Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club #1) - Claire Kingsley Page 0,88
at least, that’s what I meant to say. I was slurring too much to make a lot of sense.
“I don’t know, man, but let’s get you sobered up.” Ethan shoved some water at me. “Drink this and we’ll get some food in you. You look like hell, by the way.”
I took a long swallow of water.
Food and water started to clear my head, which was exactly what I didn’t want. But no one would let me near the whiskey again.
Eventually, as if I were a helpless child, my brother helped me to my room. I fell into bed, my head still too fuzzy to argue. Vaguely, I was aware of Ethan and Dad talking. Something about letting me sleep it off. I ignored them. Just kept my eyes closed and sank into drunken oblivion.
I woke up fully dressed, sprawled out face down on my bed. My mouth was dry, my eyes gritty, and I had a splitting headache. I hadn’t been this hungover in a very long time.
This was why I preferred to keep myself—and my life—under strict control. The consequences of letting go were never worth it.
“Fuck.” I brought a hand to my forehead. I had no idea what time it was. Or how I’d gotten here. The last thing I remembered, I’d been sitting at my desk, pouring whiskey down my throat.
A hazy memory of food came back to me. I had the sense that Ethan and Grant had been here, but maybe I’d imagined it.
Groaning, I hauled myself out of bed. There was still a hint of Everly’s strawberry scent on these sheets. I needed to get away from it.
The glimpse I caught of myself in the bathroom mirror was nothing short of horrifying. I was a goddamn mess.
A shower helped. Someone had left me water and ibuprofen by the bed, so I took those. The water helped, too. I was dehydrated as fuck. My stomach was raw, but I figured I should try to eat, or at least have some coffee.
I shuffled to the kitchen, wincing at the light. Ethan and Grant were drinking coffee in the living room with my dad. Was it the same day? Or had they spent the night? I still hadn’t figured out what time it was.
“Morning,” Ethan said, his voice bright.
“Is it?” I fumbled for the coffee.
“Yeah, you slept all night. But you still look pretty rough.”
I grunted as I poured myself a mug. “Did you stay here?”
“Yeah.”
Grant stood. “I have to get to work. Are you sure you’ve got this?”
Ethan nodded. “Yeah, we’ll handle it. I’ll see you at home tonight.”
“There’s nothing to handle,” I said.
They ignored me. Grant squeezed my shoulder on his way to the front door.
I went into the living room and sank down into an armchair. Everly’s ugly bean bag chair was still in its place, mocking me with its hideous yellow fuzz.
“Don’t you have to work, too?” I asked, glancing at Ethan.
“I took the day off.”
“Why?”
His brow furrowed, as if I’d just asked a stupid question. He pointed at me, tracing his finger up and down. “Because this.”
I hunkered down in the chair and took a sip of coffee.
“So, all we could get out of you last night was something about Everly, and being a sperm donor, and some mumbling about gold-diggers,” Ethan said. “What the hell happened?”
I told them about the contract I’d found in Everly’s desk. How she’d agreed to be my fake girlfriend so she could hit me with a sperm donor request—and she’d kept that detail from me.
“So, you broke up with her,” Ethan said.
“No, I couldn’t break up with her because our relationship was fake. I told her our arrangement was over.”
“That’s the same as breaking up with her.”
I groaned, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Are you here to argue semantics?”
“No, I’m here to help because you’re a fucking mess.”
He wasn’t wrong. For the first time in my life, I’d totally fallen apart. It was pathetic. “I just drank too much. I’ll finish my coffee and go into the office.”
“Don’t go to work today,” Dad said.
“I was already out yesterday. I have to go in.”
“No, you don’t,” he said. “Give yourself a break.”
I rubbed my forehead with my fingertips. “I don’t need a break. I just need some caffeine and to go to work.”
“Shepherd.” Dad’s voice was uncharacteristically sharp. I hadn’t heard that tone from him in a long time. “You’re hurt. You need to deal with that, not bury it and pretend it didn’t happen.”