Page 27 of Torrid Little Passion

Mya

My head is poundingwhen I crack my eyes open. Darkness surrounds me as I throw back my covers and swing my legs over the side of my bed. Sitting there for a second, waiting for my eyes to adjust before I head down the hall to the bathroom in search of water and aspirin, I replay last night, cringing the entire time.

Starting with the pre-party festivities I initiated.

Cleo found me standing on a step ladder in my closet, searching for my hidden bottle of vodka. I'd just received another text from Brady, and it pushed me over the edge.

BRADY:I'll see you tonight.

Is he warning me? That's how I took it. And panic begins to set in. Because I’m not ready to talk to him yet. I don't even know what to say.

"Thanks for the great sex, but since you're getting it from someone else on the side, this is over."

Those words will never pass my lips. I’m a chicken shit.

Not to mention he called me his friend multiple times over the last week. Before we started ripping each other’s clothes off and after. So if that's how he still sees me, if all he wants is to be my friend, I’m not about to continue to reap benefits he doesn't deserve.

"And what are you doing up there?" she asks, dropping her bag inside my bedroom door before sitting in my desk chair and spinning to watch me.

"I can't tell you."

Unless there's a sanctioned party, having booze in the house is against policy. Which is why we don't tell Cleo where we hide it. Not that she's dumb enough to believe we follow every rule in the book.

"Are you at least going to share when you find it?"

Like I said, she's not stupid.

"Maybe."

"I think you put it in one of your shoe boxes."

Opening the top box, I find my vodka nestled between a pair of four-inch black heels. The ones I wore to our formal last year. I only had them on for an hour. Brian and I ended up heading to the hotel room he booked for us instead of hanging out with my friends. I regret that decision now.

Snagging the bottle, I replace the lid, and carefully climb down the step ladder.

"Start talking," Cleo says as soon as my feet hit the carpet.

"There's a party tonight. I just figured I'd start a little early."

Cleo glances at her watch, her eyes flicking to mine as she gives me a questioning stare. When I don't comment on the time because I know it's too early to start drinking, she continues.

"Okay, let's try this again. Why are you drinking at two o'clock in the afternoon? And don't feed me any bullshit."

Taking a seat on the edge of my bed, I crack the seal on the bottle, tip it back, and let the burn of the cheap booze coat my throat. I offer her the bottle, but she shakes her head.

"Long story short, I was screwing around with someone who is going to be at the party tonight. Consider this a little liquid courage." I take another sip before Cleo rips the bottle out of my hand. I'm prepared for a world-class lecture on alcoholism and sleeping around, but she surprises me.

"I knew you were getting some. Who is he?"

"Just a friend." The words feel dirty as I mutter them through gritted teeth.

"A friend? As in, someone you want to be more than friends with, but he's an idiot and isn't mature enough to take that step?"

"Something like that."

"And you're pissed off." I nod. "Maybe a little hurt." My head bobs up and down again. "And want to drink away the pain."

I don't even bother to acknowledge the question this time. I don't need to. We both know what I'm doing. Numbing myself so when I see Brady tonight, I won't feel anything.

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