When Rivals Lose (Bayshore Rivals 2)

As always, Matt is attentive and caring, though his eyes say otherwise, and by the time we make it to the dinner party my parents have put together for us, I’m feeling a little less nauseated. My mother is beaming, she’s over the moon as we enter the reception area that’s filled with members of both sides of our families.

Many faces are unfamiliar to me, so I keep my eyes down and let Matt guide me around the room. He introduces me to nearly everyone he knows, as I fake a smile and pretend like I care what they have to say to me.

Pretending is exhausting, and I find myself reaching for a flute of wine without even thinking. The cold bubbly liquid slips past my dry lips and into my cotton filled mouth, soothing the dryness there. I down the contents of the entire thing, and reach for another, sipping the second glass, rather than downing it too.

I hate this place. I hate my father. I hate that I’m being forced to do something that I don’t want to do. I just want to run away and forget about everything.

“Would it hurt you to smile a little?” my mother growls as she passes by me.

Would it hurt you to care a little? I want to say but don’t.

We eat a light dinner, and Matt converses with his father, and a few of the other businessmen. I do my best to block out most of the conversation and just stand there like a statue, letting him hold my hand, and show me off, like I’m some rare jewel.

“Here, have another,” Shelby walks up to me, whispering in my ear as she hands me a flute. “You look like you could use it.”

“Thank you,” I say, and for the first time tonight a ghost of a smile that isn’t forced, plays on my lips. I’m so glad Shelby is here, my one friend who has always stood by me. “I don’t know how I can ever repay you for being my friend. You’ve been there for me through everything.”

“Don’t mention it,” Shelby waves me off and gives me a kiss on my cheek. “That’s what friends are for.”

We talk some more before Shelby excuses herself and leaves. I wish I could have left with her, but since it’s my party and all, I guess people expect me to stay.

Time passes by slowly, and I watch as Matt orders drink after drink. It seems like I’m not the only one trying to drown my sorrows. The difference is, I stopped after the third flute of champagne, even though I want to drink more. I didn’t like how the alcohol clouded my mind, so I forced myself to stop.

As the evening goes on, Matt becomes more and more intoxicated, but his hand stays wrapped around mine, keeping me close to his side. It’s not ideal, but if I’m being honest, it’s better than walking around on my own. At least this way, I have Matt to act as a buffer between my parents and me, and anyone else I don’t want to talk to.

After a short time, my bladder starts to protest, the champagne running through me faster than I anticipated. Pulling my hand out of Matt’s I excuse myself to the bathroom. I can feel his eyes on me as I walk away, burning through the fabric of my dress and embedding into my skin.

When I make it to the bathroom and into the stall, I all but sag against the wall. Tears sting my eyes. I want to cry so badly, to let all the things I’m feeling out, but I can’t. I have to hold it together. I have to be strong. The instant I show weakness my mother and father will pounce.

Swallowing down the tears, and pain, I use the toilet, flush, and wash my hands. Exiting the bathroom, I keep my eyes trained on the floor. Failing to notice the person walking toward me, I run head-on into them.

“I’m so sorry…” I apologize and lift my gaze hoping, it’s not one of my parents’ friends. My eyes take in the expensive black suit and then the handsome face attached to it, it’s an extremely drunk, Matt.

“Sorry enough to give me a kiss?” he slurs, his eyes are bloodshot and glassed over, I didn’t realize he was this drunk before I left. Licking my lips, I’m ready to tell him no when he reaches forward and gently pushes me back against the wall.

Worry gnaws at my insides, but a tiny part of me knows that Matt isn’t a bad guy. He wouldn’t really hurt me.

“I don’t want to kiss you,” I tell him as he leans forward, blowing hot breath against my lips. He smells like a distillery and my nose wrinkles at the odor.