sorry?”
She pours her own cup of coffee and smiles. “It’s the twenty-first century. I don’t need a husband to start a family. My mom gets it, and when I have the heart to tell her, Grandma will too.”
“Of course, but you’re young.” She’s only a couple of years older than me, maybe twenty-seven. “Why the rush?”
Something like sadness draws down the corners of her eyes. “Sometimes you just know you’re meant for something, and you go after it despite the logic.”
“I can understand that.”
The machine beeps, and we work together preparing a tray of mugs, coffee, cream, sugar, and whiskey. At my waist my phone buzzes a text alert.
“So what about you and Cally?” she asks. “Are you two working things out?”
“It’s complicated.” I pull my phone from my hip and smile when I see Cally’s name on the screen. Maybe she’s decided to stop avoiding me.
“I hope you can work it out,” Meredith says. “She’s a lucky girl.”
I open the text and can only blink at the screen.
Just a week ago, we were at the restaurant and you were touching me under the table.
“Let me guess,” Meredith says. “Mrs. Complicated?”
“You could say that, though I’m not sure our relationship has progressed to anything as official as Mrs. yet.”
“You want more?”
I don’t answer, but the truth must be in my eyes because she snags the phone from my hand and slides it into the pocket of her jeans. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you. If you want more from Miss Complicated, don’t reply.”
I fold my arms. “Isn’t that a little childish?”
She shrugs, flashing me a grin over her shoulder as she strolls back in the dining room to join the card sharks. “Deal me in this hand?”
“Willy, what about you?” Norma calls.
“I’m in,” I say and prepare myself to hand over my pride and my money to a bunch of old ladies.
T HIS MORNING is doing a fantastic job reminding me of the reason I stay away from tequila. No, make that three reasons.
1) Lack of moderation. My first shot gave me that fuzzy warmth in the pit of my stomach. The second had me feeling lighter and more carefree. By the third, I was definitely dancing, though I have no idea if anyone turned on any music. And then there were more shots. I just don’t remember how many more.
2) Fuzzy memory. Pretty much everything after the third shot of tequila is fuzzy. A patchwork of unstitched memories—lots of pieces missing, no clear order.
I might have tried to get Asher Logan to sing to me.
3) Impulsiveness. I vaguely remember sending Will a text message…or two? (See reason two.) I’m scared to look and see exactly what I wrote, but I’m pretty sure I have to. Maybe I could lie and say Lizzy and Hanna got ahold of my phone?
I brace myself against the counter and take a tentative sip from my mug of coffee. Sliding my phone from my pocket, I open my text messages and click on Will’s name.
Not just one sent message. Not two. Four. Four drunken, desperate, horny girl text messages. I lower my pounding head to the counter and whimper.
“Feeling good this morning?” I’m hung over, and Lizzy’s voice is bright and perky enough to put the justifiable in justifiable homicide .
I crack open one eyelid and peer at her. “Don’t talk to me.”
“Don’t be bitchy just because you drank too much.” She pulls my phone from my fingers. “Did he ever write back?”
I lift my head. “You knew I was sending those? Jesus, Liz, you’re supposed to have a girl’s back when she’s drunk.”
She snorts. “I did have your back. God, after you told me about the restaurant, I did the only thing a real friend would do. I handed you your phone and tried to get you laid.”
“I told you about the restaurant?”
Maggie and Hanna walk into the kitchen, heading for the coffee. “Sweetie, you told everyone about the restaurant,” Maggie says.
My cheeks fill with heat. I wouldn’t have thought embarrassment was possible
She pours her own cup of coffee and smiles. “It’s the twenty-first century. I don’t need a husband to start a family. My mom gets it, and when I have the heart to tell her, Grandma will too.”
“Of course, but you’re young.” She’s only a couple of years older than me, maybe twenty-seven. “Why the rush?”
Something like sadness draws down the corners of her eyes. “Sometimes you just know you’re meant for something, and you go after it despite the logic.”
“I can understand that.”
The machine beeps, and we work together preparing a tray of mugs, coffee, cream, sugar, and whiskey. At my waist my phone buzzes a text alert.
“So what about you and Cally?” she asks. “Are you two working things out?”
“It’s complicated.” I pull my phone from my hip and smile when I see Cally’s name on the screen. Maybe she’s decided to stop avoiding me.
“I hope you can work it out,” Meredith says. “She’s a lucky girl.”
I open the text and can only blink at the screen.
Just a week ago, we were at the restaurant and you were touching me under the table.
“Let me guess,” Meredith says. “Mrs. Complicated?”
“You could say that, though I’m not sure our relationship has progressed to anything as official as Mrs. yet.”
“You want more?”
I don’t answer, but the truth must be in my eyes because she snags the phone from my hand and slides it into the pocket of her jeans. “What are you doing?”
“Helping you. If you want more from Miss Complicated, don’t reply.”
I fold my arms. “Isn’t that a little childish?”
She shrugs, flashing me a grin over her shoulder as she strolls back in the dining room to join the card sharks. “Deal me in this hand?”
“Willy, what about you?” Norma calls.
“I’m in,” I say and prepare myself to hand over my pride and my money to a bunch of old ladies.
T HIS MORNING is doing a fantastic job reminding me of the reason I stay away from tequila. No, make that three reasons.
1) Lack of moderation. My first shot gave me that fuzzy warmth in the pit of my stomach. The second had me feeling lighter and more carefree. By the third, I was definitely dancing, though I have no idea if anyone turned on any music. And then there were more shots. I just don’t remember how many more.
2) Fuzzy memory. Pretty much everything after the third shot of tequila is fuzzy. A patchwork of unstitched memories—lots of pieces missing, no clear order.
I might have tried to get Asher Logan to sing to me.
3) Impulsiveness. I vaguely remember sending Will a text message…or two? (See reason two.) I’m scared to look and see exactly what I wrote, but I’m pretty sure I have to. Maybe I could lie and say Lizzy and Hanna got ahold of my phone?
I brace myself against the counter and take a tentative sip from my mug of coffee. Sliding my phone from my pocket, I open my text messages and click on Will’s name.
Not just one sent message. Not two. Four. Four drunken, desperate, horny girl text messages. I lower my pounding head to the counter and whimper.
“Feeling good this morning?” I’m hung over, and Lizzy’s voice is bright and perky enough to put the justifiable in justifiable homicide .
I crack open one eyelid and peer at her. “Don’t talk to me.”
“Don’t be bitchy just because you drank too much.” She pulls my phone from my fingers. “Did he ever write back?”
I lift my head. “You knew I was sending those? Jesus, Liz, you’re supposed to have a girl’s back when she’s drunk.”
She snorts. “I did have your back. God, after you told me about the restaurant, I did the only thing a real friend would do. I handed you your phone and tried to get you laid.”
“I told you about the restaurant?”
Maggie and Hanna walk into the kitchen, heading for the coffee. “Sweetie, you told everyone about the restaurant,” Maggie says.
My cheeks fill with heat. I wouldn’t have thought embarrassment was possible
Similar Books
