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“But I am. Open the door.”
“No.”
“No?” I parrot.
“Yes.”
“Is it yes or no, Piper? I’m confused.”
“No, what you are is drunk.”
“That too.” I laugh sullenly while leaning my temple against her cool door.
“Why?” she asks after a pregnant pause.
“Why what?”
“Why are you drunk? You never drink to get drunk,” she explains.
“How would you know?”
“It’s my job to pay attention to the small details, remember?” Even though we have a door between us, I know she’s rolling her eyes at me.
“For your clients’ benefit, I agree. For their general managers, not so much.”
When her side of the door goes quiet, I turn around and slump against it, the back of my head pressed firmly against the surface. Gravity and two bottles of whiskey do the rest in pulling me downward, forcing me to collapse against the unforgiving wood flooring.
“What do you want, Trent? Why did you even come here tonight?”
“Why do you think?”
“I hate it when you do that,” she mumbles in annoyance.
“Do what?”
“Answer a question with another question. You have no idea how much I despise it when you do that.”
“Sorry. If it helps, you’re not the only one who has an issue with it. My therapist hates it, too.”
“You have a therapist?” she asks, surprised.
“I did. Once. Now she’s just a friend who loves to give me a hard time. You’d love her,” I snicker.
“Why did you need therapy?” Piper asks after a while.
“Why do you want to know?”
“Trent. You’re doing it again.”
“Sorry. Old habit,” I grumble, running my fingers through my hair, wishing I could see her face instead of being separated by a piece of wood.
But then, an idea pops into my head—one that might just help me get the answers I came looking for tonight.
“Tell you what? You can ask me anything, and I mean anything at all, and I promise to give you a straight answer as long as this door stands between us.”
“Really?” she asks suspiciously.
“Really. Ask away.”
