Page 50 of Holding On To Good

Willow burrowed her head deeper into her arms. “I’m never drinking again. Anything. Ever.”

“This will help,” her tormentor said.

Willow pried her eyes open. Lifted a hand to block the light. “The… sun…” she croaked. “So… bright…”

Hayden Stabinksi, five feet, six inches of killer body and bad attitude raised her eyebrows. “That’s what happens at noon on a clear summer day. The sun shines. Now come on.” She nudged the side of Willow’s foot with the toe of her sandal. “Bottoms up.”

Dropping her hand to the table, keeping her head down, Willow reached out and dragged the glass closer. “It’s gray.”

“Yep.”

“What’s in it?”

“You know that saying about not asking questions if you don’t really want to know the answer? This is one of those times. Now, plug your nose and gulp it down.”

Willow wanted to argue. She did. But forming words at the moment was so difficult, and no matter how softly she spoke, every sound reverberated painfully through her head. Sitting up, Willow raised the glass to her mouth.

“Oh, God…” She gagged and set the glass down with a thump. “It smells like feet.”

“Hence the part about plugging your nose.”

Not happening. Her hands were so unsteady she needed both of them to bring the glass to her mouth. Holding her breath, she chugged the drink down in four long gulps. It wasn’t too horrible—not nearly as bad as its scent implied—but it wasn’t good, either.

It was heavy on tomato juice and Willow detected both Worcestershire sauce and horseradish. But she wasn’t going to even try to figure out what those chewy bits were or why there was a strange, shrimp-like aftertaste.

“Coffee,” Willow begged, and yes, she sounded pathetic and whiny. She felt pathetic and whiny so it all worked out. Besides, at this point, the scent of brewing coffee was the only thing keeping her will to live alive. “Please.”

“Oh, sorry,” Hayden said, not sounding sorry at all, the fink. “I made that coffee for me. Unlike you, I wasn’t passed out half the night. I was working.”

That was just mean. And did Hayden have to look so put together right now? Her light brown shoulder-length hair was all shiny and smooth, her complexion rosy, her hazel eyes clear and bright.

Make that the ratfink.

“You,” Hayden continued, “are going to remain caffeine free for the rest of the day.” She exchanged the empty glass for a new one filled with water. Set two pain relievers on the table. “What you need are carbs. And because I am the very best kind of friend—considerate and generous, almost to a fault—I’m going to make you some dry toast.”

Willow washed the pain relievers down with a sip of water. “I don’t have any bread.”

“I figured as much.” She pulled a loaf of bread from a canvas tote. “Which was why I texted Urban to pick up a loaf from St. Honore’s.”

Willow froze. Kept her gaze on the table. “Urban was here?”

Hayden nodded. “While you were in the shower.”

Urban had been here. Again. After all he’d done for her last night, he’d then left his house on a Sunday morning to bring her bread so she could have dry toast.

But she couldn’t think about that now. About how patient and considerate he’d been. Didn’t want to remember how she’d acted last night, bawling all over him because he’d been sweet. Running her fingers through his hair because he’d been so close.

Kissing him because she could.

She felt sick again.

Sliding down, she leaned her head back against the chair. Ran her tongue over her teeth. “My teeth ache. My hair hurts. How is that even possible?”

Hayden put two slices of bread into the toaster then poured herself a cup of coffee. “If you don’t want your teeth to ache and your hair to hurt, don’t drink an entire bottle of champagne.”

“It wasn’t an entire bottle. And you’re sharing that bit of wisdom with me now, when it’s too late to do me any good.”

“Hey, it happens to the best of us. Sometimes we celebrate life’s special moments too hard.”

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