Page 15 of Notes About Vodka (Happily Ever After Hangover #1)

Chapter Eight

"Vodka really is a mirror—it reveals the truth you’re too scared to face, but it never offers a solution."

I storm out of Pianissimo , anger and frustration swirling inside me.

Val’s words echo in my mind, his judgment cutting deeper than I’d like to admit.

It wasn’t just what he said— Why are you with someone like that?

—but it was how his tone carried disappointment, maybe even anger, and it was the look in his dark eyes that hurt the most.

It was like he could see every mistake I’ve made, every secret I’ve kept hidden, and he still thought I could be more. That vulnerability, laid bare, is what I can’t stop replaying. Why are you with someone like that? How old are you?

The raw conviction in his voice stung because a part of me knew he was right, even if he didn’t know the full story. Yet sometimes when he looks at me, it’s like he can see through the cracks I try so hard to keep covered.

The cold night air hits me as I walk home, my thoughts a chaotic mess.

I’m kicking myself for not having my scooter; it’s cold, and every step feels heavier than the last. I let Sam convince me to take the subway to work this afternoon because he “wanted to talk”.

Now the memory of that conversation gnaws at me.

Watching a homeless man hang from the subway bars, Sam leaned in, all faux sincerity, and said into my ear, “Laura, you need to get over yourself and just come home. I miss you.”

He tried to put his arms around me, but I pushed away.

Staring at him, I stated incredulously, “We’re getting divorced, Sam. That’s not changing. I’m willing to be civil, bear with your presence for the weekend, but we are not together, and we will never be together again.”

He smirked, that infuriating, smug look he always wore when he thought he had the upper hand. I’d felt my temper flare, but I bit my tongue and ended the conversation, turning my attention back to the homeless man.

Now, walking the cold, windy streets of New York, I’m mad all over again. Mad at him for trying to manipulate me, mad at myself for letting him occupy even a second of my headspace.

Then there is Val, why does he care? And why does it matter so much to me?

I can’t deny that he sparks something in me that Sam never did.

But I didn’t tell Val the whole truth. He doesn’t know that I’m in the process of divorcing Sam, and that our relationship has been nothing but a hollow, painful mess for years.

Sam is only in town to get a check and hopefully, finally sign the paperwork.

But knowing him, there’s always an angle, some ulterior motive.

Or so he says…

Our marriage was doomed long before I left Alabama. Sam wanted us to be swingers, a lifestyle he pushed for under the guise of "keeping things exciting”. At first, I felt conflicted and tried to convince myself that this was normal for couples looking to strengthen their bond.

But deep down, it made me question everything about our relationship. Was I not enough for him? Did he need more because I wasn’t fulfilling some unspoken need? The more he pushed, the more I felt like I was disappearing, my worth shrinking under the weight of his demands.

Each attempt left me feeling hollow and ashamed, like I was losing pieces of myself I could never get back. It chipped away at my self-worth, making me question whether I was enough or if I ever had been.

His push for this lifestyle wasn’t about us—it was about him, about feeding his ego and desires without regard for how it affected me.

It became another way for him to control me, to make me feel small while pretending it was for our mutual benefit.

I tried a few times, thinking it might salvage something, but I always felt disgusted afterward.

The memories make me shiver, and I quicken my pace as I walk down the sidewalk, desperate to shake them off.

When I finally reached my breaking point, I knew I couldn’t stay.

The decision didn’t come overnight; it was the culmination of years of feeling trapped and losing sight of who I was.

I got checked for STD/STIs—a necessary precaution after years of living in denial—and with each appointment, I felt the weight of my choices and their consequences pressing down on me.

Finding a lawyer wasn’t easy either; I had to sift through fear and self-doubt, constantly questioning whether I was doing the right thing. A friend back in Birmingham recommended Ronnie Davis, a no-nonsense attorney who had a reputation for being both compassionate and tough.

Even though I was in New York when I called her, Ronnie agreed to take on my case, saying it didn’t matter where I was as long as I was willing to work.

She’s been a lifesaver, guiding me through every step of the process with patience and clarity.

Whether it’s answering my late-night emails or walking me through complicated legal jargon, Ronnie has been my anchor in this storm.

Knowing I have someone like her in my corner makes the impossible feel a little more manageable.

But every step forward, no matter how small, was a reminder that I still had a sliver of control over my life. Starting the process felt like standing at the edge of a cliff, terrified to jump but knowing I had no other choice.

It wasn’t easy.

Sam refused to take me seriously at first, brushing me off like I was bluffing. But I meant it. I applied to NYU as my escape plan, and when I got accepted, I packed up and left, with my two best friends in tow.

Rhea and Skipper saved me in more ways than they’ll ever know. They didn’t just move to New York with me; they gave me a lifeline, a way to rebuild.

Rhea was the one who stayed up late to make sure my NYU application essays were perfect, even brainstorming ideas when I hit a wall.

She’d remind me to eat when I was too stressed to think about food, even sneaking snacks into my bag before class.

And when she decided to apply as well because in her words, "Why the hell not?

" my heart almost exploded with happiness.

Skipper, ever the optimist, was my constant source of laughter, coming home with takeout when I was too drained to cook and insisting we binge-watch our favorite comedies to lift my spirits after I moved out of the trailer where I lived with Sam.

When I doubted myself after all life incidents, they were there to pull me out of my own head, reminding me that I wasn’t in this alone. They’ve been my foundation, my unwavering support system, and every day, I’m grateful they took this crazy leap with me.

