Page 36 of Recklessly, Wildly Yours

I eye the whiskey in the fridge as my veins begin to warm from the vodka and gin. “I am.”

“Oh, god. Tell me Hottie McHottie is with you to stop you from drinking too much.”

I reach for the tiny whiskey bottle while silently agreeing with her description. He really is a Hottie McHottie. “Why do they make these bottles so small?”

“Have you ever binged alcohol in a hotel room while mad and sad?”

“Never.”

“Send me your exact location. Right now.”

I laugh. “Why have we never talked like this? I like it.”

“Ah, because you were my boss.”

“I’m still your boss.”

“Yeah, well, things are different now. There isn’t time to fuck around with niceties when I’m worried you’re about to wipe yourself out, destination unknown, and potentially no Hottie McHottie in sight to save your ass. Where is he?”

I down the whiskey, scrunching my face up at the way it burns. Way worse than the other two. “Whoa. Whiskey is nasty.”

“Oh, Jesus. Please tell me the name of the hotel.”

I rattle the name off and discard the whiskey bottle. “Hottie McHottie is outside taking a call. He’ll be back soon. You can stop fretting.”

“Are we posting that statement I drafted?”

“Yes. No. I don’t think so.” I spin at the sound of the door and watch Ethan walk back in.

“That’s a decidedly unclear direction. Do you care to clarify?”

It really is. And I really can’t clarify it right now. Not when I can’t untangle the thoughts and feelings twisting up my insides, turning my anger into something sharp and cold and dangerous. Part of me wants to stay silent, let Tucker’s lie stand because that’s what I’ve always done—played the good girl. But the other part, the part that’s fueled by cheap booze and years of burying everything I feel wants to burn it all down.

“Madeline?” Leigh presses.

I don’t know what to do.

My life is a wreck, and I don’t know what to do.

I bring my hand to my temple and rub it. “Hottie McHottie is back, so I have to go now. I’m hoping he’ll take me out for a drink, at which point I will clarify for you.”

Ethan watches me like he’s assessing me.

“Right,” Leigh says. “I’m taking that as a no for now. Please tell Hottie McHottie that you need to be cut off after two drinks.”

Ethan listens in thanks to the speakerphone, his eyes very firmly glued to mine. “I’ll cut her off,” he says to Leigh. “You can rest assured.”

“Thank God one of you can be trusted tonight,” Leigh says. “I’m ending this call now. Please don’t forget to text me your final decision about this statement.”

With that, she’s gone, and I’m left alone with the man who really should change his name to Mr. McHottie.

His gaze shifts to the empty alcohol bottles. “You got started without me, Miller.”

“I had to. I need the booze to help me figure out what I want to say about Tucker’s statement.”

“Is it helping yet?”

“No, but it’s making me feel good on the inside and that’s a damn good start.”

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