It was wishful thinking. I hadn’t been that drunk, and there was no way in hell I’d imagined how amazing he smelled, how good and strong his shoulder felt under my hand.
I couldn’t let Hendrix Hawthorn get under my skin. He was not part of the plan. College was my plan. A law career and a perfect reputation that would allow me to one day run for office were my plan. William was my plan.
My stomach roiled; saliva gathered in my mouth. I threw out a shaky hand and steadied myself on the railing. I must’ve been more drunk than I thought.
I forced several deep, cleansing breaths into my lungs and pushed thoughts of boys out of my mind. Then I sat down and finished my coffee before heading back downstairs to tackle the day.
The others shuffled into the kitchen one by one after the cleaners left, looking worse than me—rubbing their eyes, grunting in greeting, dragging their feet.
“Whoa! It doesn’t look like there was even a party here last night.” Turner looked around in awe, then rushed to the window to check the patio area.
Harlow put some chill music on, and we ordered in for breakfast. By the time our parents got home, everyone was showered and feeling more like themselves.
Thankfully, the evening was quiet, and I was able to get some homework done before going to bed early.
I spent Monday and Tuesday avoiding Hendrix as much as I’d warned everyone else to. Tuesday evening provided another good distraction, with the added bonus that I could accomplish something for my future and for the greater good.
After school, I changed into plain black clothes and headed straight into Devilbend’s downtown for my volunteer shift with Devilbend Community Legal Center. I worked there for four hours every second Tuesday.
I mostly just made coffee, did filing, and took a few phone calls, but my two-year commitment would look fantastic on my college application, and I was gaining invaluable insight into family law. While the clinic covered various areas of practice, Tuesday night was devoted to family law appointments. Lawyers from some of the best firms in the area volunteered their time to provide advice to members of the community who couldn’t afford legal help otherwise. I’d met partners and associates from the law firm I was hoping to intern at over the summer, plus I was building relationships and doing good in my community.
It was the right thing to do, but it secretly felt more like an obligation than anything else. I’d never admit it to anyone, not even to myself out loud, but these Tuesday nights had turned into a boring chore.
“Here’s your coffee, Jasmin.” I gave the manager of the center a smile.
“Thanks, Donna.” She shoved several dirty cups out of the way so I could place the new one next to the pile of files on her desk.
I frowned but chuckled. “How many have you had today?”
“Uh . . . four? No. Six. I don’t know. An even number. Are the volunteer lawyers here yet?” She was the cliché of the overcaffeinated community lawyer, with cheap suits, tired eyes, and her chestnut hair in a messy bun. But clichés existed for a reason. She was overworked. She was underpaid. She really needed the caffeine to get through her day.
“Yes, ma’am. Mr. Horowitz just got here, and the first clients should arrive any moment now. The interview rooms are set up, and I’ve got everyone coffee or tea. Also, here’s a phone message from James. His son has strep throat again, and he won’t be able to come in tomorrow.”
Her shoulders sagged. “Great. Perfect. First they cut my damn funding, then three people call in sick. I’m going to have to reschedule a dozen appointments tomorrow.”
“I’ll do as many as I can tonight.”
“That would be really great. Thank you, Donna.”
“It’s no problem. How bad is the funding cut?”
She winced. “Bad. I’m probably going to have to lay someone off—when I actually need to hire two more to keep up with demand for services. And donations are down. It’s one of those days where the coffee is the only thing keeping me going.” She saluted me with her mug and took a long drink, then frowned. “I’m sorry. You don’t need me unloading all this on you. Thank you for volunteering your time. It makes a difference.”
“It’s no problem. On both fronts.”
The little bell above the rickety glass door chimed, and I had to go welcome the first clients.