Two hours later after I walked off most of my anger, I reach the apartment where Rhea, Skipper, and I live. I’m exhausted, both mentally and physically. I push open the door and find Rhea waiting for me, her concern evident in her eyes.

“Hey, are you okay?” she asks, her voice soft.

I glance at the living room couch.

Well fuck me sideways and silly…this night just gets better and better. I forgot Sam was staying with us. Why do I let this happen?

Sam is passed out on our couch, his head lolled to one side, with some random chick draped across his lap, also unconscious. The faint smell of stale alcohol and perfume lingers in the air, adding to the chaos of the scene.

My stomach twists at the sight, and heat rises to my face. Anger, frustration, and exhaustion swirl together as I stand there, frozen.

How many times have I had to clean up after his messes?

The sheer thought of it makes my head pound. Every fiber of my being wants to yell, to demand why he can’t just stay out of my life, but instead, I clench my fists and take a deep breath, swallowing the scream threatening to escape.

The familiar cocktail of frustration and helplessness washes over me as I stand frozen, staring at the mess he’s brought into my new space.

My mind races, wondering what lie he told to Skipper in order to bring the girl inside and how I’m going to deal with this without completely losing it.

For a moment, all I want to do is scream, but instead, I take a deep breath and clench my fists, willing myself to stay calm.

Rhea and I exchange a look of mutual exasperation.

“I’m fine,” I say, forcing a smile. “Just... It’s been a long night. ”

Rhea nods, understanding without needing to say anything. “Let’s just look forward to the future,” she says, her optimism a small comfort.

“Hopefully he’s gone before any of us wake up.

Doesn't he have an early flight? By the way, who let him in with the girl?” I bite back the frustration bubbling up again, thinking about how Skip always seems to look past Sam’s flaws, like he’s clinging to the version of Sam from years ago—the one who hadn’t yet turned into a walking disaster.

The lifelong best friend that he used to be to Skipper.

It’s infuriating, but I can’t blame Skip for wanting to see the good in someone he used to care about.

Still, it doesn’t make this any easier to deal with.

“I think Skip did,” Rhea says cautiously. “You know you can’t help that they were best friends first…”

“I know. I know. Well, at least the ass is safe for the night. Anywho, I’m done. ‘Night, Rhea,” I give my bestie a quick hug before I take off down the hallway and lock myself in my room.

As I change into my pajamas, my husband sleeping with his whore of the night on my couch is not the person my mind drifts toward.

Slipping a small round coin pouch covered in flowers and bees from my purse, I unzip it, revealing the notes I’ve kept from Val since he and I started our odd little exchange. I try not to look at them, but sometimes I can’t help myself.

I pull one out, a bar napkin. Giggling, I remember the smile that crossed my face when I found the crumpled paper hidden in my book of sheet music.

Val asked where I found my accent. His grammar is terrible, but the meaning is endearing.

I wonder if he kept my note. I wonder if I’m alone in thinking there’s something more.

I think of Val and his intense dark eyes, the way they seem to hold a thousand unspoken thoughts.

They linger in my memory, the deep brown reflecting back flecks of gold.

There’s something about the way he looks at me, like he’s trying to peel back every layer and see the real me.

It’s both unsettling and comforting, like he’s offering me a lifeline I’m too scared to grab.

I shouldn ’ t be thinking about him… It ’ s wrong.

And yet, I can’t stop.

My breath hitches as I think about Val and his physique.

Val’s body is impossible to ignore. He’s tall—taller than Sam by at least 3 inches.

His broad shoulders taper down to a lean waist, every inch of him carved from muscle.

It’s not just for show either; there’s a real strength there, a power that simmers just beneath the surface, ready to be unleashed if the situation calls for it.

His arms are strong and defined, the kind that could easily sweep me off my feet, literally and figuratively.

I’ve caught glimpses of his chest and abs through his shirts when he moves, and I can’t help but imagine what it would feel like to run my hands over that hard, sculpted flesh.

I’ve drooled when I watched him roll up his sleeves before diving in to create a series of alcoholic concoctions. The way the veins in his arms pulsed.

Then there’s his jawline, clean-shaven most of the time, but when he lets a bit of stubble grow, it catches the light with a strange red tint that doesn’t quite match his dark brown hair. It’s a small, unexpected detail, but one that makes him all the more intriguing, all the more real.

I climb into bed, pulling the covers up to my chin, but my thoughts linger on Val.

I can’t help but imagine what it would be like to be held in those strong arms, to feel the warmth of his body pressed against mine.

There’s a raw magnetism to him, a pull I find harder to resist each day.

He’s not just a man; he’s a force of nature, someone who could sweep me off my feet and carry me away from everything I’ve ever known.

As I close my eyes, my dreams are filled with images of Val— his body, his eyes, that strange Russian accent that I can’t stop thinking of.

I see myself in his arms, laughing with him, sharing secrets, feeling a warmth I’ve long forgotten.

A warmth that makes me wonder if maybe, just maybe, there’s something more out there for me. Something that feels like him.

In the middle of the night, I dream of how he would feel as if he were my husband instead of Sam.

I made the mistake of marrying Sam and I regret every moment.

But in my dream, Val makes me feel loved, adored, and as my mind creates the image of his fingers sinking inside me, my own find my heat, swollen and wet.

I cry out from the orgasm, never waking as sleep pulls me deeper into a fantasy where Val and I exist.