The Girl I Was Before (Falling #3)(101)

“Get dressed,” I say. He slouches on his couch, both hands on his head now, his hair wild and in all directions. He looks like a poor-man’s mad scientist.

“I am dressed,” he grunts.

“In clothes you can go out in. Come on, I’m hungry, and you’re buying me lunch. Then, we’re going to talk about all of the damned dating websites you’ve got me on, and then we’re going to take me off those sites,” I say. I refuse to sit down, instead pacing back and forth in front of his ugly plaid sofa.

Casey rubs his head for a few more seconds, but eventually peels one hand away, still shielding his eyes from light, and cocks an eyebrow at me underneath. “How was Tracey?” he asks, mustering enough energy to wiggle his eyebrows.

I grab his jacket from the hook by the door and throw it at him. “Dude, I don’t even care if you’re dressed. Put your coat on; we’re going out,” I say, holding the door open and waiting for him to poke his arms through his jacket. He keeps the red robe on underneath, a layer of T-shirts and sweatpants on under that. He looks like a hobo.

Casey finally shuffles out the door, his feet stuffed in sandals, the toe part pinching through his socks. Eli walks up just as we’re leaving, so I invite him along too, and tell him Casey’s buying. My friend is too hung over to argue, so Eli shrugs and joins us.

I could drive him, but the fact that he’s dressed like that, and I’m pissed at him, makes me opt to walk to Sally’s instead. The tables outside are still set up from the big fish fry, and I grimace at the memory, only refueling my anger at Casey for putting me in this bind in the first place. I can’t believe Paige was there…at that exact moment. I had planned on a half-hour dinner, tops, over which I would explain what happened. I wanted to buy Tracey dinner, because it’s the least she deserved. And I was relieved when I saw it was fish fry night, knowing there was no way Paige would be around for that.

No way.

Thank you, f*cking upside-down land.

I lead Casey and Eli to a spot near the bar, and we grab a high top. There’s a decent crowd here for mid-afternoon on a Saturday. A Thunder game is playing on all the TVs; it’s near the end of the season, so play-offs are in sight. I’m half tempted to move our table so Casey can’t see the game, but I don’t want to be a dick to Eli.

His beard is gone, and I swear he had it yesterday.

“You shave?” I ask, rubbing my chin.

“Shit!” Eli says, grabbing his face in response. “No, why? Where’d my beard go?”

I hold his gaze for a few seconds, confused, until he starts laughing hard, slapping my shoulder with his big hand. “Of course I f*cking shaved, douchebag,” he says.

I laugh with him because he’s right; that was a really obvious question. Casey scowls at me, though.

“What’s up your ass?” I ask.

“How come he can f*ck with you and everything’s all well and good, but I go and get you a hot date, and it’s all oh, Casey, you *, I’m gonna make you miserable when you’re hung over because you set me up with a smokin’ chick,” Casey says, feigning what I think is supposed to be my voice during the last half of his sentence.

My smile drops fast. I place my hands flat on the table and take a deep breath before leaning toward him, backing off a little when I smell just how much he still reeks of last night.

“Because Eli is funny,” I say. “And you are, in fact, an *.”

He glares at me for a few seconds, then lets his head fall into his hands, giving up.

“Give me your wallet,” I say, knowing deep down Casey knows I’m right. Eventually, he reaches into his pocket and slaps his wallet on the table. I pull his credit card out and walk it up to the bar for our tab. I order us all burgers and a round of beers, then turn to head to our table so I can get back to lecturing and annoying Casey. That’s when I see her.

And she sees me.

She’s with Rowe and Cass, standing at the other end of the bar. Nobody is sitting, and I start to worry that they’re only stopping by, on their way somewhere…gone.

My initial step is in their direction, because I’m overcome with the need to explain everything to her, to let her know exactly what she saw in here last night. But then her first step is to turn her back to me, so I bail on plan A and return to the boys at the table.

Meg is standing at the table talking to Casey; I think she’s lecturing him a little for being hung over, which pleases me. Meg’s been waiting tables here since I used to come in with my dad on Sundays to watch football. My mom hated when we skipped church, but my dad promised her we’d pray at halftime. We never did.

Seeing Meg gives me an idea. As I step up to the table, I hand her Casey’s card, his eyes wide on it as he reaches for it. I smack his hand away.

“Hey, Meg. Can you do me a favor?” I ask.

“Sure, hun. Whatcha need?” she asks, pulling out her pen and tablet. Casey reaches for his card again, and this time she smacks his hand away. It makes me chuckle, because I know she’s mad at him for looking like he does—like a walking bottle of whiskey.

“See those ladies over there?” I ask, pointing to Rowe, Cass, and Paige. Rowe is the only one who notices me, and she keeps talking right through my instruction to Meg; hopefully she’s not talking about me.

“Sure do. Those are lovely girls. You sweet on one?” she asks, the mint from her gum barely covering the stale smell of smoke on her breath.