“Are you alone?” Clay asks, and there’s a rustling as if they’re walking.
“The kitchen staff just left. I’m usually the one who closes up and leaves last,” she says, and my stomach sinks.
It’s dangerous for her to be alone at this time. Closing up is when most robberies happen, and she’s a woman, alone.
“That’s pretty dangerous,” Clay echoes my thoughts.
She huffs in annoyance. “What do you want, Clay? I’d like to get some sleep before I have to get up in a few hours.”
I grip the steering wheel tightly, my worry intensifying as I hear how agitated she is.
“Let’s sit down. You can tell me what happened.” Clay’s voice becomes even more muffled, making me guess he’s taken a seat.
“What’s your poison? I need a drink for this,” she says, and my heart aches.
Is it that bad?
“How about some vodka shots?” Clay suggests, and the sound of glasses being set on a surface immediately follows. “Cheers,” Clay toasts, glass clinking before I hear Carolina cough. “Now, tell me everything.”
“So you can run to your best friend and spill exactly what I said?” There’s a hint of hurt in her voice.
“No, you’re my best friend too, remember? I’m Switzerland. I just know you need to talk, and I want to be there for you. I won’t tell Josh,” Clay reassures her.
I furrow my brow, wondering why he would lie to her like that. This will only make things worse.
“Promise?” she asks.
“Promise,” Clay says, and the line goes dead.
After ending the call,I put my phone back into my pocket, fully aware that Josh will be angry with me. But I can’t bring myself to regret it. I see the pain in Carolina’s eyes. She truly is my best friend, even though it’s new.
If Josh asked me to keep a secret, I would do the same for him. He’ll just have to get over it.
“Spill,” I say, grabbing the vodka bottle and refilling our shot glasses.
We’re sitting beside a table facing each other. Carolina takes the glass, tilts her head back, and downs the shot in one gulp before having another fit of coughing. I laugh. “Do you even drink?”
She wipes her mouth with the sleeve of her black hoodie. “Nope, this is my first time ever.”
My eyes widen. “You’re twenty-two and working at a bar.”
She points a finger at me. “Exactly. I see every day what alcohol does to people.”
My thoughts drift to the evening we watched as she struggled to drag her drunk uncle home, and my stomach sinks.
This might not have been the best idea.
Carolina reaches for the vodka, but I quickly grab the bottle and place it on my side of the table, out of her reach.
“Hey!” she protests.
“Spill, Carolina,” I insist.
She bites on her bottom lip, and I reach out to pull it gently from between her teeth with my thumb. She looks up at me with those mesmerizing golden eyes, and I can see the hurt in them.
When I withdraw my hand, she lowers her gaze to the table, fidgeting with her shot glass. “I’m not a fucking charity case,” she mutters.
I nod. “I know. You’ve said that before.”
