Page 9

“Good morning, sleepyhead!” A cheery voice that’s much too loud wakes me out of a dead slumber, and when I open my eyes, my stomach rolls and the room spins.

I slam my lids shut again as quickly as I can. The spinning stops, but the rolling does not.

I’m pretty sure I’m at Mandy’s apartment, but I’m not positive on that. And I don’t really remember what happened after my third tequila shot last night.

“I have OJ and ibuprofen for you.”

Yep, that’s definitely Mandy.

“No coffee, though. As you know, I’m more of a tea drinker myself.”

“Why are you so cheerful?” I demand, and she laughs.

“Do you always wake up this cranky or just when you black out?”

I let out some sound resembling a snort.

“Let’s head over to Denny’s and get you a good, greasy breakfast.”

My stomach turns over at the thought. “No food. Never again.”

“Lies. It’s all lies. I mean seriously, how many times have we all said that over the years?” she muses, and this is not the time for morning musings.

I roll over and force myself to sit up, much to the displeasure of my stomach. “How many tequila shots did I have last night?” I take the orange juice and force a tiny sip.

“The bartender cut you off after six, but I thought you could’ve handled one or two more.”

I spot my phone on the nightstand. “And how many times did my boyfriend call?”

Mandy laughs. “I powered it off for you on the first shot, and you never turned it back on. Are you ready to face the music? Or do you need that greasy breakfast first?”

“I should go home,” I mumble.

“Okay.” She sits on the edge of the bed. “I won’t stop you. But you should know that you smiled more last night once you turned off your phone than you have in…six months? A year? I had my old Victoria back.”

I blow out a breath, and I grab her hand in mine. “It’s because I was freaking wasted. And now I’m paying for it. And I will spend the rest of the weekend paying for it.”

“But it was hella fun, right?”

I giggle. “Yeah. Hella fun.”

She offers me a shower and some food, but I just want to go home to relax, though I have a feeling it won’t be all that restful…made even more apparent by the dozens of missed calls and texts messages from my boyfriend.

Besides, I don’t have my own stuff here—shampoo, deodorant, make-up, clothes. So rather than read or listen to the plethora of messages, I decide to just go home and face the music.

I open the garage door to pull in, and he must hear it from inside because he appears in the doorway to the laundry room. He folds his arms across his chest and he looks angry as he stands there before I even pull all the way into the garage, like he was waiting for me to get home.

“Where the fuck have you been?” he asks as I open my car door.

“Out with friends. How was the Chris Evans movie?” I ask dryly.

“Were you with another man?”

I roll my eyes as I stand in front of him. He doesn’t budge, and I soften my voice even though I’m starting to feel the anger build in between the hangover.

I needed last night. I needed a night out with friends…a night away from Owen.

“In three years, have I ever given you any sort of indication whatsoever that I’d cheat on you?” I ask. “Can you move?”

He sighs and doesn’t move. “You were with Mandy, weren’t you?”

“What difference does it make? And can I come in?”

He still hasn’t budged from the doorway and my rolling stomach isn’t feeling any better. In fact, the sight of him is making it roll just a little more.

I sigh. “Yes. I was with Mandy. I drank way too much, I feel like shit, and I don’t need your judgment right now but I would like you to move so I can go lay down.”

“Good,” he says.

“Good?” I repeat, confusion in my tone.

He nods and still doesn’t move. “Yeah, good. I’m glad you feel like shit so it’ll teach you that walking out on a fight isn’t the right way to handle things.”

I push into his chest to make him move, and he stumbles back a little in surprise.

“What the fuck, Vicky?” he whines.

I roll my eyes. “Have you always been this big of an asshole or is this a recent thing?”

“When did you become violent?”

“When I asked you to fucking move three times and you didn’t. Look, I don’t want to fight with you. I’m exhausted and I don’t feel great and this isn’t the time to attack me for my choices last night.”

“Well you let me know a good time, then, because we need to talk,” he says. I walk into the kitchen, and he follows me in.

I set my purse on the counter and turn toward him. “I tried to talk to you last night, and you didn’t really seem responsive. What do you want to talk about?”

“How about the fact that you walked out on me last night? How about the fact that you completely ignored me and acted like a child? I was worried about you while you were out having the time of your life with fucking Mandy.”

I blow out a breath. Maybe he’s right.

“I’m sorry,” I say, and I sort of hate myself as those two little words fall from my lips. But I am sorry. I feel bad I put him through something when I was only thinking about how I felt. “I’m sorry I made you worry. I was fine. I had a little too much to drink so Mandy took me to her apartment.”

“Of course Mandy,” he snorts.

“What do you have against her?”

“You’re a different person around her. It’s like she brainwashed you to believe I’m this horrible man set out only to hurt you, and I’m sick of it.”

“She’s my best friend, and I’m not going to stop being friends with her because you don’t like her. She hasn’t brainwashed me. I knew her before I knew you, and I’m still with you, right? So what does that tell you?”

He stares at me a beat before he finally concedes. “Okay.” He doesn’t apologize the way I felt the need to, but it also sort of seems like that’s it. We’re at the end of this fight. Not the war, but this battle, anyway.

“The things you were saying last night…” he begins, and he trails off. He clears his throat. “I’ll work on them. I’ll be better at compromising.”

“Thank you,” I say. “That would be great.”

“Now come give me some sugar,” he says, and I laugh at the line he always uses when he wants to make up.

I get close and press my lips to his, and he backs away. “Yeah, you had way too much tequila last night. Maybe we can share sugar after a shower.”

I laugh, and then I head upstairs to shower and sleep off this horrible headache.

It feels like progress. Now if I could just get him to work on the jealousy issues where my friends are concerned, we might have an actual shot at the sort of future I’ve always wanted.