.

He laughed and shook his head, leaning back and lacing his fingers behind his head. “That man’s going to be the death of you, Owens.”

I tossed the baseball up, giving myself something to look at besides him. “I don’t think that’ll be a problem anymore.”

“Oh, really?”

The ball went up again. As long as I didn’t look at him, I wasn’t obligated to answer the questions that were, I was sure, etched across his face. It was simple enough to explain, especially if I left out the part about going home with Nathan, but I just couldn’t be bothered with pretending I was all broken up about Jake. I probably should have been, but the fact remained that I wasn’t, and if I showed just how apathetic I was about it, that would raise even more questions that I didn’t feel like answering.

His chair creaked and he was probably about to speak, but the office door opened.

Dean, one of our employees, leaned on the doorknob. “Uh, hey, guys, can I bother you for a second?”

“You can bother us anytime you want,” Dylan said. I glared at him. Don’t encourage him.

“What’s up, Dean?” I said.

He gestured over his shoulder. “The middle auditorium’s projector-”

Dylan and I cut him off with a simultaneous groan as we both stood. There was no need for further explanation. That damned projector broke at least three times a week these days.

On the way down the hall to the projector room, Dean explained the problems to Dylan, but I ignored them. The problem was that it was an antiquated piece of crap that we had neither the budget to replace nor the equipment to adequately repair. But I could get it running again. Assuming nothing had shorted out and no one had physically broken any irreplaceable parts, it just needed a few tweaks and some threats of violence to get it back in working order for the moment.

As I pulled out a toolbox and looked over the faulty machine, Dean and Dylan speculated-as they always did-on the various possible solutions. All of which we’d either tried or would have made the situation worse.

“Fuck, this thing is going to drive me to drinking,” Dylan growled.

“You already drink,” I said. “Now get out of the way before you break it.”

“It’s already broken.”

“And you’re not helping. Move.”

Cursing under his breath, Dylan moved aside so I could take a look at the faulty projector.

“How long until the next showing?” I asked.

“Um,” Dean said. Papers rustled. “Uh, there’s one at three.”

“What time is it now?”

“Almost two thirty,” Dylan said.

“Shit,” I muttered.

“Can you fix it?” Dean asked.

“Probably just needs a little percussive maintenance,” I growled.

“Percussive maintenance?” Dean asked.

As I dug a screwdriver out of the toolbox, Dylan said to Dean, “That’s what he calls it when he slams something against the wall.”

“Wouldn’t that just make it worse?” Dean said.

You’re obviously not studying rocket science, are you, lad? “Not if it’s done right.” I looked at him over the projector, my serious expression making his eyes widen. Chuckling, I shook my head and went back to work. I pulled my Maglite flashlight out of my pocket, holding it between my teeth so my hands stayed free.