Page 12 of Mostly Loathing You

“Hi, baby!” Savannah squeals as she wraps her arms around Wes’s neck.

Waving to the bartender, I ask for a shot of Patrón. She reappears instantly and as the fiery liquid coats my throat, I find myself relaxing despite the hostile company.

I will never grow used to Hannah being here; I wish I didn’t have to.

Believe it or not, it hasn’t always been this way between Hannah and me. When we were kids, some would have even called us friends. We bickered…but were friends. Something changed along the way. I try to prevent the tequila from coming back up as I recall that at one point I actually had a crush on her.

I am well aware of how disgusting that is. Lucky for me it was short-lived.

Hannah squeezes in beside me at the bar in an attempt to get the bartender’s attention. As she orders a shot, I order oneas well and, although we’re not taking the shottogether, we do take our shots at the same time.

Despite the burn, I fixate on the way her throat moves as she swallows it.

The tension in her throat stretches down the expanse of skin of her decolletage. She was wearing a blazer earlier, but the dress she had underneath goes from office to night out so seamlessly that I’m convinced there’s no way it is work-appropriate. But somehow, it was.

“Hey, Liam!” Gabe yells from the pool table, thankfully pulling my attention away from Hannah.

Clearing my throat, I push my shot glass to the back lip of the bar, signaling to the bartender that I’ll have another.

“One sec,” I respond, grabbing my newly provided shot and guzzling it down before heading over to join Gabe. “What’s up?”

The look I’m met with causes my stomach to sour.

“No.” I attempt to shut him down instantly.

“I’m just sa—”

“No,” I reiterate.

“No, what?” Jackson appears out of nowhere at the absolute worst possible time.

“Gabe just being a dipshit,” I say with a grin.

“Yeah, just, ya know…drunk and stupid.” Gabe forces a laugh as he scratches the back of his neck.

Thank God.

SIX

HANNAH

If you had asked me a year ago what I’d be doing right now, sitting in a meeting at Baker & Park taking notes for Jackson and Liam, I would’ve said you were delusional. I never wanted to do this.

My agreeing to take a job at Stephen’s law firm was far from a rash decision; it was suggested by my parents for years. They have never agreed with my decision to pursue acting and when I opted to move to Atlanta, I am pretty sure they were convinced they had won.

Won they have not.

That being said, money is a necessary evil in life and when I moved to New York, it was made clear that as long as I was pursuing that path, I would have no financial help from my parents.

So here I am, sitting in Conference Room B taking notes I am almost positive neither Jackson nor Liam will be looking at. It’s just the three of us, so I’m not even sure why we booked a conference room.

“What do you mean his alibi fell through?” Liam sighs, rubbing his hand over his face in exhaustion.

We’ve been in this meeting for over an hour rehashing the Martin Tollies case. Liam was assigned to take lead on the case and it’s been made pretty clear through our meetings that he’s intent on leaving no stone unturned.

“His neighbor that he said would vouch that he was at his apartment that night couldn’t corroborate,” Jackson responds, and I instantly write it down.

Liam’s forehead meets the tabletop in frustration. He groans, lifting his head to look at Jackson again. “Okay, well…we need to figure out another way to corroborate his alibi. I’ll call his landlord and see if there’s any sort of security that can confirm. Jot that down, Hannah.”

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