Page 3 of Tiny's Law

Heading for the white wine section, I grab my trusty Gewurztraminer off the shelf and head for the checkout. I slow as I pass the glass cases holding the more expensive stuff. My gaze flicks between the $20 white in my hand and the $110 Pinot that my dad favors.

Fuck it. I grab the red off the shelf and tuck it in the crease of my elbow.

The older woman manning the register gives me a warm smile as I place both bottles on the belt.

“Do you need me to wrap these?”

“No, thanks. They’re for me.”

“Celebrating?”

I smile at her while pulling my wallet from my bag. “You could say that.”

“Something exciting?” Her eyes lighten as she hones in on my choices.

“Quit my job.”

Her eyes bulge, and she coughs after sputtering, “Congratulations?”

Pulling my card out of the chip reader and shoving it back in my bag, I take the bottles from her. “Most definitely. You have a good day.”

“You too, miss.”

The trip back to my truck is uneventful, thank God, and I carefully secure my purchases in the front seat.

As soon as I push through the front door of my condo, I kick off my ruined shoes and set my lunch and dinner on the counter. Who needs food? I’ll have the Pinot for lunch and follow it up with the Gewurztraminer for dinner.

“Meatball, you fucking lard-ass, get the hell out of my laundry basket!” I yell at my twenty-pound Maine coon, who seems to have made himself comfy in my freshly washed sheets.

He’s so big I can’t even see my white sheets underneath him. His belly fluffs out to stretch the width of the basket. Lifting his ass in the air and stretching his upper body out, he makes biscuits on the silk sheet before plopping back down, completely ignoring me.

On my way to the master bedroom to change out of my skirt suit, I heft his heavy ass out of the basket and drop him on the floor where he damn near reaches my knees. “Stay out of the clean laundry,” I scold him as if he could understand me.

As soon as I change into my ASU Law sweatshirt from college and a pair of leggings, I hear my phone ping from where I left it in my purse on the counter.

Matthew ‘Saggy Balls’ Watson: Stan forwarded me your email. You need to come into my office. Now.

Me: No can do, Matty. I will stop by tomorrow to pack my office.

Matthew ‘Saggy Balls’ Watson: You will regret this.

Nah. I don’t think I will.

I toss my phone back on the counter, fling open my utensil drawer in search of a corkscrew, and go to work opening the delicious wine waiting for me.

After pouring an obnoxiously overfilled glass, I plop myself down on my white cloud couch, fire up the ol’ trusty Amazon, and click on Twilight: New Moon. Meatball sidles up next to me, flops his fat ass down practically on top of me, and starts to purr in satisfaction.

Within minutes, the heavy cat is sleeping, causing my leg to go numb. I try my best to enjoy the wine I just spent a pretty penny on, but between Bella’s Edward-induced depression and my own depression from quitting my job setting in, I chug the oaky wine a little too quickly. If my dad were here, I’d be getting an earful on how this wine is supposed to be savored, not devoured.

My glass is long empty by the time I need to switch to the third movie, so before starting the next one, I grab the entire bottle and take it back to the couch with me.

By the start of Breaking Dawn: Part II, I’m entirely sloshed and yelling at my TV. I’m team Jacob, and Bella’s behavior is just atrocious.

I don’t recall the ending of the movie, and as I drift off to sleep, my only worry is the inevitable red wine stain that will be on my white couch when I awake.

Chapter 2

Kourtney

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