Page 66 of A Better Place

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Carly

Pain.

So. Much. Pain.

What the hell happened last night? The last thing I remember is Lauren’s shockingly disturbing charades about what a fine line is. If I didn’t remember the margarita pitchers being replenished every five minutes, I would think that was why I am feeling like my head is smashed under an elephant’s foot.

I groan and fall to my knees from my bed, crawl to the bathroom, and use the toilet to pull myself up. I do my business, gag a little bit, wash my hands and face, then look in the mirror. It isn’t pretty but not as bad as it could be. At least I wasn’t wearing too much makeup last night, so I don’t have it smeared across my face.

I brush my teeth, gag again, down a couple of Tylenol and chug a glass of water, then plop right down on my butt in the middle of the bathroom.

I’m trying to piece together everything that happened when I hear a knock on the bathroom door and a deep voice call out my name.

“Carly?”

Oh crap.

“Carly, babe, you alright in there?”

Double — no make that triple — crap. James. Questions are firing off through my head like the end of a fireworks show.

Why is he here?

When did he get here?

Where did he sleep?

How much did he see?

What did I say?

“Fine!” I squeak. “I’m fine!”

“You sure?”

“Mm-hmm, yup! I’ll be right out!”

“Okay. I have coffee started, then I can answer those questions for you,” he says chuckling. What a smart ass.

“Whatever,” I mumble low enough that I think he can’t hear. I’m wrong.

He bursts out laughing as I hear him make his way back through my bedroom.

I slowly stand up, thankful that I’m at least still in my clothes from last night. I take one more look in the mirror, cringe, and run my fingers through my hair.

When I get to the kitchen, the first thing I see is James’s back to me as he cooks something on the stove. I walk over to the coffeepot, pick up the mug already sitting there ready for me, and take a sip.

“How you feeling?” he asks without turning around.

“Like that squirrel who’s roadkill across the street.”

“Sounds about right.” He snorts out a laugh and turns around. He rests his hands against the countertop and raises his eyebrows at me. “Got any questions?”

I plop down at the table, stretch my arms out, and lay my head over my right arm. “Not really sure yet if I want to know.”

I lift my head and watch him. “Well, let me get the few taken care of for you. I’m here because I wanted to make sure you were okay. Last night I got a phone call from the owner of El Charro. I helped him with his restaurant makeover a few years ago, and he remembered me bringing Tess in. When I got there, you were a second away from passing out, and the other girls were having a private concert.”

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