18. Chapter 18
Chapter eighteen
Aspen
P ut on some clothes, Hadley.
You still sleep on the left side of the bed, right?
The words are a refrain playing on an endless loop in my mind.
Powering down my phone, I throw it on the couch, not caring where it lands. Clutching my shot glass, I head to the kitchen. Fuck the glass. Tonight is a straight-out-of-the-bottle kind of night. I’m going to drink until I don’t feel anything.
When I messaged Piper, saying I’d be a bit late because I was moving in with Carter, I wasn’t expecting this. I wasn’t expecting a knock on the door an hour later, and for my friends to be on the other side, arms full of alcohol. Even Rose. She cannot stand Carter, but she came. For me. That was stupid of me. I should have known because that’s just the type of friends they are.
Carter wouldn’t hear my apologies, brushing it off by saying he was always down for a party. I think he was secretly relieved to have backup—not to have to put up with my mopey face on his own.
I grab the bottle of tequila and chug down a few mouthfuls, shuddering with every swallow.
“That bad?” Maya asks, startling me. I was so lost in my misery, that I didn’t notice her walk up.
“Just friends, my ass,” I mutter, wiping my lips and taking another swig. “Get this. They’re sharing a room.”
“What the fuck?” Hearing Maya swear is so jarring, I giggle. She doesn’t swear. Ever. I giggle again, which turns into a hiccup.
“Oh, and that’s not all.”
“What’s not all?” Rose asks, sliding up next to Maya and frowning at the bottle of tequila I’m hugging against my chest. Too bad. This bottle is mine, and I don’t intend to share it. I had no control over having to share my boyfriend, but this, this I can control.
Rose has been subdued all night, and I don’t know if it’s because she’s here—in Carter’s house—or because she’s pissed at her brother.
“Ryan and Hadley’s sharing a room,” Maya whispers, but despite the loud music, I can still hear her. I know I just said those same words a minute ago, but hearing someone else say it has me chugging again. Tonight I’m making this Tequila my bitch.
Both of them are staring at me in sympathy when I lower the bottle. They stepped away to give me privacy when I decided to answer Ryan’s call. I should have known better than to answer. But like I said, you can’t just turn your feelings off with a snap of your fingers, and I missed his voice. I wanted to hear it. If only for a few seconds.
“Hadley was naked when he called. Can you believe the disrespect?” Can you believe the callousness? “He could at least have waited till after the phone call to fuck her brains out.”
“That doesn’t sound like Ryan,” Rose says, her frown deepening.
I shrug because a month ago, I would have agreed with her. “Just saying what I heard.”
“Wait,” I say, frowning at Maya. “Aren’t you supposed to be working tonight?” I appreciate her being here for me, but I don’t want her to be out of pocket because of it. Sunday nights are always pumping, and she’s been there so long, it’s almost a given that she’ll be working.
“Cassie ‘forgot’ to put me on the roster,” she sighs.
Wordlessly, I hold the bottle out to her. That girl is becoming a huge pain in the ass.
I stumble out of my room, my head thudding in time to my heartbeat. That’s the last time, I promise myself. Drowning your sorrows with alcohol might sound good at the time, but the morning after? You feel like death warmed up and you still have that huge, gaping hole in your heart. It’s not worth it.
At some point, the night became a blur. I went from being heartbroken, to happily tipsy, and then ugly drunk.
What I do remember is our little impromptu party growing to include people I’d never met before, but at that stage, I didn’t care. I was in my happy, tipsy stage, and I welcomed them all with open arms, like long-lost friends.
But everything after? Pretty much a blur. I have a few vague recollections, one of them where I’m hugging the toilet bowl with tears and snot running down my face, and someone—Rose perhaps?—holding my hair back. Piper shoving a toothbrush into my mouth.
Crap, what did I do?
I stop short when I see a woman leaning against the kitchen counter, sipping coffee. I vaguely remember seeing her there last night, but her name is just one of the few things I can’t recall.
“Morning,” I mumble, my voice hoarse. Shit, I even sound as bad as I feel.
