Unplanned drinking sessions are the best. The fact that it’s on a weeknight makes it all the more thrilling. We’ve ended up in a beer garden in Camden; it’s 8 p.m. and we’re both tipsy. Not pissed, just a nice gradual state of drunkenness. We’ve talked about everything and nothing, my mind being perfectly occupied by alcohol and a dedicated friend.
“I’ve missed this,” Lizzy says, looking past me to a group of men at the back of the beer garden.
I follow her eyes and smile. “You’ve missed ogling men?”
“No.” She waves her wine between us. “This. You’ve been working so hard on your business, and I get that, but I’ve missed our girlie time.”
“Me too,” I confess, watching Lizzy plaster a knockout smile on her pretty face, obviously having attracted the attention of the group of men. “Hey, come on. We’re having a nice time without men,” I point out, smacking her arm to win her attention back.
I look past Lizzy and see Micky stroll into the beer garden. I can virtually hear all the female hormones in the vicinity go potty. He laps it up and struts over. “Shit, how many behind am I?” he asks, taking in our tipsy states.
Lizzy burps in reply, and I start giggling. “I’ll get more drinks.” I snatch my bag up and head for the bar. “And keep your hands to yourself while I’m gone.” I level a warning look on Micky, and he holds his hands up in surrender.
“Reading you loud and clear.”
I make my way to the ladies’ to freshen up before heading to the bar to get our drinks in. By the time I’ve made it back to the garden, Nat’s found us, too. Everyone cheers my return and dives on the tray when I place it on the table. “Wow,” Nat chimes, toasting my head. “It’s a school night and Annie’s not in her studio. What’s happened?”
I ignore her sarcasm and throw my arm around her shoulder. “Drink,” I order. “We’re three ahead of you.”
“To being single!” Nat sings, and we all chink our glasses before getting our drinking session under way.
*
It was so needed—the alcohol, the friends, the limited space to allow my mind to venture further than the laughs being had in the pub garden. I feel normal again. Sane. Even if I’m smashed.
Micky drops me home in a cab at around eleven, the amount of alcohol I’ve indulged in evidence as I zigzag my way up the path to my front door. “Hey, Annie!” he calls from the cab. “Run in the morning?”
I snort unattractively and give him the finger, making him laugh as he slams the door and the cab pulls away. Getting my key in the lock proves tricky. I close one eye and zero in on my target, but each time I hit the wood to the side, chipping at the paintwork. “In you go,” I slur, getting up close and personal with my door, my tongue hanging out a little in concentration.
“You’re not doing very well there, are you?”
I jump and whirl around, just barely managing to keep my balance, and find Jack standing behind me.
I smile brightly and point at him. “Well, if it isn’t the married man himself!” I sing, and then slap a clumsy hand over my mouth to silence myself, giggling like an idiot. “Oopsie,” I say into my palm. I might be drunk, but he definitely scowls at me, and I even manage to find the sense to be offended by it. “Did you just scowl at me, Jack Joseph?”
“You’re drunk,” he mutters, coming toward me. My challenged vision runs a sluggish check over him, finding him looking delightful in some battered old jeans and an old gray T-shirt, his biceps bulging.
“Yes!” I stagger a little, my back meeting the door. “I am drunk. And it’s not your concern.”
He takes the top of my arm and moves me to the side, prying my key from me and opening the door. A deep warmth penetrates my skin, making me look down on a frown to where he’s got hold of me. “Why does that happen?” I ask my arm.
“What?” he mutters, irritated. He’s in a mood. I laugh hysterically on the inside. What, has he had a row with his wife again? Good! I hope she’s figured out that he’s a cheating arsehole.
“I go all funny whenever you touch me.” I shudder on the spot, and he looks at me as he pushes my door open.
“‘Funny’ isn’t the word I’d use.”
“What word would you use, then?” I challenge, pulling my arm free, but it’s soon claimed again when my hasty withdrawal has me staggering backward.
“I’m not having this conversation with you when you’re drunk.” He guides me into the hallway, following.
“No, you’d better get back to your wife!” I laugh, snatching my arm back and slumping against the wall.
“Stop it, Annie,” he warns, placing a palm into the wall next to my head and leaning in close. Too close. “Why haven’t you answered any of my e-mails or calls?”
“Because I want nothing to do with you,” I spit, making him recoil, shocked. He has a nerve.
“Stop fucking lying to me!”
I drink in air, searching for some poise before I slap him. Too late. My arm flies out clumsily, but I miss his cheek by a mile, my arm ricocheting off his shoulder. He doesn’t even jolt, whereas I lose my footing and stumble forward awkwardly. “I hate you,” I snipe as he catches me in his arms, cursing under his breath. “I hate you, I hate you, I hate you!”
“Shut up, Annie!” he seethes, lifting me off my feet. “Don’t ever fucking try to hit me again!”
“Why?” I snap, wriggling to break free.
“Because it doesn’t suit you!”
As we pass through my bedroom door, the sight of my bed makes me start squirming more, but Jack just holds on tighter. “Get off me!” I begin to flail my arms, but they have no effect on him as he strides across my room with me locked tightly to his body.
“Cut it out!” he warns, a threatening edge to his tone.
“No!”
He lowers me to my arse on the bed, but I’m scrambling back up a second later, getting up in his face. It’s a bad move. This close, his gorgeous features make me even dizzier. I slam my eyes closed and lose my footing again, plummeting to the bed. I’m a mess. Useless. Pathetic.
“Just go,” I plead, burying my face in my palms to hide from him. “Leave me alone.”
My stomach lunges, and my mouth becomes watery. Oh no. I jump up from the bed and make a mad dash for the bathroom, banging into everything on my way, whether it’s blocking my path or not. I throw my head over the toilet and throw up on long, loud wretches.
“Oh God,” I groan, going limp around the bowl, clinging to it with weak arms.
I feel fingers weave through my hair and pull it away, and a warm palm smooths across my back. Slumped over the toilet, I rest my head on my arms and close my eyes. “Please don’t hate me,” he murmurs.
I black out.
Chapter 12