He nods before taking a step back. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning then. Nine o’clock.”
“And, we’ll talk about how we can get out of this?”
His face is solemn. The serious expression looks weird on him. “Yes. I promised you I’d give it some thought.”
I nod at this before scrambling around him to put my hand on the supply closet doorknob. I’m almost away from him when I feel his hand on my shoulder. He brushes my hair away from my neck.
“Be careful going home.” His front is against my back. Jesus. He smells good. That’s probably why Barbie was trying to crawl on top of him. I shake my head at my drunk musing. “Drink some water.”
I consider making a snarky comment about how he probably has great insight into drunk girls and hangover cures when his lips brush against my ear.
“Everything will be okay, Taryn. I promise.”
My body trembles against him and I force myself to walk through the door, back into the pulsing energy of the club. His words play over and over in my mind as Stephanie sings on our way home. Despite my friends, despite the silliness in the car, I can’t shake the feeling that nothing will ever be okay again.
TARYN
I am definitely hung over when I wake up on Saturday morning. I probably should have drunk more water, like Liam had suggested. Ugh. I hate for him to be right about anything.
I woke up too early, and forced myself from bed to hydrate and take some ibuprofen. I followed that with copious amounts of coffee. Now, I’m sitting at my counter, looking like death warmed over, still completely clueless about how to make the chaos in my life stop.
I have no idea how long I’ve been sitting here when a knock on my door pulls me from my circling thoughts. It can’t be 9:00 a.m. already. I glance at my microwave to see that it’s not quite that time yet, but close. Liam must be early. I start to look for my purse, which I’m guessing I left upstairs, when the knocking gets louder. Geez. Impatient much? Oh great—now he’s ringing the doorbell like he gets paid by each button press. Apparently, Liam McGuiness is a man who doesn’t like to be kept waiting. One more thing to love about him.
But, when I pull my door open, it’s not Liam. Instead, I’m faced with a disheveled looking Sam. I don’t even greet him; I’m too surprised.
“Are you going to invite me in?”
I shake myself out of my stupor and realize that we are standing in the bitter cold. “Uh, I have somewhere to be.”
“This will only take a minute. Fuck, it’s freezing out here.” He shoulders his way past me into the living room. I watch helplessly as he takes off his coat and hangs it on the hooks next to my door.
“So, when did you plan on telling me you’re getting engaged? It’s all over social media this morning—photos of you and him. Walking out of a supply closet at the club last night.” He hisses the last sentence. “Why the fuck would you even invite me there if you were going to leave with him?”
“You know I’m not on social media,” I remind him. I’ve never had a desire to put myself out there that way. It’s a stupid thing to say, because that isn’t his point. Stephanie was right; I should have told Sam sooner. From his perspective, I’ve acted like a total bitch. He’s not wrong. I never should have invited him to meet me at Madness last night.
He looks pissed. “Did you plan to tell me?”
“Yes, of course. But, we aren’t exclusive, Sam.”
He laughs without humor. “Who? You and Liam? Or, you and me?”
Liam and I haven’t even talked about this yet, so the truth is, I don’t know. Given the number of girls that always seem to be hanging around him, maybe we’ll never be exclusive. Maybe he’ll want a marriage in name only if we can’t find a way to stop this. Damn it. I don’t seem to know much of anything these days.
“That’s just great, Taryn. You’ve got no answer? You have been telling me for months—hell,years—that you want out of the mafia.”
“Mob,” I reply with a sigh.
“What?”
“Mob,” I repeat. “Or, clan is preferred. Not mafia. We aren’t Italian. Or Sicilian.”
“What the hell is wrong with you?” He is practically shouting. I want to get upset at his elevated tone, but I don’t have it in me.
“I didn’t ask for this,” I tell him honestly. “It was arranged.”
“Arranged? Is this the fucking 1800s? Did you forget you’re a legal adult? Just say no.” He’s pacing now. I’m not sure what reaction I expected from him, but I would not have put money on this one.
“It’s not that easy.”
