Alcohol.
The. Best. Invention. Ever.
Wait…was it invented? Or was it just made?
I don’t know.
And, really, who gives a shit?
Not me—that’s who.
All I give a shit about is that it makes the hurt go away.
Away…away…away.
A few drinks…okay, well, more than a few but less than a lot, and I’m no longer hurting over what Jesse said.
Jesse.
See? Even thinking his name doesn’t hurt like it did an hour ago.
Hurt be gone because Daisy Smith is pain-free!
And it’s the best feeling ever!
I mean, why haven’t I been drinking all along? I’ve been feeling shitty for years, and all that time, I could have been drinking the shitty feelings away.
Alcohol—the cure to all my problems.
And, speaking of alcohol…I have some serious drinking time to make up for, considering I’ve never really drank.
You know, with trying to be a responsible adult and a parent to the kid under my care.
You know, the kid who hates me.
He hates me.
A pain pierces my heart.
No more pain!
More alcohol needed ASAP!
I down the last of my—what am I drinking? Honestly, I have no clue. But it tastes good. Well, actually, it tastes like shite. But it makes me feel better.
I let out a giggle.
The bartender glances at me.
Ah, the bartender. The bringer of goodness.
He’s cute, too.
A bit too clean-looking for my liking but still cute.
Not that I’m interested in men.
Men are bastards.
Wanker bastards.
Every single one of them.
Well, all the men I’ve known, which isn’t many. But whatever.
Smiling, I push my empty glass toward the cute bartender. “I’ll have another of whatever that was.”
That actually comes out like, “I’ll s’have ’nother of whatsever tat twas.”
But it’s all good. I’m drunk, and drunk is awesome!
Cute Bartender leans his forearms on the bar. His shirtsleeves are rolled up. He has nice arms.
Not as nice as Kas’s arms though. Kas’s arms are all strong-looking and muscly. And his skin is so lovely. Lickable. I would totally lick Kas’s arms.
And other parts of him.
Um, hold the effing phone. Why am I thinking about Kas in a sexual way?
He’s another wanker-bastard man. The biggest of wanker-bastard men.
And I don’t like him. At all.
“You sure another drink is a good idea?” Cute Bartender asks me.
I rest my elbows on the bar and place my chin on my fists. It slips off.
I snort-giggle.
Then, I put my chin in the palm of my hand. It’s steadier.
Is it just me, or is the room starting to spin?
“’Tis the best idea I’ve had in a long time.” I give him a big smile.
God, my lips feel weird. Numb.
But numb is good!
Numb means no pain.
Cute Bartender smiles at me. “How about I get you a coffee instead?”
“Um…” I screw my face up. “Will the coffee be Irish?”
He chuckles and shakes his head.
“Then, no siree. I want the alcohol. Lots of alcohol!” I sweep my arms out.
“I think the last thing you need is more alcohol.”
“Alcohol is the only thing I need.”
“Why?” He smiles, bemused.
“Because”—I smile big—“alcohol equals happy.”
“And why aren’t you happy?”
“Who said I wasn’t happy?”
“When a pretty girl like you tells me that alcohol equals happy, then she’s telling me that she’s not happy when she’s sober.”
Oh.
My smiles slips, and then my alcohol-induced loose lips just start yapping, “So, maybe I’m not happy when I’m sober. That doesn’t mean anything. Lots of people need alcohol to feel happy. Sure, they’re probably alcoholics, but I’m thinking I should try that out because nothing else is working for me. I try so hard, and I still manage to fuck everything up. My brother hates me. Actually really hates me.” I press my hand to the pain in my chest that’s trying to force its way back. “He wishes I were dead,” I whisper that last part.
“I’m sure he doesn’t wish you were dead.”
I look him in the eye. “Oh, he does. He told me so himself, like an hour ago. But the thing is, I don’t blame him. I kinda hate me. I mean, I let him down. The only person in the world who truly matters to me, and I failed him. He’s right to hate me. I’m a fucking fuckup. I mean, even my boss hates me. And whose boss actually hates them?”
“I’m pretty sure my boss doesn’t like me.” Cute Bartender chuckles.
“Ah, see?” I point at him, like he just told me the cure for cancer. “You said your boss doesn’t like you. My boss effing hates me! I mean, like can’t-stand-the-sight-of-me hates me. And, sure, he’s a massive dickhead. But he does think I’m hot, so there is that. I mean, he thinks I’m hot, but he hates me. How fucking weird is that? And, really, what does that say about me? Hot but annoying as fuck—that’s what that says. Everyone hates me. Well, except for Cece, but she has to like me by default because we’ve known each other forever. Honestly, I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve her as a friend because I think I deserve to be hated. I’m an idiot. An actual twatting idiot.”
I feel wetness on my cheeks, and I realize I’m crying. I press the heels of my hands to my cheeks.
“Hey now, I don’t think you’re a twatting idiot.” Cute Bartender hands me a napkin.
“You don’t know me.” I sniffle, drying my eyes. “Trust me, if you did, you’d think I was a twatting idiot.”
