Chapter Twenty-Eight
Theo
Whisky is not my friend
It’s so cliché, but I got drunk last night to wallow in my grief and stupidity after Joey left me with my proverbial dick in my hands.
Now it’s past eleven a.m. and I’m hungover and still unshowered.
Slowly moving through the apartment, careful not to make any sudden moves or loud noises, I slip on a pair of shorts and a t-shirt, grabbing Woody’s leash and heading out the door. I’m hoping the fresh air will do me some good.
As soon as I step into the hallway, Woody goes nuts, yipping his loud, obnoxious high-pitched bark. I shut the door and hold my head with my free hand, willing the headache away.
“Shh, Woods. Give a guy a break,” I mutter and when I turn I’m confronted with the cause of Woody’s over-exuberance.
Joey is at the top of the stairwell about to head down the stairs. She looks absolutely ravishing. Her strawberry blonde curls are tied back into some swirly bun low on her neck, a few strands loosely hanging around her face.
She takes my breath away and I have to hold myself back from reaching for her.
She’s dressed in a floral summer sundress, strappy sandals adorning her feet and a cute fedora sitting askew on top of her head.
She flashes me the briefest of smiles, but I can see the strain and the tightness of her grip on the stair banister.
“Good morning. You look beautiful,” I lamely acknowledge.
Joey tips her head, as if she has no idea how truly gorgeous she is. She acknowledges with a shrug.
“Heading to brunch with some friends.”
I nod, but a wave of jealousy sweeps through me. She should be going to brunch with me had I not fucked it up so royally last night.
Instead of apologizing or asking if she has time later to get together like I should, I simply clam up.
She gives me a terse gaze. “You don’t look so good. Are you okay?”
Rubbing my hand over my temples, I feel the stickiness of sweat dotting my forehead and the clamminess of my hands, all the whisky seeping out of my pores. The headache sits behind my eyes from the after-effects of the whisky. I close my eyes and tell her the truth.
“Honestly, I drank a little too much last night.”
“By yourself?” she says, and then seems to catch herself, as if she’s revealed too much. “I mean, did you go out after we, uh…after I left?”
It dawns on me then that she might think I went running back to Alyssa. That I’m such a fucking asshole that I’d leave her and go out with my ex-girlfriend to try and rekindle things.
My feet push me in her direction, closing the gap of space between us. I want to take her face in my hands, pull her into me and bury myself in her breezy, floral scent.
Instead, I simply cover her hand with mine, relishing in the warmth radiating from her dewy-fresh skin.
“I finished off Pat’s Irish whisky by myself. I guess I’ll have to replenish his stash before he returns home otherwise he might stage an intervention.”
This gets her to crack a small smile but not enough to reassure me she’s okay.
Woody whines at my feet and I know I don’t have much time before he pees all over the hallway floor.
“I gotta get him outside. Can I walk you outside?”
“Sure.”
When we hit the bottom step, I blurt, “Can I see you when you get back later?”
