Good for You: A Novel (41)

She took a sip, then sputtered.

“You said strong,” said Wyatt. “But I can still open a bottle of wine if you want.”

“No, I like it,” she said, because even though it tasted like lighter fluid, she knew that in very short order she was going to like it.

“It’s bourbon. Your brother’s favorite label.” Luke hadn’t shared Aly’s alcohol aversion. Not only had he not worried about turning into their mother, he’d set standards for himself. Never more than two drinks; never two days in a row; and any time he felt like he had to have a drink was precisely when he opted not to.

“Journeyman,” she said, remembering the bottle from the nearby distillery. “You should pour one for yourself.”

Wyatt nodded. “Maybe just a splash,” he said, rising from the sofa. “Is this . . . about him?” he asked when he returned. She could tell he didn’t want to upset her.

“No,” she said, and then had another sip. Whooo. Her chest felt like it was on fire. Was that a good thing or a bad thing? Good, she decided. Quite good.

She took one more drink, then glanced up at Wyatt and saw that he looked concerned. But not in the scared, maybe-I-should-get-away-from-her way that her childhood friend Jennifer Beddles had looked at her when she saw the purple bruise running down the side of Aly’s face. Nor did he appear to have the rubbernecking fascination of her college boyfriend, Nick, who’d pushed for details even when she’d made it clear she didn’t want to rehash the particulars of her past. Aside from Harry, Nick was the first, and last, man she’d discussed her childhood with.

No, Wyatt was looking at her . . . differently. Once again, she had the uncanny sensation that he already understood. But how?

“I got a promotion,” she told him. “I thought I was going to get fired. But now I’m in a position I never asked for.”

His lips curled. “Sounds terrible.”

“I’m serious, Wyatt. I know I should be excited about it, but . . .”

“But you want your old job back.”

She scrunched her nose. “Yes.”

He nodded. “Luke said you’re incredible at what you do.”

“Did,” she said, tossing back another swig. The bourbon was going down easier. She didn’t intend to make a habit of drowning her feelings, but right now, it was just what she needed. “Now I supervise the woman who said terrible things about me behind my back and pretended to be my friend. We’re a team!” she said, making air quotes around the word.

“Well, that’s crap,” said Wyatt. “Why don’t you leave?”

The anger in his voice surprised her—and the certainty. “I don’t want to. I have no idea what I would do if I wasn’t at the magazine.” Where would she work? Not in her office. Oooh, Meagan was probably sitting in Aly’s refurbished Aeron chair right now, grinning like the Cheshire cat. Had this been her strategy all along?

“I know Luke would’ve already hired a lawyer to help you figure out your options.” Wyatt was swirling his drink the way some people jiggled their legs when they couldn’t figure out what to do with their energy. “Maybe you should do that. You could see if Roger knows someone.”

“One more? Please?” she said, holding her glass out to him. “I could get it myself, but whatever you did was perfect.”

“I literally just poured it,” he said, the corner of his mouth rising. But then he narrowed his eyes. “I feel like I’m going to regret this later.”

“I won’t lure you into doing something you don’t want to, if that’s what you’re worried about,” she remarked. Then she blushed—or maybe it was just the booze warming her skin.

“I’m not,” he said, raising an eyebrow, and even though she’d just alluded to what had happened between them the other day, she suddenly found herself working hard not to think about it. “I just don’t want you to get too sloshed.”

“I’m a grown woman, Wyatt.”

He sighed, then stood and put his hand out for her tumbler. “Fine, hand it over. But I think we should go outside, maybe move a little, so the booze doesn’t hit you too fast.”

“Nope,” she said. She knew that she was only delaying the inevitable and that disappointment and sadness were waiting just up ahead. But right now, she was feeling saucy. “Better if you and I steer clear of sand,” she added before she could stop herself.

“Fair,” he said, smiling slightly. “But I’m cutting you off after this one.”

“Go ahead.” Given that the room was already beginning to tilt on its axis, she probably wouldn’t even be able to finish her second drink.

Wyatt returned with drinks and a bowl of potato chips.

“Eat,” he said.

“Bossy,” she said, sitting up. “I don’t eat potato chips.”

He pushed the bowl toward her. “You should. And you’ll thank me later.”

“Maybe,” she said, reaching into the bowl. The chips were so greasy and salty that she had to wonder if she was already halfway to a coronary, but now was hardly the time to worry about her heart. “Theseareamazing,” she said, her mouth still full.

“What was that?” said Wyatt, smiling down at her. “Did you just say, ‘Thank you’?”