Faking Ms. Right (Dirty Martini Running Club, #1)(74)

Now I was drowning in feelings. So I’d drown those fuckers in whiskey.

Hours later—I was too trashed to have any concept of time—Dad peeked into my office. My head was down on my desk, the bottle near my elbow.

“Shepherd? Are you okay? Why aren’t you at work?”

I lifted my head and slowly blinked. “Day off.”

“What happened?”

Sitting up, I raked my hands through my already-messy hair and poured more whiskey. “Everly wanted me to donate my sperm.”

“Excuse me?”

“She had a contract and everything. For her sister.”

He pulled the glass away from me before I could pick it up and take a drink. “Shep, I’m not following.”

“Doesn’t matter. She’s just like the rest of them.” I leaned forward, intending to put my forearm on the desk, but it slipped off the edge. I swayed in my seat, but managed to recover. “I thought she was different, but she’s not.”

He regarded me through narrowed eyes for a moment. “Have you eaten recently?”

“No. Food soaks up the alcohol.”

“Exactly.” He took a deep breath. “Okay, Shep. Stay here. I’ll be back.”

“Don’t bother.” The room kept spinning, so I laid my head on the desk again. “I’m fine.”

I wasn’t sure if he answered. The next time I opened my eyes, he was gone. Good. I didn’t want his pity.

But when I reached for more whiskey, it was gone.





“Shepherd?”

I cracked an eye open. Had the room stopped spinning yet?

“Hey, Shep.” Another voice. Who was here?

Where was I?

Sucking in a deep breath, I sat up. Blinked my dry eyes open. I was still at my desk. I must have fallen asleep—or passed out—with my head on my arm. I had a red mark on my forearm and probably a matching one on my face.

I was still too drunk to give a shit.

The people in the room came into focus. Dad. Hadn’t I told him to leave me alone? I was mad at him for something. Right—he’d taken my whiskey. I was about to ask him where he’d put it, when I realized who else was here.

Ethan and Grant stood next to my dad. They both looked like they’d just gotten off work, wearing similar button-down shirts and slacks. Grant had his arms crossed and Ethan stood with his hands in his pockets.

“He’s been in here all day,” Dad said.

“Thanks for letting us know,” Ethan said.

“I’ll get dinner going,” Grant said. “Need help moving him?”

“You don’t move to need me,” I said. “I’m fine.”

“Clearly.” Ethan’s voice was laced with sarcasm. “Dad and I can handle it. But I think we should feed him first anyway.”

“Not hungry. I’m fine.”

Ethan chuckled. “You’re not fine, you’re drunk off your ass. I’d call Everly but I have a feeling she’s the reason you’re shitfaced right now.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?” I asked. Or at least, that’s what I meant to say. I was slurring too much to make a lot of sense.

“I don’t know, man, but let’s get you sobered up.” Ethan shoved some water at me. “Drink this and we’ll get some food in you. You look like hell, by the way.”

I took a long swallow of water.

Food and water started to clear my head, which was exactly what I didn’t want. But no one would let me near the whiskey again.

Eventually, as if I were a helpless child, my brother helped me to my room. I fell into bed, my head still too fuzzy to argue. Vaguely, I was aware of Ethan and Dad talking. Something about letting me sleep it off. I ignored them. Just kept my eyes closed and sank into drunken oblivion.





I woke up fully dressed, sprawled out face down on my bed. My mouth was dry, my eyes gritty, and I had a splitting headache. I hadn’t been this hungover in a very long time.

This was why I preferred to keep myself—and my life—under strict control. The consequences of letting go were never worth it.

“Fuck.” I brought a hand to my forehead. I had no idea what time it was. Or how I’d gotten here. The last thing I remembered, I’d been sitting at my desk, pouring whiskey down my throat.

A hazy memory of food came back to me. I had the sense that Ethan and Grant had been here, but maybe I’d imagined it.

Groaning, I hauled myself out of bed. There was still a hint of Everly’s strawberry scent on these sheets. I needed to get away from it.

The glimpse I caught of myself in the bathroom mirror was nothing short of horrifying. I was a goddamn mess.

A shower helped. Someone had left me water and ibuprofen by the bed, so I took those. The water helped, too. I was dehydrated as fuck. My stomach was raw, but I figured I should try to eat, or at least have some coffee.

I shuffled to the kitchen, wincing at the light. Ethan and Grant were drinking coffee in the living room with my dad. Was it the same day? Or had they spent the night? I still hadn’t figured out what time it was.

“Morning,” Ethan said, his voice bright.

“Is it?” I fumbled for the coffee.

“Yeah, you slept all night. But you still look pretty rough.”