Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 109164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“Not a damn thing.” I step closer to him. “I’m having a bad night . . .” I meet his dark gaze. “Honestly, I need to get drunk, and I don’t want to do it alone.” My voice dips with emotions I don’t want to purge in front of him. “Please.” I grab his hand. He’s shaking his head vehemently. “I don’t want to drink alone.”
A line creases his forehead, and his mouth opens. “Not here.” He looks around the space. “This is his place, and I’m not even supposed to be here. One of the bouncers let me in.”
“Trust me when I say, Drew is too busy to care.” Disdain drips from my words. “But just in case you’re still worried, we can drink in the back VIP room. No one will be in there. Certainly not Drew. He never goes in there.”
He contemplates it and then shrugs. “Fine. Lead the way.” He gestures for me to walk first. I start to head toward the private bar in the VIP room.
“Bailey, where are you two going?” Carter’s voice sears through me.
“This isn’t your concern. Leave it alone.”
“You shouldn’t be going anywhere with him.” Carter’s voice is hard, but Reese seems nonplused by the whole thing. “Who let you in here?” Carter barks.
“We’re not doing anything wrong. You didn’t see us. Get back to work,” I warn.
“Bailey, please. Listen to me. I’m your friend. You look upset. Let’s go somewhere and talk. Don’t hang out with him. He’s trouble.” I wave him off.
“I’m trouble.” I grab Reese’s hand and take off. “Let’s drink.”
I pull him deeper into the room, away from all prying eyes. We take a few steps, and then we both turn toward the bar that’s in the corner only to find a very smug Monica staring back at me.
Of all the people to be working the VIP room, it has to be her.
She gives me a coy smile before purposely adjusting the top of her dress. Making it very clear what she was just doing and with whom.
A part of me wants to turn around and run out of here, but I refuse to show her that I’m hurting. I refuse to let her know she’s won. A childish, irrational part wants to lose my worries at the bottom of the bottle and leave the aftermath right here for her and Drew to clean up. I want him to know what he caused me to do.
Your choice. Not his.
I brush off the pesky voice of reason and give Monica my own fake smile. Looking her straight in the eyes, I say, “Two shots of tequila. Make them extra chilled.”
She stares at me for a beat, probably wondering what I’m thinking, but instead of waiting for her to speak, I turn to face Reese. “You drink tequila, right?”
“I’ll drink anything,” he answers.
“Good. Then let’s celebrate.”
His eyebrow lifts at my declaration. “And what are we celebrating?”
“New fabulous beginnings, of course.” My voice is loud, and it hits its desired mark when from behind me, where Monica is, I hear her scoff, but I pay her no mind. Instead, I concentrate all my attention on Reese as Monica prepares our drinks.
A few seconds pass before I hear the sound of the shot glasses being set down on the glass bar.
With that, I finally turn to face her. Her lips spread across her face, and now her smile seems wicked. “To new beginnings.” She winks.
Her words feel like a stab in the gut.
I reach my arm out, and my hands shake as I grab the glass from the bar and lift it to my mouth.
As soon as the liquid hits my lips, I feel the burn. It goes down my throat roughly, but it does its job. When it pools in my stomach, it’s like a magic wand has been waved, and my shoulders almost instantly relax a little bit.
However, even now, once the drink settles, I can feel the pain in my heart. It feels like a hand wrapped around the organ. Each time I try to breathe, it tightens.
This is hell.
Agonizing hell.
One shot isn’t enough.
I square my shoulders and look back at Monica as I place my glass back down in front of her and then turn my head to Reese. “Another?”
“Hell, yeah,” he responds, laughing. “To old times,” he cheers.
I’m not sure what he’s talking about, but I hardly care at this moment. I’m trying too hard to get to the point of not caring.
“To old times,” I repeat for shits and giggles. I don’t need to look at Monica to know she’s beyond annoyed as she makes her way over to the bar behind me and grabs the glasses.
She’s huffing and puffing, making it clear she doesn’t want to do this, but Reese is my free pass. He’s important, and she can’t say no to him. Thus, she has no choice but to serve me too.