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“Dinner’s on me,” I interrupt, in no mood to hear anything that isn’t from a doctor or nurse or some other medical professional regarding the diagnosis of my reason for fucking living. “Order whatever you want here or to go or invite that dude that’s been eye fuckin’ you from the bar all night over to take my place.” Pushing my chair in occurs next. “I really am sorry this didn’t go well-”
“I think it went exactly the way it should’ve.” She shoots me a playful wink that I wish could ease a bit of my anxiousness. “Now, get out of here and get to your woman.”
Lila’s given the best grin I can find, a respectful nod, and then promptly left to finish the date I knew I shouldn’t have gone on all by herself.
I’m done dating.
Period.
No more fucking fancy restaurants.
No more pretending the conversations are greater than they fucking are.
No more rearranging my schedule with the love of my life to accommodate the chance to get my fucking dick touched.
All that shit is finished.
It’s never gonna happen again.
And the second Arley wakes up – and shewillwake up – I plan to tell her exactly that.
Chapter 5
Arley
Throbbing pain pulses so unforgivingly against my skull that I can’t seem to hold in the low groan of discomfort it causes.
Okay.
It’s official.
T is right.
I can’t keep consuming this much tequila at thirty-five consequences free. Clearly my body is trying to communicate that with all the Travis Barker drumming going on in my skull and the current unbearable cramp in my side.
Look, I get it liver. You don’t have to try to take me down from the inside to prove your fierce doctor overlord is right.
Alcohol does damage.
Message loud and clear.
I’ll switch to something lighter.
Less…boozy.
However, no part of me believes that taking shots of sweet tea in goal celebration is gonna hit the same.
I’m just saying.
Forcing my eyes to unglue themselves from being shut ignites more groaning, yet the immediate sight of Slater sitting in a chair beside me on the phone shifts the sound from that of agony to one of relief.
I’m glad he never leaves me alone after I accidently get shitfaced.
I just hope I didn’t puke on his favorite polo this go around.
Last time he didn’t let me live that shit down for a month.
“I know.” Slater gives the side of his scruff covered face a frustrated rub. “I…I know.”
