Page 20 of Faking It With the Small-Town Bad Boy

It’s also the worst spot to be in with my daunting addiction on the

horizon.

Thinking of that save-the-date card some more, I imagine how much

liquor it would take to drown the pain of seeing it. It would have to at

least be a dark liquor, perhaps three-fourths of the bottle, and maybe

more than that if it’s cut with juice or something.

The fantasy of drinking makes my mouth water and my abdomen

tighten.

I’m supposed to tell someone about my urges when they arise, but

who the fuck am I supposed to talk to about this shit? Everyone in

town is going to look at me like the pitiful ex-boyfriend of the

governor’s daughter—the man she screwed over in the backseat of a

Honda Accord with Ryan Jones.

I can only imagine the feeling that Leah Reese is going through right

now. She and Ryan were like the soulmates of Rally, and I bet the

news will be just as haunting for her to hear. Only now, I have an odd

sense of an idea spurt through my head.

We have a lot in common in this unfortunate situation, and maybe

we can play that to our advantage.

Anything to get over the shit Ryan and Farrah are so keen on putting

us through.

I attempt to breathe calmly, tracing each little divot in the ceiling,

every line that frames the tiles above me, and count each tile from

left to right. It’s soothing, but it’s not enough.

It’s not whiskey.

A CHEATER’S CONFESSIONAL

Leah

I trudge my way into the house, hoping that somehow the floors open

up under my feet and swallow me whole. Collapsing in the chair, the

scent of burnt coffee lingers through the air, wafting around me like a

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