The Truth

“Sure thing, Boss. Thanks for the happy hour.”

Steph grabs her purse, and I double-check that she’s actually texted for an Uber before I let her go, and I check the table. Megan’s drink is mostly untouched, but her water’s gone, making me smile.

She was playacting for her friend. I can appreciate that.

Alone, I take my drink with me as I head to the bar to pay out and maybe get a glass of water to wash down the alcohol and donut I’ve inhaled. I don’t feel too tipsy, but the carbs and sugar probably help with that.

The tab is higher than I expect, and the bartender grins when he sees my drink. “Those are twenty-five bucks apiece,” he informs me, tilting his chin toward my nearly empty glass.

“Well, shit. They enjoyed them, though, so it’s whatever.”

The bartender shrugs, setting down the slip for me to sign. “Can I get a water with lime too?”

“On the house,” he says, as if that dulls the cut from the drinks. But the citrus sharpness does at least help me wash down the sugary sweetness and bitterness over paying seventy-five bucks for three ridiculous drinks.

I take another long drink of the refreshing water, staring at the television above the bar, but ultimately, I flip-flop back to the pink monstrosity.

If I paid twenty-five bucks for it, I’m gonna finish the damn thing. Plopping down on a stool, I focus on the drink, sucking hard enough to threaten myself with a headache but refusing to throw in the towel.

At some point, a guy comes up and tries to flirt. I think his name is Todd, or maybe Ted. He has brown hair, black glasses, and a red power tie. Boooring. I’m friendly but not flirty, trying to put him off. But Todd-Ted doesn’t seem to get it, droning on about this and that. He’s saying something about bulls in the market, which makes zero sense because their horns would knock stuff off the shelves, when I realize the donut monster is still hitting me and I suddenly feel really, super tipsy.

“Hey, bar dude!” I half call, half slur, lifting my glass one-handed. Luckily, it’s nearly empty and much lighter now, so I’m probably not going to spill it. “Whafuck you put in these things, anyway?”

He laughs and says, “It’s sangria, plus a bunch of shots, hence the price. It might as well be trashcan punch because it’s a quick and easy drunk. Grown-up version of sorority girl shit.”

“You calling me a sorority slut?” I growl, and the bartender laughs. “I’ll have you know that I never even went to a sorority party! I do my slutting like a normal woman, at clubs and on dating apps, thank you very much!”

Todd-Ted scoots a little closer, whispering, “You tell him, Trinity.”

I look at Todd-Ted through narrowed eyes. Right before I correct him on my name, I remember that’s the fake name I gave him. It’s a trick I’ve done before to guys in clubs who won’t go away because I don’t need anyone tracking me down with my real name.

“I bet . . . but maybe it’s time to go to your normal woman home and have a normal woman nap?” the bartender says. “What do you say I call you a cab and get you another water?”

I moan, not sure if it’s an answer to the bartender or a curse toward Jasmine for recommending that drink, Stephanie who encouraged it, or myself for drinking the whole thing.

I excuse myself to the bathroom, leaving the bar dude and Todd-Ted sitting there. As soon as I move, I start having a serious hot flash. I didn’t eat any of them, but I feel like I might be one of those hot wings, sitting under a heat lamp after being in a fry bath of oil. I’m sweating and feel like my blood is actually heated in my veins.

I fan myself, praying it’s only the alcohol and not illness coming on.

I splash water on my face, trying to cool down, but have to hold onto the sink counter when I close my eyes. Popping them back open, I look at myself in the mirror.

Shit, shit, shit. I am alone and seriously fucked up.

I’m not usually this stupid. Hell, I’m never this stupid. I hope Stephanie made it home before her drink hit her. At least she only had half of hers, and she left a while ago, so she’s probably okay. But I am not. I’m far from okay.

I pick up my phone to call Ace and then remember that he’s already left for his special weekend with Harper. They’re hours out of town by now.

As if she can psychically sense that I’ve fucked up, my phone rings in my hand. The caller ID says Elle—Best Badass Bitch.

I answer on a hiccup, “How’d you know I need you right now?”