On the Rocks (Last Call #1)(75)

I couldn’t talk for almost five minutes, so Casey filled me in on what she knew, which was next to nothing. Hunter had apparently called her and told her that we had broken up, but not the reason why, and that he was going to Fiji. My heart ached mostly, that we were over and he was leaving, but there was a tiny part of me that was happy that he was taking his shot to get back on the tour.

When I calmed down enough, I basically told Casey the same thing, that for reasons I didn’t want to discuss right now, that Hunter and I were indeed over. I did not tell her about my lie to make Hunter leave, nor did I tell her that I lied to him about me taking the job in Raleigh. I figured I would handle that duplicity at a later time, when my brain was more alert and not mired in depression.

Casey then cooed and soothed me over the phone, assuring me that it would be all right. But I knew it would never be all right again. My heart was broken, and there was nothing that would ever put it back together again.

“How are you feeling today?” she asks, jarring me back to the present.

Sighing, I say, “Like shit.”

Laughing, she says, “Well, the only way to get past that is to come hang out with your bestie today.”

“No way,” I tell her adamantly. “I’m lying in bed and refusing to brush my teeth. My goal is to let a fur carpet start to grow.”

“That’s gross, Gabby, and completely unacceptable. If you don’t get showered, get your teeth brushed, and get your ass down to Last Call in one hour, I’m coming to get you. And don’t think that a locked bedroom door will keep me out. I could have had that lock picked the other day in about five minutes flat, but I was respecting your need to grieve.”

“I’m still grieving,” I grumble.

“That may be so, but you’re going to stop that process as of today.”

“No,” I pout. “I’m not coming.”

“One hour,” she says ominously, and then disconnects the call. I stare at the phone, blinking, and disbelieving she just hung up on me. My first reaction is to thumb my nose at her, roll back over, and go to sleep, but then my stomach rumbles and I realize it’s been almost two days since I’ve eaten. Then my heart rumbles, and I realize that maybe what I really need is to get stinking drunk to help ease the ache that has been lodged in my chest since I broke up with Hunter.

Taking a deep breath, I let it out slowly and then pull myself up off the bed. I decide I need to get on with my life, and the first step is to indeed go hang out with my bestie and get rip-roaring drunk, so I can toast the end of my relationship with Hunter.

It doesn’t take me long to shower, but I go ahead and put the extra effort into shaving because it’s hot as hell outside and I’ll be wearing shorts. My teeth are already a bit furry, so I spend extra time brushing and flossing. After a quick rub of moisturizer, I do a quick dry of my hair and pull it up into a ponytail holder. Throwing on a ratty t-shirt, a pair of cut-off jean shorts, and my flip-flops, I open my bedroom door for the first time in two days.

The apartment is silent and as I walk by Savannah’s room, I see it’s empty. Stopping in the kitchen, I pull a bottle of water out of the fridge and drink half of it, hoping to stop a little bit of the ache in my stomach because I’m hungry. Noticing a note on the table, I bend over and see it’s from Savannah.



Gabby,

Hope you are feeling better. I’m off on a quick assignment. I’ll see you tonight, and we can do dinner together if you’re up for it.

Hugs,

Savannah



I smile at her kind words, and it’s the first time my lips have quirked upward in two days, the feeling foreign and slightly weird. But it reminds me that although I may not have Hunter, I still have some awesome friends, who will just have to sustain me.

Speaking of awesome friends, I grab my truck keys off the pegboard on the kitchen wall and head for the front door. Time to get my Casey on.

I open my front door and immediately turn to my left to grab the mail out of our box, which is mounted on the wall. I lean into the foyer and throw it on the small table, content to look through it when I get back home. Pulling the door shut, I lock the deadbolt with my keys and then turn to walk down the stairs.

And I come face to face with Hunter.

He’s leaning back against the railing of the walkway, his arms folded over his chest. His hair is typically surfer-esque, sun streaked and windblown. His facial scruff is at the perfect length, not too scratchy and not too soft. His blue eyes are glinting as they look at me, but I can’t read the look on his perfectly tanned face.

He is utterly the most gorgeous man on the planet, and after I get over being blinded by his brilliance, it finally seeps into my addled brain that he’s standing here in front of me rather than sitting on a plane to Fiji.

“What are you doing here?” I ask in disbelief.

“We need to talk,” he answers simply.

“No, we don’t,” my brain automatically denies, thus pushing the words from my mouth.

“Yes, we do.”

“No, we don’t.”

“Gabby… give me the courtesy, please.”

Oh, f*ck that shames me, and while I have no desire to talk to him, because I am completely out of sorts with the fact he’s standing here when I just had accepted the fact I’d never see him again, my shoulders sag and I nod my head in capitulation.