Page 33 of Coty

Sparky:Are you?

Her front door doesn’t open.

Me:Why?

Me:You miss me?

Yeah, that one was a little risky.

I watch between my phone screen and the front door. No bubble with the three little dots pops up. The front door doesn’t open. Something’s wrong. I feel it. Once again, I’m an idiot. I should have already checked on her. I jump out of the truck and run to the door.

“Kayla!” I knock loudly.

I know she’s inside.

“Kayla!” I yell and pound harder on the door.

The door jerks open, and she stumbles into me. My arms automatically wrap around her to keep her from falling face-first on the concrete slab.

“Coty!” She looks up and exclaims a little too happily. “You’re here.”

“Yeah, darlin. I am.”

“I knew you were close.” Her words are slurred, and she slowly pats my cheek several times. “Always are.”

Oh, good gracious. She’s drunk. Great. Yep, I’m an idiot. I could have prevented this if I’d knocked on her door an hour ago. A couple of her neighbors peek out their windows. No one needs to see her like this.

“Come on, Sparky. Let’s get you inside.”

“Oh, yeah. Side. We can watch movies.”

“A movie sounds good.”

She won’t make it through a movie, but thankfully, I get her inside without a huge scene. Hopefully, her neighbors won’t share what little they witnessed around town. Gossip can destroy someone’s life fast in Willow Creek.

“You want beer?” She stumbles toward the kitchen.

I scoop her up and carry her to the couch. “I think you’ve had enough.”

“No.” She pushes against my chest. “Stop telling me what I need, what I want. I decide.”

Okay. Reading between the lines here, I’m guessing her parents told her what she should be doing with her life. No big surprise there. They more than likely pointed out her faults, too. I’m not the only idiot tonight.

“Okay, Sparky. I’ll get you a beer. Wait here.”

She lifts her arm and points at the ceiling. “That’s more like it.”

I grab the last two beers from the fridge. There’s no carton, so I don’t know how many she’s already had. My guess is a lot. A whiskey bottle and a shot glass sit on the counter. Great. She’s probably mixed drinks and will be sick by morning. If I could pour half of one of these out and fool her, I would. My best bet is to settle her down. When she relaxes, she’ll pass out.

“Coty! Oh, Coty!”

I sigh and go back to the living room. She’s not ready to pass out, yet.

“Here you go, Sparky.”

She takes the beer and pats the couch. “Sit. Don’t be rude.”

Well, I can’t be rude now, can I? I’m not about to pass up a chance to be close to her. I feel like a jerk doing this while she’s drunk.

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