Page 18 of Never Date A Player
After bolting the lock behind him, I throw my purse on the couch and stagger into the bedroom. I collapse across the mattress. Cali grunts angrily. It’s possible I elbowed her in the back in my effort to land on the bed and not the floor.
My last thought before I drift off, suspended between consciousness and sleep: I wish Lewis was returning to me…
Chapter Five
I am an idiot.
What the hell did I do the other night?
Around five a.m. that morning I puked my guts out, and that’s when memories of the evening battered my head along with the sledgehammer that is hangover brain. I’m considering moving to another country. It seems a better alternative to showing my face.
Did I actually nuzzle Lewis’s neck, or imagine it? He must think I want him. He’s the last person I want—need. Both.
I take back every disparaging remark I’ve ever made about people who can’t hold their liquor. I could have stopped at, oh, I don’t know, five or six shots. That would have been the wise choice. After the first few, I lost count.
Looking back, I wonder if Mira played a hand in my supply. No one was as intoxicated as me, and I drink two-hundred-pound men under the table. Mira pushed so many shots my way I’m convinced she gave hers up as well. My bad for consuming them, but still, why would she do that? To get me to embarrass myself?
Success.
Utter mortification achieved.
Nessa doesn’t realize it, sitting next to me in the car, but our lunch date is a welcome change from the mental flagellation I’ve subjected myself to these last couple of days. The general chaos going on in my house isn’t helping my stress level.
“I can’t believe they let her go,” Nessa says.
Out of nowhere, Cali lost her job. She effing got fired. She said the casino didn’t give her a solid reason for why they did it, only that she wasn’t a good fit. What kind of corporate lie is that? Cali is the smartest person I know, and she’s charming. It makes no sense. A bar busboy asked me about it, and when I told him, he said it’s happened before—girls getting fired for no reason.
“It’s ridiculous,” I agree, and turn my car down a side road. Nessa lent her car to a friend, so I’m driving today. “She’s pretty upset, but our friend Jaeger has been cheering her up.”
“Cheering her up, eh?” Nessa grins suggestively.
“Exactly.”
There’s something going on between Jaeger and Cali. They seemed highly suspect when I walked in after work the other night. They weren’t doing anything at the time, but I sensed I’d interrupted a moment. She hasn’t offered up information on the situation and it confuses the heck out of me. Cali doesn’t hide her relationships. She’s listed in the Urban Dictionary under TMI when it comes to her boyfriends. It makes me wonder if things with Jaeger are different, like she’s treading carefully because she really likes him.
If so, I’m glad. One of us needs a healthy relationship.
“She’s out with him today, as a matter of fact.” I pointedly raise my eyebrows at Nessa, nose turned down, as if to suggest all manner of things I’m not actually saying.
“Um-hmm, I see how it is. Keep me posted. At least someone is receiving love from the opposite sex.”
My shoulders tense. What would Nessa think if she knew the thoughts I’ve had about Lewis? Sniffing and telling him he smells nice when he has a girlfriend is totally inappropriate, and cranky as Mira is, she’s still Nessa’s friend. I feel like at any moment I’ll get called out for my lusty thoughts about him.
The Beacon Bar and Grill comes into view at the end of the road. I’ve wanted to check out the Beacon since Cali and I arrived in town, and coming today might be the only thing capable of taking my mind off my shame spiral. But as I ease my beater sedan into the packed parking lot and glimpse the lake, I start to rethink my clothes.
Tahoe nights are cool, but the days heat up quickly and it’s already in the low seventies. Nessa came prepared. Black straps from a halter swimsuit show above her shirt. The restaurant is on the beach; I should have worn a bathing suit beneath my outfit. Instead, I’m in a faded navy T-shirt with linen shorts and slip-on tennis shoes.
I grab a towel I keep in the trunk and throw it in my tote. I’ll have a spectacular farmer’s tan (make that sunburn) if we lie out in the sun, but I’d rather enjoy the weather and beach than worry about it.
We choose a patio table overlooking the Beacon beach and dock. No clouds fill the sky and the lake is this sapphire blue my gaze gravitates to every few seconds. Granite-peaked mountains cradle the water in an otherworldly embrace and I remember why this place is so special. For a few minutes, I forget why I felt like crap earlier.
Nessa skims the menu. “We have to get Rum Runners.”
My throat convulses. Alcohol. And too much of it. That’s why I suck and why, outside of work, I holed up the last few days.
“What?” Nessa says, taking in the look on my face. “Rum Runners are a tradition at the Beacon.”
“Can we share?” I say in a wobbly voice. “I don’t think I can manage an entire rum drink.” The thought of that particular alcohol engages my gag reflexes. Stupid Buckshots. I’ll never be able to drink a root beer float again.
