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Not that I have a right to say it. Hell, I don’t have a right to even think it. She isn’t mine to protect. And there’s a good reason for it.
I’ve destroyed too many people already. Jade won’t be another one added to that list.
Grabbing her drinks, she goes off to join her friends.
I sigh and finish my drink, signaling the douchebag bartender for another one.
“Dude, what the hell’s wrong with you?” Spencer slaps me over the head. “It is what it is? That’s the best you could come up with?”
I shove him away. “What did you want me to say?”
“I don’t know. But that was a shitty thing to do. What the hell’s even going on between you two?”
“Nothing,” I mutter.
Damn, where is that drink?
“What do you mean, nothing? The last I remember is Jade running out of our apartment crying.”
I grit my teeth together. “That’s because we broke up.”
“What?”
The bartender grabs the whiskey bottle and starts to pour.
“Why don’t you just add that whole thing to my tab?”
The dude looks from me to the bottle and back. “You sure?”
“Oh, trust me, I’m sure.”
I’m going to need all the alcohol I can get to survive tonight. Hell, to survive the next couple of weeks.
“When’s your plane?”
I down another drink. “Tomorrow morning.”
Spencer eyes the bottle carefully. “You think it’s a good idea to get drunk the night before the flight?”
Considering I’ll have to deal with my father tomorrow? “It’s the best one I’ve got.”
* * *
JADE
“I still can’t believe she didn’t pick your photos for that exhibition!” Grace complains.
“It is what it is,” I shrug, tracing the rim of my glass with my finger. “I knew it was risky going with a completely new technique. What bothers me more is that I can’t drown my disappointment in alcohol.”
That night after I cut my hair, I was so sick there was no way I’d want a repeat anytime soon.
The day Prescott broke up with me.
My glance darts toward the bar where Prescott and Spencer are still drinking. Well, Prescott is still drinking. Spencer has been nursing his Coke for the past twenty minutes and is trying to get him to stop, but with no such luck.
“You’re staring.”
“Am not,” I protest, forcing myself to look away from Prescott and shift my gaze to my best friend.
