Page 31 of Notes About Vodka (Happily Ever After Hangover #1)

Chapter Seventeen

VAL

"Vodka flows like the Don River—strong, clear, and filled with stories waiting to be told."

The days since the Halloween party at Laura’s place have been a blur of constant thoughts about her. I can’t get her out of my head. Especially now I know how her eyes flutter and her lips purse when she’s coming all over my hand.

Every morning, I wake up with this single mission: find a reason—any reason—to see her. Even if it’s just for a few minutes.

Most mornings, I make a quick stop to grab her favorite coffee and head over to NYU whether I have class or not, ready to drop it off like I just “happened to be in the neighborhood”.

The way her face lights up when I hand it to her? It’s enough to make my entire day.

I find myself looking for ways to cross her path—wandering by her classrooms, hoping for a quick chat, or finding excuses to walk her to her next class. And yeah, I’ve even used the classic “ needing help” with a project or “clarification” on notes, just to squeeze out a few more minutes with her.

I have even claimed joint custody of her calculator, only offering it back when she finally needs it.

I’m kinda proud of myself for that idea, because late nights at work when we are closing up , Laura often likes to calculate just for fun.

Double checking the till or even adding up beats in her head to a song she’s humming or practicing.

Every time we’re close—when my hand brushes her arm or I rest my hand on her back as we navigate a crowded hallway or I’m helping deliver trays of food to her tables—it’s electric.

There’s this spark, this feeling like every nerve is suddenly awake, and it makes me realize just how much I need her in my life. I can’t get enough of it.

When we’re both at Pianissimo , I position myself close every chance I get. Sometimes it’s just to lean in, make a joke, or whisper something that’ll get her laughing. Those small moments—when our hands touch or I get to help her with something—are everything.

I still sneak notes to her, but now they contain more about how I feel about Laura and how beautiful she is. I find new places hide them around her apartment when she’s not paying attention, or just leave them in one of her books.

Warning about Laura, be careful which books you open because I read one of her fantasy novels and I was surprised when not one, but two men were waking her with kisses. Up there and yeah, down below. Does Laura like that kind of stuff ? Hmmm…

I could get down with waking her with kisses but sharing? Nope. I don’t even like the current situation, but I can be patient.

Laura leaves her replies on the edges of my classwork after she reads it for grammar or in my pockets where I only find them after I’ve done the laundry.

I’ll forever wonder what she was rambling on about in those tufts of lint I have to pull off my clothes.

Every corner of the city is starting to feel like it holds some memory with her now—places where we've shared laughs, quiet talks, even just the spots where we’ve hung out between classes or on our days off.

The other day, she even let me drive her scooter while she sat on the back, holding on tightly as I sped around Central Park before we went back to my place for the night. I cooked dinner, cuddled her on the coach, and then snuggled her into my bed when she fell asleep.

We haven’t gone any further than the Halloween party, but soon. I know it. She’s ready.

It’s painfully obvious now, but the more time I spend with her, the deeper I fall. The deeper I know she is falling.

She’s already become such a huge part of my life, and every effort I make to be near her only shows me how much she means to me. And I’m ready to make sure she knows it.

The buzz of my phone jolts me from my dreams of Laura.

It’s a notice from my landlord—my lease is going up. I scan the message, feeling a knot form in my stomach. I can afford the place as it is as well as the garage for my Mazda, but now I’m faced with a rent hike that I can’t ignore. Well, this is getting a bit too expensive now.

I text Laura, needing to do something to clear my mind.

Me: “Hey, want to go on a ride today?”

Her reply comes quickly,

Laura: “Absolutely, let’s do it.”

We meet up in the late afternoon. Her face lights up when she sees me. She’s wearing a pair of knit shorts and a long sleeve pink sweater covered in flowers. The neck is long enough that it drapes off her shoulder, revealing a patch of freckles that catch my eye.

I open the door for Laura and when she sits, I lean over her, clasping her into place with the seatbelt. I can’t help but breath in her honey and lavender scent, its like walking on a cloud of my favorite tea back home.

