1
Koby
Isigh as the keypad outside Ryder’s place beeps. I’ve just punched in the same pin he’s been using for longer than I care to remember, and it still works...
Given his line of work, it’s pathetically careless.
The door gives way, opening onto the familiar scene, every sleek surface clinically scrubbed. The man is obsessed with hygiene. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he’s OCD, but I do know better. Ryder’s not meticulously polishing every surface of this oversized condo. He pays a maid.
Three steps in, my agitated, under-the-influence brain, distracted by the cleanliness, whirls back on track so fast it makes me nauseous. The walls stretch taller, the ceiling dips low, and the whole place blurs into a sideways smear.
My stomach knots.
A slow, mean roll follows. I pause, one finger in the air for balance, head tilted, hand grasping the doorframe.
Will I throw up or...?
I force it down, jaw tight. Sweat beads at my hairline despite the AC whirring overhead. The wave passes and I suck in a shaky breath.
No puking tonight. Thank fuck.
My skin prickles, the sensation driving me halfway up Ryder’s snow-white wall. At least it would if I weren’t incapable of climbing so much as a chair.
My intake tonight leaves a lot to be desired.
I must’ve drunk more in the past two hours than the past two months, and somehow I’m still not mellow. Still not passed out in my bed, the back seat of some soldier’s car, or one of the loveseats or armchairs atScarlett.
All three have happened before, but tonight’s not my lucky night. I’m stuck in this weird state where I think one more drink will finish me off, then find I’m stillhalfwayto sober. That’s an award-worthy accomplishment considering the nine glasses of whiskey I’ve downed already.
Halfway to fuckingsoberbecause the worry gnawing at my brain cells burns off the alcohol faster than I can drink it.
I expect to find the apartment quietly alive, the man of the house stretched across his couch, laptop on his knees, the hum of high-end hardware filling the silence, broken by the rhythmical clicking of keys.
Nothing could be further from the truth. The condo is silent. Fuckingdeadasthe door closes behind me with a soft click. My eyebrows knit together. I swear I kicked that door hard enough to rattle the whole damn place.
“Ryder?” I boom, stumbling across the living room on someone else’s legs. If only my mind was equally numb, things would be golden. “Where the hell are you?”
“Just a minute!” a breathless female voice floats from the bedroom’s direction.
Once again, I pause, head tilted. My brain’s processing speed is lagging, and it takes me an embarrassing amount of time to realize Bianca’s the one yelling.
I forgot they’re a thing now.
Well, not forgot per se. It’s impossible to forget your best friend’s dating, but I’ve conveniently blanked that detail out.
I head down the hallway to knock on the door. “Ryder!”
Before I tell him to get out here, Bianca snaps again. “I saidjust a minute! Sit your ass down and wait.”
My lips do a fish-out-of-water dance before a drunken laugh bursts from my chest.
Looks like I’m interrupting a naked wrestling match.
If I weren’t stuck in this half-drunk limbo, I’d be horrified.
“Damn,” I huff. “Make her come, man. She’s mean when she’s frustrated.”
Turning on my heel, I make my way back to the living room, bouncing off the walls twice. The third time there is no wall. I fall sideways, bruising my ribs against the console table. The pain might not register tonight, but it’ll come tomorrow.
