As raw and drunk as I was right then, that something was probably going to be“hook up with a stranger and start sobbing while he’s railing me.”Because in that moment, I couldn’t see myself getting through sex without breaking down. Or getting through anything.
I almost had sex with that guy.
If I’d had one more drink, I’d have done it.
God. What was wrong with me? What was I doing?
I needed to get away from here.
I stumbled my way back toward the lounge and somehow got through the crowd along the edge of the dancefloor. I made it to coat check, found my claim ticket in my back pocket, and took my jacket.
The sharp bite of the January wind brought me a couple of degrees closer to sober. I needed to get home, but… how?
I was too hammered to drive. No doubt about that. And my car wasn’t here anyway.
Uber? Lyft?
Oh, yeah, that was exactly what I needed—some driver to see me like this. They all had dashcams now, didn’t they? If someone uploaded the video of me drunk—especially drunk and crying, since that was a definite possibility—then I’d never survive the humiliation.
Okay, no Uber. No Lyft.
I leaned against the cold brick wall and struggled to focus my eyes as I thumbed through my contacts. There hadto be someone I could text or call to come scrape up my stupid drunk ass.
Baddy? Eminem? Ziggy?
I could text Coach. The thought made me cringe with preemptive embarrassment, but he had always told us—just like our parents had as teenagers—that we could call him any time if we were too drunk to drive. He’d lost a friend in high school to a drunk driver; he took itveryseriously.
But could I ever look him in the eye if I took him up on that offer? Probably not.
I kept scrolling.
Willy. Astala. Trews.
My heart jumped into my throat.
Peyton.
I stared at his contact.
Did I want him to see me like this? Absolutely the fuck not.
On the other hand, hehadseen me like this. Of everyone on the Whiskey Rebels, Peyton was the only one who knew what a mess I was. The only one who’d seen me fall the hell apart. I wouldn’t be showing him any trainwreck he didn’t already know about.
I closed my eyes.
Did I have any other options? It was a safe bet that any shot I ever had with him was dead and gone, and had been since the night he’d collected me from the bar. He already knew how pathetic and messed up I was. So… what did I have left to lose?
Queasy with shame, I tapped his contact.
Any chance you can give me a lift home?
CHAPTER 20
PEYTON
Avery
Any chance you can give me a lift home?
