Page 9 of By His Rule

Will it help? No.

Will it answer any of my questions right now? No.

Will it stop my boyfriend from being a cheating asshole who deserves to fall into a beehive, or stop my boss from being a jerk who seriously needs to get fucked up the ass with a cactus? Also, a big fat fucking no.

But it will numb the pain.

Oblivion. That’s what I need right now.

Total fucking oblivion.

I don’t bother with a glass. Why waste the time and effort in decanting it into something else when in these situations, drinking straight from the bottle is perfectly acceptable? At least, in my opinion, it’s totally fucking fine.

“Shiiiiit,” I hiss when the neat alcohol burns down my throat.

A thought flickers through my head that I should probably eat something before heading down this road, but it doesn’t settle. Instead, I allow it to be washed away with my next gulp.

“Alexa,” I shout. “I need break-up songs.”

It takes a couple of seconds, but Alexa pulls through. Of course she does, she’s a fucking woman. “My Happy Ending” by Avril Lavigne erupts from the speaker.

“Yes, Alexa. Louder,” I call before taking another swig of vodka.

That song bleeds into another, and then another, and another, until I’ve no idea how many have passed. What I do know is that the vodka is having an effect, and everything that is currently trying to bring me down feels a million miles away as I belt out my best Whitney Houston.

I think I sound damn good. My neighbors, however, may disagree.

I’m so lost in the music that I don’t hear the front door open. I also don’t notice anyone walking toward me as I stand with my head tipped back and my eyes closed, channeling my inner diva, so when the music suddenly cuts and only my flat tone fills the apartment, it scares the shit out of me.

“What the—Tate?” I screech, my eyes taking a moment to focus on her standing on the other side of the room with her beautiful baby bump covered in a gorgeous floral dress.

Aw, my bestie is so fucking pretty.

“What’s going on?” she demands, effectively stomping on my warm, fuzzy thoughts about her.

“Err…”

“I’ve been calling you for an hour. We were meant to meet after work.”

My heart sinks.

“Fuck. I forgot.”

Her eyes narrow in suspicion. I get it. I never forget shit like that.

“I’m sorry. Today…this month has just been?—”

“What’s happened?” Tate asks again, knowing me well enough to know this is not just cheating-asshole related.

“Men are stupid. That’s what’s happened.”

“I thought Matt had stopped hounding you.”

Just hearing his name sends a shooting pain through my heart.

He was so perfect.

So fucking perfect.

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