CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
“Hello, Mr. Patrón. We meet again.”
I pour myself a shot in spite of my pledge to never, ever drink tequila again after the total mess I made of myself last time. When I got blackout drunk while trying to muster up the courage to write a measly sex scene.
To think, that used to be a problem. Now, I have my characters tying each other to the bedposts with sheets, for heaven’s sake. Amazing what I can come up with, given the right inspiration.
Jake was my inspiration.
I down the shot in one quick swallow and welcome the warm sensation it sends through me, down my throat, through my chest. The chest Jake was only just kissing, touching …
“Stop it,” I warn myself as I pour another shot.
Is there enough liquor in the world to get him out of my mind?
No. Not him. Only the memory of what just happened. Yes, I could stand to forget that. Permanently.
I almost want to text Hayley and tell her I was right. He was stuck on Erin all along. I wasn’t enough to get her out of his head or his heart. Because I’m not enough, period.
I should know that by now.
The third shot’s a little saltier, thanks to the tears rolling down my cheeks and soaking my face in general.
Stupid men. Stupid ex-girlfriends.
Stupid me.
I care too much. I want him too much. I want us desperately, but that’s not going to happen.
Not now. Probably not ever. I mean, how would I ever feel comfortable with him again?
How could I ever stop asking myself if he’s thinking about me or about the brilliant, driven surgeon who broke his freaking heart?
My hand strays toward the bottle again, but I stop myself this time. I’m still capable of restraint. The alcohol hasn’t worked its full magic yet, so my good sense hasn’t been completely overshadowed.
Besides, I’m angry now. Angry with Jake and with myself and with the entire freaking world because if this is what it takes to be a successful author in today’s market, I don’t want any part of it. I’m not cut out for this.
I can’t call Maggie and chew her out over it.
I can’t do that to Hayley either.
There’s only one more option.
Moments later, I’m pounding the side of my fist against Matt’s front door. “I know you’re home, so don’t bother trying to pretend you’re not!” I call out before banging again.
“Easy, easy!” He flings the door open, scowling. “I had to crate Phoebe since I figured you’d be pissed.”
“I am pissed,” I hiss. “I’m pissed at you.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“This is all your fault. You and men like you.” I jab a finger against his chest. “You’re the kind of guy who does this sort of thing, aren’t you? Telling a girl one thing when you’re thinking something else. How do you sleep at night?”
“Hang on.” He takes my wrist in his hand to keep me from poking a hole in his chest. “This isn’t about the sound effects I played?”
“No,” I scoff, waving my free hand. Oh boy. The hallway’s starting to tip on its side. Not a good sign. I have to steady myself, or he’s never going to take me seriously.
“What’s wrong then? Why are you assaulting me? Where’s Dr. Muscles?”
“He’s gone, okay? He’s gone and he’s never coming back and I hope you’re happy.” A tear threatens to fall, but I blink it back.
I want to scream. I want to punch a hole in the wall. I can feel it building inside me. Fury. Rage. I could tear down this whole building because, darn it, life isn’t fair.
Instead of screaming, all I can do is whisper, “Why am I never enough?”
He blinks hard and then shakes his head a little like he’s shaking the cobwebs loose. “Why … what?”
“Me.” I jab a finger into my chest this time. “Why am I never enough?”
“Enough for what?”
“Enough for a man to want me. Just me. Not his job, not his ex-girlfriend. Me.”
“Ah, Christ.” He shakes his head with a sigh. “Come in. Pet a dog. You’ll feel better.”
“It’s not something Phoebe can help,” I whisper, though I walk into his apartment anyway.
Why not? It’s not a good thing to drink alone. I’ve heard that one too many times. There has to be some truth to it.
Though doesn’t that mean the other person’s supposed to be drinking too? Hmm. I’ll have to look that up later.
“Sit.” He points me to the couch.
“Where are you going?” I ask as I cross the room. How come it’s so big? My apartment doesn’t feel this big. I’m dizzy.
I drank more than I should have. Again.
Pull it together, girl. I sit up a little straighter and smooth my shirt and hair down.
He’ll never let me live it down if I make a mess like I did before.
“I’m getting water and ibuprofen for you,” he calls out from the kitchen.
“I’ll be okay.”
“With the water and ibuprofen,” Matt insists.
“Bossy.”
“Yeah, well, take it from somebody who’s battled through many a hangover.” He comes back with two bottles—water and pills—and puts them in my hands.
“Thanks,” I mumble. “I can’t open the pills right now though.”
“Too drunk?”
“No.” I hold up the water bottle. “This is in my other hand.”
“Oh, man. You’re blitzed.” He does it for me and then opens the water. “Here.”
Then, he lets Phoebe out of her crate before sitting down with me, pulling a box of tissues onto the couch with us. “So … is that what happened with the doctor? He’s still in love with his ex?”
