Page 1 of Hot and Bothered
1
Ilifted the cocktail glass to my mouth with an unsteady hand. The rim clinked against my front teeth. Flinching, I inhaled a sharp, pained hiss, but didn’t let it stop me. I tipped my head back and gulped down the rest of my drink.
Only a few droplets hit my tongue. I lowered my empty glass and stared down at it in mourning.
“There’s no more,” I said to nobody in particular.
Two guys several seats away at the bar counter looked at me. Their eyes widened in unison. I brandished my glass in the air with a wavering, French-tipped and well-manicured hand.
“There’s no more,” I repeated, lamenting to them this time.
The two quickly turned their heads away from me, avoiding my gaze.
That was all right. I didn’t want people looking at me anyway. I wanted to be left alone to cry and drink in solitude.
That was a pretty big ask, considering I was currently slumped over the middle of a counter at a local bar called Sin and Tonic with black streaks of mascara congealing on my wet cheeks while wearing a pure white, mermaid-style wedding dress.
“How are you doing, hon?” The pretty blonde girl, who I assumed was a bartender, gave me a sympathetic look as she wiped down the counter in front of me.
“I drank it all,” I hiccuped, gesturing to my glass. “I need another one.”
“Maybe it’s time you think about switching to water.” She didn’t wait for me to answer before handing me a bottle. “This one’s on the house.”
Fresh tears filled my eyes.
“Thank you,” I blubbered as I took the water bottle from her outstretched hand. “You’re being so nice to me.”
“What’s your name, hon?” she asked.
“Alice,” I answered before taking a sip of water.
“Do you want me to call someone to come pick you up, Alice?” she asked.
“No.” My breath hitched with a liquid sob. “There’s no one.”
Even through my drunken stupor, I could see the pity on her face.
I wiped my cheeks with a napkin. It came back soggy and black. I sniffled and cleared my throat.
“I’ll go pay my bill and call a cab,” I told her.
I had no idea where I was going to go. Some hotel, probably. I hated the idea of spending my wedding night alone in a hotel room.
I hated the alternative even more.
The pretty bartender girl came back with my credit card and a frown on her face.
“I’m sorry, hon, but this card is declined.”
My heart spiked with panic.
“What?” I sat up straight, then had to grip the bar railing to keep from tumbling over. “It can’t be declined.”
“I tried it half a dozen times,” she said. “I’m sorry. Do you have another?”
With a nod, I reached into my pearl-encrusted clutch purse and handed her another black card.
But minutes later she returned with the same expression, only this time it was laced with worry.
