Page 50 of Until August
I grabbed a glass from the cupboard and a bottle of wine from the refrigerator and carried them to the living room, which had a huge flatscreen on the wall.
Curled up in the corner of the sofa, I guzzled wine and watched my comfort movies—80s teen cult classics.
I drained my glass and punched the air, singing “Don’t You (Forget About Me)” as Judd Nelson, who played the rebel, pumped his fist.
I finished the bottle, cracked open a new one, and dissolved in a puddle of tears.
If only we’d had those kids.
If only he hadn’t gone to the Lakers game that night.
If only I’d listened when everyone told me that letting him go was the best thing I could do for him.
CHAPTEREIGHTEEN
Nicola
I joltedawake at the persistent ringing of the doorbell. It took me a few seconds to figure out where I was—wedged into the tight space between the sofa and the coffee table. Sitting up, I wiped the drool off my chin and groaned.
The person at the door graduated to pounding it with their fist. A classic Dylan St. Clair move.
What did he want now?
I stumbled down the hallway, feeling queasy and seasick like the time I went deep sea fishing and spent the entire trip back to shore heaving over the side of the boat.
“Nicola!” a voice boomed. “Open the fucking door.”
I recognized that voice. It was not Dylan.
I swung the door open and blinked a few times to clear my vision. August stood before me, filling up the doorway. I had no idea what time it was, but it looked like it was the middle of the night. Over his shoulder, a silver moon shone on the old pickup parked in my driveway. I re-focused on the man in front of me, confusion pulling my brows into a V. “What are you doing here?”
He sighed in exasperation and pushed his hand through his hair. It was messier than usual, like someone had been running their fingers through it all night. Sex hair.
“You called me. I told you I’d be right over.”
“I didn’t call….” My voice trailed off. Oh, shit, I did, didn’t I? I drunk-dialed August, and I must have given my address, too. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be standing outside my door looking all sexy and disheveled. My gaze roamed over his gray sweatpants and black Henley with the sleeves pushed up.
I stared at the tattoos on his arms, mesmerized by the designs as if I’d never seen them before. When he said my name, my gaze snapped to his face. “Um, yeah… sorry to drag you over here in the middle of the night. Thanks for coming, but I’m okay.” I waved my hand, gesturing that he could leave now, and tried to close the door.
His palm smacked against the wood, preventing me from closing it in his face. He scowled. “I’m here now.” His gaze raked over me, and his dark brows drew together. “And you don’t look okay. Far from it.”
Jesus. What was up with everyone today?
“You’re the second person today who told me I look like shit,” I muttered as he shouldered his way inside and swept past me without waiting for an invitation.
“I didn’t say you look like shit. I just said you don’t look okay.” Then, “Someone told you that you look like shit?” He sounded so offended on my behalf that I almost forgave him for showing up with sex hair.
“Doesn’t matter,” I mumbled.
He trailed me to the living room, where a movie was still playing, lending the room its only light. I flopped down on the jade velvet U-shaped sofa and sat in the curve, tucking my legs underneath me.
August glanced around the room at the black and white framed vintage prints on the midnight blue walls and the vaulted ceiling before sitting right next to me. An entire sectional, and he chose to sit on the cushion next to mine. He picked up the empty wine bottle that had rolled under the coffee table and set it next to the other half-empty bottle. Or half full, depending on how you looked at it.
“Help yourself.” I gestured to the wine and the bar in the corner with a sweep of my hand. Like a gracious hostess.
“Nah. I’m good. Looks like you drank enough for both of us.”
In my defense, the first bottle only had two glasses left in it. “You missed a good party.” A pity party for one was always such a blast.