“I think so. I had a feeling he was, but I told myself to ignore it. Hayley told me to ignore it too. She told me I was better than that girl. I knew she was wrong.”
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.”
“It’s obviously true, Matt. I’m not good enough. Once again,” I sigh before a tear falls. “Crap. Now, I’m crying.”
“Which is why I brought the tissues out.” He nudges the box in my direction.
“I don’t want to cry.”
“Sometimes, it doesn’t matter whether you wanna cry or not. You just do. I won’t tell anybody.”
“Fine. I might cry. It’s gonna get ugly.”
“You’ve thrown up on me. I can handle tears.”
“He said her name, you know,” I whisper as another tear falls and then another one. “When we were, like, in the middle of sliding into home base.” I’m dying. Only tequila would get me to admit something so humiliating.
His jaw drops. “He didn’t.”
“He did.”
“Oh my God. What a dumb thing to do. That’s, like, basic stuff. You don’t say the name of the ex. Ever, if possible.”
“Welp, he did.” I blow my nose, probably too loudly. “And that was sorta the end of that.”
“No kidding.” He snorts.
I glance at him from the corner of my eye. “You don’t think I was wrong?”
“Wrong? For what?”
“For telling him he should go home and think things over?”
“Hell no!” He even laughs. “Uh, if you didn’t tell him to leave, I would have to wonder if you were half as smart as I thought you were.”
“You think I’m smart?”
“Of course that’s what you would latch on to.” He snickers. “Yeah. You have your moments. It was right to have him leave. It’s not like you two were a serious couple and this was something to, like, go to therapy over. Unless there’s something you haven’t told me.”
“No, we weren’t,” I admit.
“Drink your water.” He sighs while I take a big gulp. “Listen, I know I give you shit a lot of the time, but I’m genuinely sorry that happened. You don’t deserve that.”
“Maybe I do.”
“You don’t.”
“So, why does it keep happening to me? I wasn’t enough for Blake. I’m not enough for Jake.”
“You named two men. Two. Out of millions in this city alone,” he points out. “I mean, sure, not every guy is gonna be dating material, but still. There’s gotta be hundreds or thousands out there who would know how lucky they were to find a girl like you.”
“Oh, please,” I groan.
His couch is comfy. I lean against the cushions with a sigh.
“I mean, not me in particular,” he adds. “We’d kill each other within a day or two. I’m surprised we haven’t found a way to do that yet, honestly. God knows you take me to the point where I have to wonder if prison would be so bad after all.”
“Shut up. Like you’re any better with the damn screams and violins.”
He covers his mouth with his hand, eyes wide. “Ah, man! Did that go off when you two were—”
“Yeah. Like, moments later. I swear, the timing couldn’t have been better.” I roll my head to the side, so I can glare at him. “Don’t you dare.”
All he can do is nod with his hand still over his mouth.
“I’m serious,” I slur. “Don’t.”
He lifts his shoulders, nodding again. This time, the tiniest squeak comes out from between his fingers.
It’s pointless. “I hate you so much.”
He bursts out laughing and then leans away from me, so I can’t reach when I take a swing at him.
“Don’t laugh at me!”
He shakes his head, frantically waving his hands until they blur.
Or maybe that’s just me being drunk. “I’m not …
laughing at you …It’s just … oh hell …” He has to take a tissue for himself to wipe the tears from his eyes.
“The timing. Oh my God, that must’ve been perfect.
” A fresh round of giggles comes after this.
The thing is, it was sort of perfect.
“At least I didn’t have to scream,” I admit with a tiny giggle. “It was like what was going on in my head happened out loud.”
He falls back against the cushions, laughing again. “I probably couldn’t do something that perfect again if I tried.”
Now, I’m laughing too. “If … if it never happened, we’d probably still be lying there … not talking … the police would find us in a few days … once the stink got to be too much!”
It feels so good to laugh. Even better than crying.
Yes, this is a ridiculous situation. So silly, so pointless. And not anything that will kill me.
By the time we both wind down to nothing more than the occasional giggle, I can see things more clearly than before.
“Listen,” Matt says once we can talk without losing it, “this is his loss. Big time. I’m sure he regrets it. And you did the right thing. He’s got shit to work through before he can have another girl in his life. It’s just a shame you were the one who had to help him see that.”
“Yeah, it is a shame,” I have to agree as I stroke Phoebe’s head. She’s still super confused over what all that noise was about, and she needs to be calmed, the sweet thing. “It’s okay, honey. Everything’s okay.”
And it is, or it will be. I think.
“Look at it this way,” Matt suggests with a smirk. “At least you got a book out of it.”
“Shut up,” I warn. “Too soon.”
“There can’t be much a nice, fat advance won’t make up for.” He shrugs.
I can’t argue with that, so I don’t bother.