“Morning, Britney,” she says, her eyes twinkling. Obviously she didn’t get blackout drunk.
“Uh, it’s Aspen,” I say, eying her coffee with jealousy.
“Oh, I know, but you insisted I call you Britney.”
Her lips press together, and my eyes narrow at her obvious attempt to hold back a laugh, and then it hits me, and I drop my head with a groan.
Piper pulling me off Carter’s coffee table, interrupting my Britney Spears impersonation. Fuck, I wish the ground would just open up and swallow me down.
“Sorry, I don’t remember your name.”
“Alice.” she chuckles. “And for what it’s worth, I don’t blame you. Men can be such dicks.”
I stare at her in horror, recalling that I blabbed my sad tale to her. In fact, I blabbed it to anyone who would stand still long enough to listen. I even cried on her shoulder while she awkwardly patted my back. For fuck sake. I hang my head in shame. I’m never drinking again. It’s a vow I make to myself there and then.
I grab a mug and fill it with coffee, gulping it down while avoiding her stare. It’s hot, but I don’t care, burning my tongue with the first few swallows.
“So, you and Carter?”
Her laugh is low and rich. “Are friends. I crashed on the couch.”
I nod, taking another sip. This is so damn awkward, and in my misery, I’m blaming Ryan. If he didn’t turn out to be such a gigantic piece of shit, I wouldn’t be here right now, head pounding, pondering my shitty life choices.
“Sorry.”
“No need. Carter helped me out of a tight spot once and we’ve been friends ever since.”
I look at her in surprise, although I don’t know why. Isn’t that what he’s just done for me? Help me out of a tight spot?
“People don’t give him enough credit,” she continues, a fond smile on her face.
I nod, agreeing with her because I’m starting to get that feeling. Carter comes from money, owns a charter company, and presents himself as the ultimate playboy, but there’s much more to him.
“You know, the place I work at is always looking for dancers if you’re looking for some extra cash.”
I close my eyes in mortification. As if spilling details of my sad love life isn’t bad enough, I got my financial situation involved as well.
“Dancers?” I echo dumbly. It seems I have a few synapses misfiring in my brain.
“Yes, dancing. The money’s good.”
“Uh, where do you dance?” I ask carefully, licking my lips. I might be hungover and a bit slow, but I’m not stupid.
“The Silver Stiletto.” She stares at me, a challenge in her eyes. She’ll get no judgment from me because we all need a way to make money.
I’ve heard of the place, but I don’t know much about it. Just that it’s a gentleman’s club, and that it’s one town over.
“I don’t think I can, not that there’s anything wrong with it,” I rush out to reassure her. “I just don’t think it’s something I can do.” Ever. “I look like a donkey that’s run into an electric fence when I dance.”
Unfortunately, it’s true. Of all the wonderful things I inherited from Mom, rhythm isn’t one of them.
She chuckles and shrugs, not in the least offended. “If dancing is not your thing, you can waitress. The place is always busy, and you won’t believe how the clients tip.” I scrunch my face because actually, I can believe it. “And, the best part, you get to keep your clothes on,” she says with a wink.
“I don’t know,” I mutter, staring down at my mug. I do need money, but working at a gentleman’s club? That’s not the way I ever saw my life going.
“Look. I know it sounds out there, but the way you were talking last night, it sounds like you’re in a tight spot. Devlan, the owner, isn’t an asshole. He runs a tight ship, and he looks after his girls. You don’t need to work there forever. Just until you’re back on your feet again.”
The pounding in my head increases while I think about what she said. It’s true. I am in a tight spot. It will take forever to get enough money together to move out on my own. And, no matter how I look at it, I’ll have to put fixing up the rescue on pause. Maybe I’ll even have to sell it. Just thinking about it makes me want to cry. I hadn’t thought past the pain of this breakup. I hadn’t thought about what it would mean for my future. For my dreams. I blink a few times to keep my tears at bay. I don’t want to subject this stranger—a friendly stranger—to another one of my breakdowns.
“Just think about it,” she says, her voice soft. “If that’s something you can see yourself doing, let me know. I can put in a good word for you.”