“Well, how about I get you a coffee? We can sober you up, and then I can get to know the sober you.”
“Okay.” I give him a grateful nod, wiping my eyes because those damn tears keep coming.
“You stay right there, and I’ll be back with that coffee,” Cute Bartender tells me.
I watch him walk away. Taking a deep breath, I wipe my eyes again. Screwing up the napkin, I toss it on the bar.
Ugh, I’m such a fuckup.
I lay my arms on the bar and rest my head on them.
I should call Cece and let her know that Jesse hates me.
Reaching for my bag on the stool next to me, I rake through it, searching for my phone. My fingers find and curl around it. Pulling it out, I unlock the screen.
Bloody thing is all blurry.
I blink, trying to clear my eyes.
I go to my Contacts, all four of them.
Jesus, I’m pathetic.
That makes me snort-cry.
I wipe at my eyes as I press Cece’s number. I put the phone to my ear and wait.
It seems to ring for ages.
Then, the line connects, and a male voice says, “Daisy?”
Um, what?
I pull the phone from my ear and look at the screen.
Oh, holy mother of crap.
Kas.
I dialed Kas’s number instead of Cece’s.
Crappity crap!
I can hear him yelling my name down the phone.
I tentatively put the phone to my ear.
“Hey, Mr. Matis.” I try to sound normal. Of course, I slur the words.
“Daisy”—his voice is like stone—“are you drunk?”
“No!” I shake my head, like he can see me. “Of course I’m not!” And, of course, that also comes out slurred. I clear my throat and try to focus on my words. “I’m not drunk. I’m just happy! Happy! Happy! Happy! This is my happy voice!”
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he sighs. “Where are you?”
I don’t think I’ve convinced him of my soberness.
Shit.
“Where am I?”
“Yes, Daisy. Where the fuck are you right now?” He talks to me like I’m a small child.
“There’s no need to swear, Mr. Matis. And I’m in a bar.”
“Which bar?”
“Dunno.” I shrug.
“Daisy…” His voice is a low warning.
“Okay!” I try to think if I saw the name when I came in, but I don’t remember. I just remember seeing the place and realizing it sold alcohol, so I just went straight on in. I glance around the bar, seeing nothing. “Um…there’s nothing. I mean, there are chairs and tables and a bar and alcohol…lots of alcohol.” I giggle. “I’ve had some amazing drinks. You’d love it here. Well, probably not. But maybe you should have a drink. It might loosen you up a bit because you are kind of uptight. You should come and drink with me! We can get drunk together!”
“You sound like you’ve had more than enough already.”
“Ugh! You sound like the cute bartender.”
“Cute bartender?”
“Yep. He’s lovely. He’s been giving me lots of drinks. And he has really nice arms. They’re not as nice as your arms though. Your arms are the best. Really muscular. And your skin reminds me of caramel—oh, I’m hungry now. I could just eat—”
“Daisy—”
“A Cadbury Caramel. And the cute bartender is sweet. He’s gone to get me a coffee, and then we’re going to get to know one another.”
“What do you mean, you’re going to get to know one another?” His voice is like granite.
“I dunno. But he’s nice. You’re nice sometimes—well, rarely.” I snort. “I mean, you act like a Kas-hole pretty much all the time. But you’re nice sometimes, and it’s nice when you are nice, you know what I mean? Because there’s only Ce who’s nice to me. But the cute bartender is nice. So, yeah, that’s cool. Did I tell you that my baby brother hates me?” I laugh, but I hear the pain in my voice loud and clear. “He’s like my kid. I raised him, and he actually hates me. More than you do, I think. Unless you wish I were dead ’cause he wishes I were dead. So, if you wish I were dead, then you probably hate me more.”
I pause to take a breath. Instead, a sob falls from my mouth.
“Shit…Daisy…” Kas’s voice is softer than I’ve ever heard it.
I feel that softness touch me. It touches that pain in my chest and soothes it a little.
“Tell me where you are.” His voice is still gentle, but this time, I don’t feel better. I feel something break deep inside me.
I hold that crack together. But more tears track down my face. I grab that screwed up napkin and wipe my face again.
Then, I see Cute Bartender coming back with my coffee, so I pretend all is okay, and I force a big smile at him.
“Daisy?” Kas says my name, a little sterner this time.
“I’m still here. Just wait a sec.” Keeping the phone to my ear, I move the mouthpiece away from my mouth, and I speak to the bartender, “I meant to call my friend, Cece, but I somehow called my boss—you know, the one who hates me. Well, he wants to know which bar I’m in, but I’m not sure what this bar’s called, and I thought you would know. Do you know?”
Dur! Of course he knows, dummy.
Cute Bartender chuckles as he puts the cup of coffee down in front of me. “The Nelson.”
I move the mouthpiece back to my mouth. “I’m in The Nelson,” I repeat to Kas.
“And where exactly is The Nelson?” He sounds really pissed off.
This is the Kas I know. I feel more comfortable that he’s being pissy with me. It’s weird when he’s nice.
