“You know me,” Colt states matter-of-factly, dragging my attention back to him. The playfulness in is tone causes a smile to stretch across my face.
“Yes, I do know you, but I thought you were someone else. Did you see anyone come down here before me?”
Disappointment dampens my alcohol-fueled good mood when Colt shakes his head. “Only you.” He taps his index finger on the tip of my nose.
After dropping his finger to run it over the curve of my top lip, he murmurs, “You look good tonight, baby girl. You look happy.”
Arching a brow, I retort, “I look drunk.”And heartbroken.
“Then you should get drunk more often,” he jests, his smile enlarging so his dimples become exposed. “Drunks a good look for you.”
The curve of my brow arches higher. “Drunks?”
My heart rate I’ve only just settled down beats a little faster when he mutters, “I may be a little drunks myself. We’re a couple of good-looking drunks. Especially you. You’re a real pretty drunks.”
Even though he's under the influence, Colt’s compliment gives me back some of the confidence I lost while seeking Rico in a crowd. I can’t believe the first time I’ve left my apartment in a month had me going on a wild goose chase. If that isn’t already disturbing enough, finding out my perception of Rico’s presence isn’t as stellar as I first thought is another low blow to my already crippled ego. Not wanting my foolhardiness to end my night on a sour note, I loop my arms around Colt’s elbow and step back into the hall.
“How about us two drunks go and get some water?” I pull him into the packed corridor.
He grimaces. “Water? Oh, no, is Ms. Cardigan-Wearing-Williams back? I kinda liked the naughty Blaire better.”
I elbow him in the ribs, pretending his snide comment didn’t dent my pride. “I didn’t say we wouldonlydrink water. We’ll do shot for shot.”
“Yeah! Shots!” He cheers, startling a group of girls in line for the bathroom.
As I guide a stumbling Colt down the packed hall, I ignore the pleas of my heart to peer over my shoulder. My heart truly believes it can distinguish the closeness of its mate in a crowded space, but I can’t risk disappointing it. With how many cracks my heart has sustained the past month, that little nick of disappointment may completely shatter it.
Chapter 32
Istumble out of my bedroom a little after noon on Sunday with a vicious hangover. It serves me right. I lost count of the number of shots Colt and I did by 2 AM. As instructed, we did a shot of water for every shot of liquor we had. For future reference, it doesn’t have the same effect as glass for glass.
Lacey giggles into her coffee mug when she notices my disheveled appearance staggering into the kitchen. My heavy steps aren’t just weighed down by the furious thump of my skull, but also from the guilt I’m feeling. When I’m hiding in my room, eating crap, and sleeping way too much, I never feel guilty. But waking up with overly exerted muscles from hours of dancing, and my finger void of the heaviness of my platinum wedding band, guilt has made itself comfortable in the place my heart used to belong.
Last night, I pretended to be someone who wasn’t heartbroken. Today, I’m back to the miserable Blaire I’ve been the past month.
“Coffee?” Lacey pros my hip onto the kitchen counter.
“Please.” I cringe when my tongue hits the roof of my mouth. It tastes like I ate roadkill for breakfast.
Lacey hands me a double-strength coffee before running her hand down my forearm. “You think you feel bad now; imagine what you’ll feel like after Colt’s self-defense class this afternoon.”
I wince when the coffee burns my mouth. “Defense class?” .
“Oh, no, does Care Blaire have a case of drunkenitis?” She laughs with a waggle of her brows.
While nursing my mug of coffee, I rack my throbbing head for the events that occurred last night. Although nothing is overly vivid to me, small fragments of Colt giving me an impromptu self-defense lesson in the lobby of our building crashes into my blurry mind.
“Twelve lessons?” I squeak out when the entirety of our night filters through my brain. “I agreed to twelve self-defense lessons?” The pounding in my head intensifies when my overly nasally voice bounces off the kitchen cabinets and shrills into my ears.
Lacey’s broad smile expands. “Yep! And you were so eager you paid up front.” She nudges her head to the now empty swear container housed on top of our fridge.
With her fondness for profanity over the past two years, the swear jar was overflowing. Now, only a few nickels remain.
After finishing my coffee,I shower and get changed. Three headache tablets have eased the furious pounding of my skull, but the niggling pain in my heart remains. The smile Lacey has been wearing most of the morning grows when I pace into the living room of our apartment wearing a pair of borrowed gym shorts and a crop top.
“How can you work out in these?” I mumble, digging the tiny shorts out of my backside and attempting to yank them down my thighs. “I can’t even walk in them, let alone bend over.”
Lacey laughs but maintains a quiet front.
