“Jesus,” I croak after the worst of it passes, the side of my head resting against the plastic wall of the stall.
A soft knock sounds against the door. “Hey.”
Part of me instantly recoils from the sound, and it takes my brain a second to parse that the voice doesn't belong to Sarah. Thank god.
I barely manage to push the lock open with shaking hands, and the door glides open, that same blonde bridesmaid who’d looked at me with pity earlier standing in the doorway, swaying, or maybe she’s still and the world is spinning. Her brows are pinched in the center, her lips a flat line. I can’t tell if it’s more pity or genuine concern.
“Are you okay?” she asks.
“No,” I croak, then swallow hard. “Fuck. I'll, uh, b’fine.”
She crouches a little, offering me a wad of paper towels. “Do you need water?”
“Prob’ly.” I wipe my mouth with the paper, grimacing. My hair is sticking to my face, my head is pounding, and I am absolutely never drinking again unless Grayson there to enjoy it with me.
Fuck.
Grayson.
I fumble for my little clutch with clumsy fingers, nearly dumping the whole thing onto the wet tile before I find my phone.
“Can y’do me a favor?” My words slur, and I'm right back to those nights throwing up in my dorm room's shared bathroom at CU, and I want to die.
“Yeah, of course,” she says, handing me a plastic cup of water that seems to have appeared out of nowhere.
I manage to type in my password to unlock it and shove the phone into her hand. “Call Grayson.”
Her eyebrows lift just slightly like she’s just now realizing how far gone I am. This is nothave a drink of water and walk it offterritory. This isI need to go hometerritory.“That’s your boyfriend, right? Heard Sarah talking about him.”
The question hits me right in the chest.
After five weeks of sneaking around Penelope and heat and happiness and hiding from the world while simultaneously letting select parts of that world have a fake version of it, it feels weird to actually consider him as real right now.
“Yeah,” I say. “Please.”
Nausea bubbles right back up, and I turn back toward the toilet just in time to throw up again.
Chapter 32
Grayson
If hell has a waiting room,I’m pretty sure it looks a lot like the back room of this bar.
Low lighting, too-loud music, a private section roped off for a group of men who want to pretend they're important enough for a red carpet. The smell of whiskey and fried food hangs heavy in the air, and Aaron is across from me with his arm slung over the back of his chair like he owns the place.
I hate everything about tonight.
I’ve had one drink in the last two hours, partly because I want to be able to drive home after and partly because I don’t want to be drunk around Aaron or his friends. I don’t trust any room full of men who keep trying to clap me on the shoulder and say shit like,“Didn’t think you’d actually show, man,”like I’m here for the fun of it.
I’m here because Carly asked nothing of me, and somehow, that made me want to do everything.
That thought sits with me right up until one of Aaron’s friends starts telling a story that ends with everyone at the table howling like it’s the funniest thing ever said.
Jesus.
My phone vibrates against my thigh. I glance down, and I pause when I see it’s an incoming call from her phone.I’m already pushing back my chair before I think too hard about why she’d be calling instead of texting me again.
“Excuse me,” I mutter.
