Page 8 of This Wild Heart

“You, however, look like hell.” When my eyebrows shot up on my forehead, she slapped a hand over her mouth and groaned. She dropped her hand. “I’m so sorry, I’ve had a lot of sad shots.”

Her friend cackled. “I can’t believe you just said that. You should apologize to the very handsome man.”

“Oh, it’s fine,” I told her, but kept my focus on Anya. “She’s right, of course. I don’t sleep much anymore. The women in my life are very concerned.”

The friend leaned in, movements exaggerated by the alcohol. “And do you have a lot of those?”

“Too many,” I sighed. “My stepmom Sheila, three sisters, and three sisters-in-law. It’s unbearable, really. Imagine the fussing when I come home with these big, sad dark circles under my eyes. They won’t leave me alone.”

The friend nodded sagely. “I bet. You can tell us all about it. Anya’s a wonderful listener.”

Anya laughed. “Quit encouraging him. Believe me when I say he doesn’t need it.”

I turned to the friend, holding out my hand. “Parker Wilder.”

“Oh, I know who you are.” She grinned, teeth blindingly white and straight against the dark skin of her face. “I’m Vida, the best friend and terrible influence.”

“Well, best friend Vida, are you two in Vegas for work or play?”

Anya let out a scoff, sitting back in her chair to watch this play out.

“Work, mostly,” Vida said. “But I dragged Anya out for some play, and now we’re deep into a drinking game.”

Anya groaned. “No, Veed, you can’t tell him,” she whispered loudly, her hair falling over one shoulder in a thick wave when she reached forward to swat at her friend’s arm. "We arenottalking about this.”

I eyed the hair greedily. “Tell me what?”

Anya grinned in my direction, a dimple appearing on either side of her mouth. “About the sad shots.”

Before I leaned in closer, I turned my hat backward so I didn’t bash her in the forehead. “I am remarkably curious about those.”

Vida produced a bottle from an ice bucket I hadn’t seen when I approached, filling two shot glasses. “We’re comparing stories. Whoever wins makes the other take a shot, and right now, it’s pretty fucking even, Parker. Maybe you can be our ref.”

“Maybe I want to play the game. Who says I can’t win a round or two?”

Anya snorted. “Oh no. I’ll win.”

Eyes wide, Vida gave an exaggerated nod.

I braced my arms on the table. “Tell me.”

Shot glasses filled in front of us, Anya sighed heavily. “Do I have to? I’m declaring a moratorium on any mentions of He Who Shall Not be Named.”

“Voldemort?” I whispered. “I think you can say his name here.”

Vida cackled. “Oh, I like him.”

Anya rolled her eyes. “Great, now he’s never leaving.”

Vida tapped the table. “Let’s put a pause on the moratorium, just for the next five minutes.”

“I’ll go first if that helps,” I said.

“Tell us your tale of woe, Mr. Millionaire football player,” Anya teased.

I picked up the shot glass and held it between us. “My dad died a little less than a year ago, and I wasted an entire year before that being so mad at him for not getting treatment that I didn’t go home. I wasted all that time. I’m now stuck in a vicious cycle of self-loathing and self-hatred that had me close to exploding my career by drinking too much and sleeping around, and I can’t find it in me to care. I’ve done just about anything I can think of to numb myself, and even though I’ve largely stopped all that, now I’m stuck. My family is desperately worried about me, and I don’t know how to fix it because I can’t forgive myself.”

Anya’s mouth fell open.

---