Page 33 of An Uphill Battle

“You are the lowest of the low, and if I never see your face again, it’ll be too soon!” she screams in my face, and I’ve had enough. I tighten my grip on her arm and drag her behind me, away from the audience we’vegathered.

She hollers and protests the entire way, and I’m about ready to yell right back at her. “You need to stop talking,” I grit out through clenched teeth as I haul her through the entryway. Swear to God, if I didn’t love her crazy-ass...

“I will NOT stop talking! You’re nothin’ but a no good, womanizin’jerk—”

“You’re callin’ me a womanizer? Like you don’t know me better thanthat?”

“I feel like I don’t know you at all anymore,” she says, collapsing against mychest.

I palm each side of her face and tilt her head back so that she’s looking me in the eye. I’m momentarily struck speechless at the sight of her, with her mascara running down her cheeks as she cries silent tears. The pain etched across her face is so fucking palpable that I can feel it. Or maybe that’s my own pain. “You know me, Little Bit. I’m the same asever—”

Azalea attempts to pull back from my hold, but I bring her in closer. With her face pressed against my chest and her tears soaking my shirt, she whispers, “I know, D, and maybe that’s the problem. You’re exactly the same. I’ve just been blind toit.”

This time when she tries to wiggle free, I let her. No matter what I try to say, she’s determined not to hear it. Azalea’s already decided she knows it all, and I’m wasting my breath trying to tell her otherwise. She rises up on to her tippytoes and wraps her arms around my neck before sealing her mouth to mine in what I know she sees as a goodbye kiss. And maybe that’s for the best. Maybe we really aren’t meant to be. God knows I’ve fucking tried, but I’m man enough to know when I need to bowout.

With one last hard press of her lips, she pulls away from me and walks away. She doesn’t turn back, and I don’t try to stop her. We’ve run our course, and with the taste of her tears on my lips, I turn and head back into thebar.

Reclaiming my seat at the bar beside Kelly, I take a moment to compose myself, because otherwise, she’ll be the recipient of the anger and hurt I’m drowning in—not that she doesn’t deserve at least some ofit.

“Guess it didn’t go well?” she asks, pushing another drink towardme.

“The fuck do you think?” I ask, my tone hard and angry. She has the good sense to at least look sorry, but that’s not really good enough. “No, Kelly, it didn’t. And you sure as shit didn’t helpmatters.”

“Look, I realize I probably made things worse, but my God. Somebody needed to light a fire under that girl’sass.”

I level her with a glare. “Only fire you lit is the one pushing her further and further away. Jesus. Next time you wanna help, do me a favor and don’t. In all honesty, I don’t think we’ll move pastthis.”

Kelly gives me a sympathetic pat on the shoulder. “Maybe it’s for the best.” And as much as it kills me to agree with her, maybe itis.

AZALEA

Everything hurts. My head, my heart, my pride. The pain of seeing them together and watching him walk away from me and back to her pricks at me like a million tiny needles, and I want—no, I need—to numb it. To not feel it. To not feelanything.

When my tears blur my vision, I guide my car to the shoulder. I flip down my visor and use the mirror to check the damage and gasp at the sight I’m met with. My eyes are bloodshot and my cheeks are stained black. I look like the morning walk of shame, minus the happy ending from the night before, because apparently, happiness isn’t meant for girls likeme.

I fish my emergency makeup bag from the glovebox and make do the best I can. Once I only look half-bad and not horrible, I take off, driving with no destination in mind. That is, until I reach the first bar in the next town over. Nothing to numb my pain like a little alcoholtherapy.

“What’ll ya have?” the bartender asks, barely glancing myway.

“Two shots. Whisk—” I pause and change course, because whiskey makes me think of Drake’s eyes. “Tequila.” I offer him my I.D. and tell him to open atab.

“Here ya go,” he says, placing my shots in front of me before heading off to help the next customer. Wasting no time, I slam them back-to-back, savoring the way they burn all the way down, because at least I’m in control of thispain.

I signal the bartender for two more shots when someone sidles up next to my stool. “What’s a pretty girl like you doin’ drinking all alone?” the stranger asks, running his thumb in small circles along my shoulder. I don’t normally enjoy strangers touching me, but with the tequila flowing through me and the night’s earlier rejection, it feelsnice.

“Who says I’m alone? Maybe I’m waiting on someone?” I ask, trying to becoy.

“Doll, I’ve been watching you since you strolled in. If you’re waiting on someone, they ain’t comin’. Shame for them, but lucky for me.” The bartender approaches with the shots I signaled for, as well as whatever the dude all up in my space is drinking, and I smile to myself when he tells the bartender to put my drinks on his tab. “Pretty girl like you shouldn’t be payin’ for her owndrinks.”

I know I should thank him, but his words hit me harder than the alcohol—"Shame for them.”—like somehow, it’s Drake’s loss and notmine.

“Tell me, doll, what’s your story?” The stranger twirls a strand of my blonde hair around his finger, and I take a moment to study him. Tall, medium build, with tan skin. He’s got a jaw sharp enough to cut granite and eyes bluer than the ocean. Combine all that with his wavy blonde hair and that rumble of a voice, and he’s a catch. Someone else’s catch, though, because the only man I want on my line is DrakeCollins.

“No story here, just out for a good time.” We never exchange names, and our conversation stays strictly in the small-talk zone, save for his pick-up lines. The sexy stranger orders another round of drinks, only this time instead of shots, he asks for some mixed concoction and it’s delicious. “I can hardly even taste the alcohol,” I tell him on a wobblysmile.

“That’s why they’re so good,” he replies with a wink, watching with interest as I slurp down whatever it is he ordered me. When I reach the bottom, he signals the bartender for one more and asks him to close out thetab.

“Why don’t we go somewhere we can talk a bit more?” he asks when I’m about midway through the second mixed drink. I feel boneless, weightless—like I could just float away. Smiling, I nod, and we make our way to the door with his hand at the small of myback.

---