Page 12 of Just a Little White Lie

Oh, the temptation.

It’s nearly overpowering.

Just one little brush of the lips. One little taste.

But that glazed look in her eyes stops me. She doesn’t know what she’s saying right now.

Somehow, I manage to remove my hand from her face and gently shake my head. “You’re drunk, Shorty, and Luke’s gonna kill you if he sees you like this.”

With a groan, she cradles her head. “Where is he?”

“Probably getting it on with Mallory at her place.”

“Bluch.” She pokes out her tongue, then shakes her head. The movement obviously hurts her, and she whimpers, pointing at the screen. “I can’t do this.”

“Do what?”

“Find a job again.”

“Yes you can. Why don’t you make it easy on yourself and just email a couple local schools? Start with relief teaching.”

She groans, pulling a face that says it all. “I hated that in London.”

“Do you have much of a choice?”

“Ach! Choices!” she snaps. “I’m so sick of hearing that word.”

And then it happens, catching me completely off guard. Tears don’t form on her lashes and slowly drop; they just instantly appear out of nowhere, trailing down her face as her body jerks with this weird sobbing sound.

Somehow, she manages to talk through it. “I’m supposed to make good choices, but apparently I only know how to make stupid ones!” She draws out that last word, turning it into a cry. “I’m so stupid.”

Sucking in a breath, she curls into a ball and lets out an ugly, drunken sob.

It’s a pitiful sight, and all I can do is rub my hand down her back, silently begging her to stop. Those sounds make my chest hurt because I can’t do anything to make it better.

I guess she needs to let it out. I guess I can just sit here rubbing her back.

Or maybe I can help her get sober. Maybe the tears are alcohol induced.

Maybe all she needs is a good night’s sleep and things will look better in the morning.

With a soft sigh, I stand up and pad into the kitchen.

I’m trying to keep my movements soft and calm. Walking back with a full glass of water, I gently help her sit up. She flinches under my touch but then sees what I’m doing and gazes up at me with her tearstained face.

My chest is getting all tight again.

“You need to rehydrate,” I rasp, holding out the glass for her.

She takes it with trembling fingers and tries to gulp it down but ends up spluttering and coughing all over herself. Water dribbles down her chin, and she sets the glass down, nearly missing the coffee table.

I lurch forward, catching it before it falls. “You should go to bed. You can look at this with fresh eyes in the morning.”

“It’s too hard. I just want to sleep for a year.” She moans and then sniffles into the back of her hand. This pity party does not look good on her, so I throw in a sarcastic quip to try to snap her out of it.

“Yeah, you’re right. Sleeping for a year will solve all your problems.”

She gives me what I’m sure she thinks is a glare, but with an entire bottle of wine coursing through her system, it just comes across as a groggy kind of grimace.

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