I tip the mouthpiece away again. “He wants to know whereabouts The Nelson is? He sounds really pissed off,” I whisper-giggle.
“I am really pissed off,” Kas growls in my ear.
“You’re really bloody grumpy, you know that?” I tell Kas.
“Yeah, and you’re a monumental pain in my arse,” he fires back.
“We’re in Camden,” Cute Bartender tells me.
But I only half-hear what he said because I’m too focused on what Kas just said, and it’s ignited a fire in my belly.
“Um, I’m a pain in your arse? Er, hello, Mr. Pot Kettle Black! You’re mean to me every single day! Like, every day! And not just marginally mean. You’re, like, high-level mean! Meanest of the highest level ever! I’ve never had someone be so horrible to me as you are. So, if anyone is a pain in the arse, then it’s you!”
My rant over, the line goes deathly silent.
Shit.
I just reamed out my boss over the phone. I drunk-dialed him and yelled at him and called him a pain in the arse.
Fuck.
“Am I…fired?” I ask quietly.
“Tell me exactly where the fuck this bar is.” His voice is low, deadly.
I’m so fired.
“Camden.” I wince.
“Stay exactly where you are. I’m coming to get you.”
“You are?” That takes me aback. It probably shouldn’t, as he’s been asking where I am for the last few minutes. I guess I just never thought he’d put himself out for me.
“I might be a Kas-hole—as you put it”—Shit! I can’t believe I called him a Kas-hole to his face—“but I’m not the kind of arsehole who would leave a vulnerable, drunk girl in a bar alone.”
“I’m not alone. I’m with the cute bartender—”
“Exactly. Stay right where you are. Don’t fucking move, Daisy. And tell that bartender, if he puts a hand on you, I’ll rip it off.”
Okay…
Is it weird that I found that totally hot?
“Kas…”
“What?” he snaps.
“What if I need the toilet? I’ll have to move—”
“I said, stay the fuck put. I’ll be there soon.” Then, he hangs the phone up on me.
Moving the phone from my ear, I stare at it, bewildered.
“Um…he’s coming to get me,” I tell the cute bartender as I lower my phone to the bar. “He said something about ripping your hand off. And…I think I might be fired.”
“Daisy.”
I feel a hand touch my shoulder.
I lift my head from my arms, which are resting on the bar, and I look up into the gorgeous face of Kastor Matis.
I was expecting him to look angry. Surprisingly, he looks relieved.
“Did I fall asleep?” I ask him.
I remember talking to the bartender after I spoke to Kas. Then, I laid my head down, as I suddenly felt tired, and then…nothing.
“Are you okay?” Kas asks, concern clear in his voice.
I run a self-conscious hand over my hair. I can only imagine what I look like.
“I’m fine.” I nod.
“Come on, let’s get you home.”
He offers me his hand. I grab my bag and then take his hand. He helps me from the stool. I expect him to drop my hand, but he doesn’t. He keeps a firm hold of it as he leads me through the bar.
I glance around, seeing the bartender a little further down the bar, serving a couple of people. He lifts a hand to me. I smile, embarrassed that I fell asleep in a bar.
Jesus. What a complete wanker I am.
I stumble a little on my feet, and Kas catches me by the waist, pulling me close to his side.
“Okay?” he asks softly.
“Mmhmm.”
His arm stays around me all the way out of the bar and to his car. He helps me into his car. I have to admit to feeling a little bereft when his arm leaves my waist.
I’m putting my liking him touching me down to the amount of alcohol I consumed.
I put my seat belt on and snuggle down into the leather seat of his car. I shut my eyes.
His car door opens, and then I hear him climb in before the door shuts.
The engine turns on. Warm air blows on me, and Green Day’s “Boulevard of Broken Dreams” is playing softly in the background.
I feel the car start to move.
“Where am I taking you?” he asks.
“Home,” I murmur.
I hear him laugh softly.
I’ve never heard Kas laugh before. It’s a really nice sound. Like a balm to ease all pain.
“I’ve never heard you laugh before,” I whisper my thoughts. “It’s a beautiful sound. You should laugh more.”
He’s silent, saying nothing.
Worrying I’ve somehow managed to piss him off again, I utter, “I’m sorry.”
“For saying I have a nice laugh? Or for the drunk dial?”
I can’t read anything from his tone. So, I peek open an eye and look at him.
His eyes are fixed on the road ahead, but there’s a soft curl to his lips, which isn’t usually there.
Warmth spreads across my chest.
I close my peeking eye, feeling relieved but exhausted. “The last one,” I whisper.
There’s silence again. But it doesn’t feel uncomfortable this time.
It feels…serene.
Not a word I thought I would ever use with Kas.
Heaviness weighs on my body. The heat and song and motion of the car—and if I’m being honest, the scent of Kas—are lulling me to sleep, and I don’t bother to fight it.
“Thank you,” I murmur to him.
There’s a long pause.
I feel sleep start to claim me.
Then, I hear his softly spoken words just before everything goes black, “I’m the last person you should be thanking.”
