Page 40 of The Wild Card
What in the world does Collin Graham have to be ashamed of?
“Hey.”
Even though my one-word greeting is soft, Collin jumps. His phone skitters out of his hand and slides down the gray marble counter. I grab it just before it falls off the edge.
Because I’m nosy but nottoonosy, I only take a tiny peek at his screen before dropping onto the stool next to Collin and handing the phone back. It’s open to some social media feed, and I wonder what could possibly have caused the expression he’s now smoothed right off his face.
I’m not the only one here who can act.
Collin clicks the phone off the moment he gets it, turning it face down on the counter. “Morning, Molly.”
His gaze roams over my face, like he’s appraising my current state. His attention makes me blush. So does the use of my first name after all the nicknames. It feels oddly intimate.
“Hi.” The one syllable word comes out squeaky. I sound like a dumb teenager meeting her famous crush for the first time.
“How's the head?” he asks.
“It would be worse if you hadn’t given me water and painkillers. Thank you. And also … sorry. For the record, I’m not usually a whisky—or any kind of—drinker.”
“So arm wrestling a pig farmer was a one-off?” he teases.
I fold my arms on the cool countertop and drop my head on them with a groan. “That really happened, didn’t it?”
“His name is Sooey, just for the record.”
I tilt my head so I can look up at Collin with one eye. “Seriously?”
He shrugs. “I’m sure he has a different name his mama and daddy gave him, but I certainly don’t know it. Wolf said you also sang a mean karaoke. I wouldn’t have picked you for an angry Miranda Lambert crooner, but what do I know?”
“Which song did I sing?”
“Songs—plural. I missed the grand performances, but Wolf said you did rousing renditions of ‘Crazy Ex-Girlfriend’ and ‘Kerosene.’” His elbow nudges mine. “Also? Wolf doesn’t have a karaoke machine.”
“Wait—so how did I sing karaoke?”
“Standing on a table with a bullhorn,” Collin says.
Okay. Wow. I do remember this now. The whole night is a kaleidoscope of cinnamon-whisky-flavored memories.
I remember arriving with Wolf and being disappointed when Collin wasn’t there. Which left me in a strange bar with a strange man and a bunch of strangers after a very strange day. Things perked up when I got the call from Brightmark. Elation followed by acute dismay when I realized I now have a job based on a lie—one I’ll need to dig my way out of. Or—possibly more terrifying—a lie I’ll need to exist inside of for who knows how long.
I think it was actually more the second thing that got me drinking Fireball.
And now that he brought it up, I do remember singing songs on a bullhorn I found behind the counter, learning to two-step from someone whose name escapes me, and arm wrestling Sooey.
Then Collin showed up, saved me from falling off a stool, and carried me around like an oversized baby. Or a bride. I should probably have insisted he let me walk, but his arms felt nice around me. Warm. Comforting. Safe.
Though I fell asleep in the car, I remember him carrying me upstairs to the couch, rubbing my blistered feet, and putting me to bed.
Essentially, Collin Graham babysat me all night. This—after getting dragged into being my fake boyfriend.
On a scale ofnot so badtoutter humiliation, I’m hovering nearjust put me out of my misery, please.
“Coffee?” Collin asks.
“Will it help me forget all the things I did and said last night?”
And all the ways I took advantage of your kindness in the last twenty-four hours?
