Shame on Me

“I just wanted to make sure he was okay. He hasn’t been happy lately,” I mumble, turning away from her just in time to see Matt’s living room window go dark, and I sigh dejectedly that I didn’t get another look at him.

“How do you know he hasn’t been happy lately if this is the first time you’ve seen him since last week when he stormed out of the diner?”

I wince and slowly turn back to face her. I couldn’t keep the guilty look off my face if I tried.

Lorelei’s eyes widen and her jaw drops. “Oh, my God! The Mob isn’t stalking him, YOU’RE stalking him!” she shouts.

“SHHHHHHH! He might hear you!” I whisper. My head whips around and I stare in horror at his front door, expecting him to come bursting out of it any minute and charge over to the car, demanding to know why I’m out here watching him. Actually, now that I think about it, that might not be a bad thing. I’d be able to see his naked chest up close and personal.

“Paige, I highly suggest you never drink again. People make utterly unhealthy life choices when they drink and this just proves it. It’s one o’clock in the morning and we’re parked outside a man’s house because you have some misplaced affection for him.”

“It’s not misplaced. I know exactly where it is,” I tell her stubbornly, crossing my arms in front of me.

“You’ve been stalking him all week, haven’t you?” Lorelei demands.

It’s like she KNOWS I followed him to work once.

Okay, three times. I just wanted to make sure the anger and irritation I saw flashed across his face that first time wasn’t a fluke. And it wasn’t. Each time I saw him this past week he looked exactly the same. Like he would punch anyone who rubbed him the wrong way. I felt responsible for putting that look on his face.

“Will you stop calling it ‘stalking’? That’s such a harsh term. I prefer ‘anonymous following.’”

She clenches her jaw and narrows her eyes at me.

“What is this really about? Is it because Andy won’t leave you alone about the money? Are you just latching yourself onto the first decent guy who comes along to make him jealous or something? This isn’t like you, Paige.”

Letting my head thump back against the headrest, I close my eyes and sigh. She’s right. This isn’t like me.

“It has absolutely nothing to do with Andy. I couldn’t care less if he’s jealous. I just . . . I don’t want to end up like my mother. Seventy years old, bitter, and alone.”

It’s the first time I’ve ever admitted anything like this, and honestly, I didn’t even know it bothered me until I found someone like Matt and then lost him before it even had a chance to go anywhere.

“And who says you will? You’re the only one who has the power over your own life, Paige. YOU control your destiny. I’ll admit, I don’t like the idea that we’re sitting outside of this guy’s house stalk—”

I cut her off with a glare and she huffs in annoyance.

“Anonymously following. I think you’re insane for not telling Kennedy that you’ve strayed from the original investigation, but I guess I understand,” Lorelei tells me softly. “It’s difficult watching Kennedy and Griffin be so in love and not have the same thing for ourselves.”

This little piece of sincerity from Lorelei shocks me into stunned silence. Lorelei has always been adamant about never wanting to fall in love again. She swore off men for the rest of her life because she doesn’t think love is worth the hassle.

It completely throws me that underneath the tough exterior of hers there’s a mushy romantic just like me.

“Can we please just go home so you can sleep off the booze emanating from your pores? All of this honesty tonight makes me want to castrate Andy AND Matt for messing with your heart.”

Okay, maybe not THAT mushy.

“Will you promise not to judge me for the poor choices I made while intoxicated?” I beg.

Lorelei starts up the car and pulls away from the curb. “I promise. I’ll even help you figure out a way to get Matt to forgive you, if that’s what you really want. One that doesn’t involve anonymous following or calling a bartender a dick.”

“I should probably go back and apologize for that, huh?”





CHAPTER 11




Without bothering to remove the dark sunglasses perched on my face, I slide into the church pew at Saint Michael’s and briefly wonder if God knows I came into his house smelling like booze and shame.

“Take your glasses off—this isn’t a disco,” my mother whispers harshly in my ear.

Thankfully, I roll my eyes at her before I remove them. And avoid reminding her that it’s no longer 1970.

“Care to enlighten me on why you asked me to meet you at church?” I ask as I wince at the bright sunlight streaming through the stained-glass windows while I stuff my sunglasses into my purse.

“You mean aside from the fact that your soul needs saving and it’s been over a month since you’ve set foot into a church?” she whispers back.

Super. Hangover from hell AND an extra helping of guilt.