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I had to shut down the bar, of course. I couldn’t just break down inside the office and hide out in there, even though I wanted to. I couldn’t see the guy who’d come onto me anywhere, thank God. Maybe Pike had been right, and he was too ashamed of going down so easily to show his face again. I was prepared if he did choose to show up. I wanted to get a chance to punch him myself, honestly.
Shoving down whatever emotion I was feeling in order to get through the work shift was something that every person in customer service had experienced at some time or another—more often than not, actually—and I was a pro at it. It was close to last call, anyway, so I finished up all of my tabs, helped my coworker to shove everyone out the door and close down, and insisted that I could finish up. I wanted to be alone.
The owner, Teddy, trusted me and I appreciated that, letting me and my coworkers close without him there. There weren’t a lot of us working here, so we were all close and depended on one another. I knew everything about this place and how all of it ran, including the fact that Teddy kept a quality bottle of whisky in his bottom drawer.
I really shouldn’t have any, but God, I was already feeling like such shit and I couldn’t help myself. All of the emotion that had been building up in me since earlier in the evening, from the moment Pike walked in the door—no, earlier, from the moment that I saw he was back—burst like a bubble in my chest and I found myself sitting on the edge of the desk and crying.
Just a short bit ago I had been lost in ecstasy, desperate for Pike, wanting to forget everything except for him and wanting him to forget everything except for me. But that wasn’t how Pike operated. I was a one and done kind of girl, he wasn’t, and I had to accept that.
I had way too much of the whisky, but I’d never really dived into it before and now I couldn’t stop. It tasted good, a sweet burn, and I wanted to forget about the night, and my shitty choices, and my stupid feelings.
Boy oh boy did I regret that when I woke up the next morning.
Ugh.
I hadn’t been this hungover in years. I was a bit of a lightweight since I just didn’t really drink a lot. I was rarely in a situation where I wanted to. Why would I want to get wasted and lose control of myself to have fun? I wasn’t a big fan of wine or being an alcohol connoisseur like Michelle, either. She could taste the difference in whiskeys and scotches and bourbons, it was a whole thing with her. Wine, too, but she wouldn’t have been a proper Texan girl if she hadn’t been into good old whiskey.
Speaking of Michelle, she was the reason I was now awake and being actively attacked by the sunlight streaming through my window rather than still blissfully asleep. My phone was buzzing wildly.
I reached for it, squinting at the screen, and saw that it was Michelle texting me, asking where I was. Oh, shit. We got breakfast at one of the local diners every morning, a mom and pop place that we loved. Canyon was close enough to two major cities and was right at the intersection of two highways, so we had all of those chain stories as well like Denny’s and IHOP, but this was the diner that Michelle and I had been going to since we were kids. And their waffles were the fucking best, if you asked me.
On my way, order the usual for me! I texted her back, seeing by the time that I was—oh shit—already half an hour late to meet her. I’m sorry!
My head was pounding as I stumbled into the shower, making it as hot as I could stand it to wake myself up and get myself somewhat comfortable. Then I threw on the closest clothes that I could find that seemed clean and dashed out the door.
“Where’s the fire?” Dad asked from where he was relaxing on the couch with Mom, who had fallen asleep on him again. Mom always got up early on Saturdays ready to conquer the world, would get about five chores done, and then pass out and nap from late morning until early afternoon.
“Late for Michelle!” I yelled back.
By the time I slid into my seat at the diner, my food was starting to get cool. My stomach growled hungrily and I thanked God that I wasn’t the kind of hungover who hated eating. I started stuffing my face. Ugh, yes, please, cure my headache, ye gods of greasy diner food.
