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I turn to that voice and see him standing in the doorway. I turn away from him, continuing to pull all my stuff out and pack it. “What are you doing here, Whiskey?”
“Come to see you, Bunny.”
Turning back to him, I see Emma standing. “I’m just gonna leave.”
Before I can say anything to stop her, she ducks out and is gone.
“Do you really hate me, Bunny?”
“I’m trying to,” I reply.
“So, no?”
I shake my head. “What do you want?” Closing that suitcase, I reach for another and continue doing the same, packing up all my stuff.
“I came to give you this.” Whiskey throws some paperwork at my feet and then he turns to walk out. “The house is yours, by the way,” he says as he leaves.
I look at it but don’t want to touch it. The last time I touched anything with his name on it, I got fucked over into marrying him.
Once I finish packing, I ignore the paperwork that sits on the bedroom floor. Instead, I choose to finish off my bottle of vodka and allow the alcohol to do its job and numb me.
When I go into work the next day, the paperwork is still scattered on the floor and my head thumps from drinking way too much.
If there was one saving grace, at least I didn’t fuck Whiskey last night.
Oh, that’s right, I damn well did before that, though. It’s what got me into this situation in the first place. Maybe I need to learn to keep my legs closed.
Mental note: Do not, under any circumstances, spread my legs for that asshole.
“I didn’t expect to see you.” Bianca my manager, walks in behind me. “Not today, anyway.”
I shake my head and start setting up the bar, pulling the stools down from the tables and placing the napkins and cutlery.
“Why?”
“Your husband came back in today, booked three big bands back-to-back, all paid for. That’s amazing Lottie.” Her words make me stop what I’m doing.
“What?”
“Yep, so good considering the last two didn’t work out.” I look to my phone, should I message him and thank him? No, I should not. It’s his fault anyway.
Just as I go to slide my cell back in my pocket, it rings. Looking at the number, I don’t recognize it, so I go to slide it off, but for some reason, I press accept instead.
“Lottie babes,” Dash’s voice rings through.
“Dash,” I say, confused.
“I was calling to invite you and Corton around for dinner. You free tonight?”
“Yeah, but—”
Before I can finish, he butts in. “Good. Texting you the address now. Sarah already started cooking, so be prepared.” He laughs, then adds, “Looking forward to it.” Then, he hangs up.
I walk back to the bar and sigh as Clinton walks in with a giant smirk on his face.
“Clinton…” I say, confused.
“Didn’t expect to see me, Lottie?” I shake my head. “I come bearing good news. Well, my version of good news anyway.”
