Page 52 of Hooking a Hottie

Then it was right back to sports.

Sometimes he’d ask for a beer. Sometimes it was a glass of whiskey with no ice.

Closer to the end all he wanted to do was drink water.

I believed somewhere inside himself he thought if he drank enough water to make up for all the booze his heart would somehow regenerate itself back into its old, youthful, healthy stage.

I walked to the fridge and slid the step stool out from the side and climbed up to get into the cabinet to get the whiskey.

The silence hadn’t bothered me too much until tonight.

Now it was starting to hit home hard.

Gone meaning gone.

I twisted the cap off the whiskey and smelled it.

I coughed and placed it on the counter, then jumped back.

It smelled like spicy gasoline.

I knew only a sip or two would have me knocked on my butt.

I grabbed the bottle, shut my eyes and took a sip.

It made me instantly cough.

I ran to the sink, almost gagging, which reminded me of the first time I tried smoking a cigarette.

The difference here was that I would not keep drinking that nasty whiskey until it tasted better.

I turned on the faucet, hunched over and began to lap at the water like a dog from a hose.

When I shut the water off I reached for my phone.

I debated what to do.

There was no harm in texting Henry to make sure he was settled.

Right?

I mean, just in case something went wrong with the hotel reservation.

It could have happened.

He was more than welcome to stay here.

There were spare bedrooms.

There was a master bedroom too.

I squeezed my eyes shut for a second and growled.

I just wanted to know he was okay.

Oh, and another thing…

It wouldn’t be the worst thing to try and make some plans for tomorrow.

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