Page 105 of Sweet Little Thing

Chantel gasped. “Really?”

“Yup.”

“I guess my asking him out is a bad idea then.” She sounded disappointed.

Shay shrugged. “Not my business.”

We all sat in silence for a few minutes. My thoughts were on Stone. Chantel’s were on Marty, and I wasn’t sure who Shay was thinking about. I drank more, and with each sip, I felt life become easier. Like I was floating on a happy cloud.

“I keep having sex with Mack,” Shay blurted out.

I couldn’t say I was surprised by this. “Good.” My response was heartfelt, even though it might not have sounded that way.

“Everyone already knows that,” was Chantel’s response.

“Damn,” Shay muttered.

I started giggling. Chantel joined me, and Shay laughed out loud with the two of us. Our laughter got louder as the world suddenly became hilarious. The more we saw each other laugh, the funnier it seemed. My side hurt from laughing. Tears were rolling down my face, and I was okay—at least for now. I would have to face the pain again. But tonight, it felt great to laugh in the face of everything that had happened.

I woke up to misery, but it wasn’t the kind I had expected. My hands gripped the edge of the toilet as I heaved for the third time. A cold sweat covered my body. I sank onto my knees and dropped my head into my hands once I was finished. I would never drink alcohol again.

Laughter coming from outside the door couldn’t even get my attention. I didn’t want to move. My head was pounding so badly that if I did move, I’d likely end up hanging my head over thetoilet again.

“Lightweight, you should have eaten more.” Shay’s all too chipper voice was annoying. How was she not hanging over a toilet? She drank more than the three of us combined. I would ask her if I could speak and not revive my nausea. But even that was difficult. “Here,” a cold, wet washcloth appeared in front of me. “Use that and spread out on the floor. I’ll bring you some water.”

I took the cloth and covered my face, laying on the floor like she suggested. This was like a terrible stomach virus. However, I’d caused it. At least with a stomach virus, you were an innocent victim. It was impossible to feel sorry for myself when the horrid state I was in was my fault.

I couldn’t remember what Stone’s living room looked like or how much of his alcohol we drank. When I could move again, I needed to clean up and restock his bar. Leaving here was inevitable, but I wouldn’t leave without making sure it was just as he left it. The ache in my chest was there under all the awful sickness. Now, it was just worse. I was sick and broken.

“Ouch, you look worse than me,” Chantel said. “And I thought I was in bad shape.” I tried to tilt my head back to look up at her, but even that was too much movement. I grunted instead.

“It was fun. Worth the pain. Might not feel like it right now, but you’ll appreciate it once you are up and living again. I’ve got to go workout. See you later.”

I attempted to nod and listened as her footsteps faded. The idea of her morning workout made me want to throw up again. How could she do anything physical after last night? I must have drunk more than she did.

Footsteps approached. Shay called out to Chantel about taking the trash with her.

“Sit up and drink this.” Shay squatted beside me and handed over a glass of water.

“I can’t,” I moaned.

“You need water to feel better. Come on, you can do this.”

I disagreed. I know I couldn’t stay on the bathroom floor all day, either. I had to get up and move on with my life. That was the one thing we all agreed on last night. It was also one of the last things I remembered clearly. No, the last thing I remembered was the three of us dancing on the balcony. Groaning loudly, I got on all fours and shifted into a sitting position.

“You remind me of a zombie onThe Walking Dead,” Shay said, laughing.

I felt like a zombie, too. Reaching for the glass of water, I took a small sip. And another. I had to close my eyes to ease the pounding in my head.

“Why?” I asked. “Why did I do this?”

“Because it was fun. And for a small window of time, you forgot. You laughed and danced. We worked out your plans for the future. Although I’m rethinking the move to Spain to nanny for a wealthy widower. That sounded good when we were drinking, but now not so much. The language barrier could be your first problem.”

I had forgotten that conversation. “Why did we pick Spain?” I asked, wincing at the sound of my voice.

“I think you said the men there were better looking than French men. I had suggested France.”

“Oh.” That must have made sense last night—not so much now.

---