Getting into my car, I turn the key, the engine roaring to life. The drive starts off easy, the familiar hum of the Speed6 beneath us. We cruise through the streets out to a toll road where I can play with the turbo and really drive fast.

Laura’s phone rings as we pull onto the highway. I glance over, seeing her face fall as she answers.

“Hello?” she says, her voice tight. I try to focus on the road, but my concern grows as I overhear fragments of the conversation. I know I shouldn’t eavesdrop, but I’m worried it could be Sam. I need to make sure he’s not saying anything hateful to my girl.

“That was Ronnie, my lawyer,” she explains after hanging up. “They’ve actually scheduled a court date and time for my divorce. Well so they keep saying. Now, they just need some paperwork from me and a few other things.”

As we drive, I catch the strained look on Laura’s face and feel a pang in my chest. This is all weighing on her, heavy. I reach over, my voice steady but gentle. “Hey, everything okay?”

She lets out a breath, shaking her head as she looks out the window.

“Sam hasn’t been back in New York since we last dealt with him, but he’s been making my life hell online.

He’s posting about his flings, trashing me like it’s some twisted sport.

And now, Ronnie’s going to print it all and hand it over to the judge. ”

She sighs, clearly frustrated. “The worst part? He’s got a photo of us hanging out at Pianissimo the night he was in town. I’m playing the piano, and you’re bringing me water. It’s old now, but he says some pretty awful things in that post.”

I feel a rush of anger, my hands clenching the steering wheel.

Sam and his pathetic games—it’s like he’s just trying to find new ways to hurt her.

I can feel the frustration bubbling inside me, the need to protect her from this coward who hides behind screens.

It makes me want to shield her from all of it, to do whatever it takes to make sure she knows she's safe with me.

I can't stand seeing her in pain because of him.

Without even thinking, I press harder on the gas. The Mazda’s turbo kicks in, and we’re flying, the engine growling in sync with my frustration as I shift gears, pushing us back into our seats.

Laura glances over at me, a spark of excitement lighting up her eyes. She lets out a laugh, the sound surprising both of us.

“Faster!” she calls out, a thrill in her voice that’s contagious.

I don’t need convincing. I hit 100, feeling the pull as we surge forward, the lines on the road blurring together.

The adrenaline fuels me, and I keep pushing it, the speedometer creeping up—110, 115, 120.

The wind roars around us, and for a few wild seconds, it’s like we’ve left everything else behind.

All the anger, all the stress—it’s gone, left somewhere on the highway.

Finally, I ease up on the gas, letting the Mazda settle down to a steady 75, the engine humming quietly. I glance at Laura, who’s grinning, her cheeks flushed from the rush.

“That was…exhilarating,” she says, breathless.

I nod, my own pulse still racing. “Yeah. Guess I needed to blow off some frustrations of my own.”

She gives me a knowing look, and we fall into a comfortable silence, the road stretching out in front of us.

A Russian song, one of my favorites from the 1990s, starts to play.

"Lish o tebe mechtaya" by Ruki Vverh.

The soft beat fills the car, calming the air between us. I reach over, taking her hand in mine. Her fingers feel warm, soft, grounding. We drive like that for a while, her hand resting in mine, neither of us saying a word as the music wraps around us.

Music has this unique ability to transcend languages, break down barriers, and this is one of those moments. Laura’s hand sticks out the window, swaying in the wind to the tambourine's rhythm.

I translate the meaning, telling her that just like the song says, I am only dreaming about her.

“He’s telling her that the way the sheets move on the bed remind him of them. That her lips could wipe away all of his tears. He wouldn’t have life any other way as long as she is there,” I say as I sing along.

Laura is a quick study, humming along to the beat, singing the “Ah-ahs” and “La-las.”

I glance at her, and in the dim glow of the dashboard, her face looks calm for the first time all night. I give her hand a gentle squeeze.

“We’ll figure this out together,” I say softly, meaning it. “I’m here for you.”

We drive in silence for a while, and I take us to one of my favorite hideaways on Brighton Beach.

The place is serene, a hidden gem where I’ve spent countless hours reflecting on the past. Now, I want to think about the future.

As we arrive, I park the Mazda and we step out, taking in the tranquil surroundings.