“Oh dear god, turn it off, turn it off!” I plead to the universe when a combination of blinding sunlight and an ungodly loud noise I can’t identify in my current state wakes me from the tequila coma I was in. The blissful sleep of the dead, or I guess nearly dead. Well, blissful until you wake up with your head attempting to cave in on itself and explode simultaneously, a horrible case of cottonmouth, and random aches and pains from sleeping in a weird position for who knows how long.
“I’m getting too old for this shit.”
Sure, I’m 28, not exactly ancient. Still, on mornings like this, I feel every single one of the years that separate me from the idiot 21-year-old that used to stay out at the club until the crack of dawn and then show up to work bright-eyed and bushy-tailed less than five hours later. The crick in my neck is reminding me I am now way closer to 30 than not.
Rolling over, I unbury my head from where my pillow is currently attempting to suffocate me and squint against the light that I swear turned into brain-melting torture beams while I slept. The combination of the light attempting to melt my ocular nerve and that ungodly annoying sound finally drives me to roll–yes, literally roll–out of bed and grope blindly for my clothes. It takes me entirely too long to realize I am still fully dressed in my clothes for last night, all except my shoes, crusty yet somehow also oily day-old makeup as well. Gross. Though, the reassurance that I couldn’t have made too much of a fool of myself last night if I am still fully dressed is almost, almost, worth the hangover and nasty makeup imprint on my pillow.
Standing, I yawn and rub my eyes as I make my way to the bathroom. A long hot soak might cure this hangover right up. I want to see what the noise is downstairs, but it will have to wait. Not just because, at the moment, I feel like death and don't need to scare any potential customers away with that look. But also because if the noise is that loud and pounding up here, my brain might actually explode before I hit the last step downstairs. Damn, after yesterday's spectacle, and lord only knows what I did last night, I should go ahead and dig my own grave.
I yawn once more, stretch my arms above my head, and then freeze in place. Grave? That word triggers something… gave? No, that's not it.
And then it hits me as I see the empty bottle sitting on the nightstand.
Agave of the Gods.
Oh no, no, no, no.
It all comes crashing back. Shot after shot.
On the one hand, I want to smile at totally drinking that sexy smartass under the table. Though, can you drink someone under the table if they don't go shot for shot with you? Men are such wimps.
Then there are the other feelings, mainly embarrassment. Not only did I embarrass myself with the dick weasel I so unceremoniously threw to the curb, but I also got totally white girl wasted, forgot how to say the word bitch, and probably spilled my guts to the guy across the parking lot, the one who always seems to be holding all the cards.
Fuck my life.
Don't get me wrong, the power in that bottle last night was just what I needed. The cure to the cancer that was my old life. However, how does it affect my future here and with him? Maybe it wasn't so bad… Maybe I took a few shots, got tired, kicked Mr. “I’m a badass Viking guy with a smart mouth and sexy ass” out, and climbed into bed to crash. Somehow I know I'm not that lucky, though, just by the snippets I remember. Then again, maybe it was more of a bonding time for the both of us. You have to be okay with each other if you take shots together, right?
Sighing, I decide to skip the bath and just head straight for the shower. Maybe if I turn it hot enough, I can melt my skin, this hangover, and all thoughts of the Viking next door, away.
Taking way longer than I need to in the shower, but imagining it taking all my worries and stress down the drain makes me more human than when I woke up. Guess it's time to face the music and noises coming from downstairs. I walk slowly, trying to gather my thoughts.
Maybe we can all get along now. After last night, I want all the hostility to go away. The last thing I need is those guys ruining my business and name before the doors are even open. Not saying I think they would sink that low, then I think of the co-owner, Luka. Yeah, he might actually stoop that low, and I think he might just be able to do it. From what I can tell from this small town, word travels fast. One little rumor or grudge from those guys and the town would shun me and my business. The problem is, I don't know how to get over this hurdle. Even after Kendrick dragged Luka back to their place yesterday, I could tell that wouldn't be the end of Lukas' efforts. The issue lies with me not knowing how far he will go to get what he wants.
Shit, was Kendric here last night to get dirt or something? Maybe let loose a pack of rats to chew through the place? I draw my brows down over my eyes and squint at the floor.
“If I see one rat in this place, I swear I’ll add it to their tanks,” I growl, looking all over the place as I cross the bar area toward the front door. So far, no rats.
Again, I focus on curing this insufferable hangover, but there is nothing in this place to do that. The real question is, do I want to risk going to the diner and having people stop, stare, and whisper about all the commotion and entertainment I’ve brought here? Or would facing the biddies at the coffee shop be any better? Deciding I need to do that, suck it up, or head to the grocery store, I walk to the front, but my feet plant themselves as soon as I open the heavy wood door and see the outside. I stop so abruptly the door swings closed, hitting me right on the ass, which has my temper flaring even more.
Standing on the opposite side of the parking lot is king asshole himself, Luka, out front hosing down the Spirit of Hops patio all while smiling my way. So I guess the truce isn't over yet, and I still have to muster up enough petty to take on these fuckers. I growl, loud enough to hear and want it to be louder.
These fuckers think they can mess with me?
The asshat across the way must hear my growl because he laughs and salutes, whistling La Cucaracha with a shit-eating smirk. Yeah, I'm kicking someone's ass today, and it's probably going to be the one I can't stop thinking about.
Or… I could be the bigger person and kill them with kindness or whatever that bullshit phrase is. As much as I would love to give Luka exactly what he has coming to him, the pounding in my head and my churning stomach just won’t let me achieve the optimal level of Queen Bitch to pull that off at the moment. The stubborn streak that’s usually a mile wide within me forces me to at least attempt a snarky comeback. Unfortunately, the moment I step out from under the shade of the doorway, my eyes, brain, and stomach all revolt and attempt to both implode and explode at the exact same moment, leaving me with the oh-so-witty and graceful reply of “Urrrghhh mmmmpphhhh” as I bend over in pain and scramble backward like a vampire hissing at the dawn.
Nope. Back to bed it is then. That seems much safer at the moment. I’m sure there will be plenty of opportunity to antagonize the assholes next door to my little heart's content now that it seems I have decided to stay.
That thought that would have sent me running and my mind spinning just a day ago now seems to settle over me like a blanket, not a heavily weighted one trying to drag me down like expected. Instead, it's like a warm, inviting feeling, something almost like certainty, a strange sense of rightness I am not sure I have ever truly felt before.
I’m staying, and I think I just might have finally found the place I am supposed to be.