Page 5 of How You See Me
Me:I miss you.
Grant:Honey, if it’s not hard, you’re not doing it right.
Oh, thank goodness. I knew he wouldn’t leave me hanging.
Wait . . .
Me:Was that a sex joke?
Grant:Duh. Kind of on my brain with Eric looking so sexy in the sand and sun. It’s HARD (all the time) to control myself.
Grant:Wish you were here, too . . . sort of. You’d just be grossed out.
Me:Probably, but I’d get over it. You two are beautiful together. When’s the wedding?
Grant:Tomorrow at 1:00. I’ll be drowning in my husband and cocktails every minute I can after that.
Me:So, don’tcall . . . you mean?
Grant:Unless it’s dire. Is this dire?
I want to scream, “Yes, help me! It’s what you always do!” But he deserves to think about his wedding, not my stupid, self-sabotaging issues. I shouldn’t have brought him into this.
Me:No. I’ll figure it out.
Grant:Yes, you will. Whatever it is, remember you’re unstoppable. You can do anything.
Me:Sure.
Grant:Where's the commitment?
Me:Darn tootin?
Grant:[Eye roll emoji]
Me:Heck yeah?
Grant:That’s sort of better. Now, go put on a facial mask and tell yourself: “I’m Josie fucking Jones. I’ve got this.”
Me:You know I don’t say that word.
Grant:You can just this once. And say it loud and proud. It will work wonders. Love you, girlfriend.
Me:Love you.
Lumbering my weary body to the bathroom, I slap on one of the masks Grant got me for my birthday then lie across the bed.
“I’m Josie Fudgesicle Jones, and I can do this. It’s not as complicated as I’m making it. I just need to brainstorm a solution.”
Staring at the ceiling, my brain goes numbingly blank with not even a seed of hope brewing.
I’m in trouble.
Chapter 2
Hayes
Staring at the half-empty whiskey bottle on the kitchen counter—the cap, god knows where on the floor—I’ve lost track of how many fingers I’ve poured over the last hour. Four. Five. Doesn’t matter. I’m not stopping until the bottle’s dry, or I can’t feel my breaking heart. Whichever comes first.
