“Grayson?” I ask quietly, as we walk down the hall.
“Already left,” she confirms.
A relieved breath slips from my lungs. I can’t deal with him right now, on top of the Wyatt situation. At least, not without some food in my system.
Twenty-five minutes later, I’m settled firmly in a low leather booth across from Harper and Masters, who is watching the door for any possible threats as though this sushi restaurant is full of genuine samurai about to slice us limb from limb, rather than perky waitresses bearing sashimi and sake cocktails. Harper orders a variety of food while I use the bathroom, and by the time I get back to the table, our server is setting down a wood tray garnished with an array of brightly colored dragon rolls. Two martinis follow suit.
I stare at the apple shavings floating on the surface of my drink, mesmerized. I haven’t had a sip of alcohol in six weeks. It’s barely two in the afternoon but, after the day I’ve had, I crave the soothing refuge of vodka sliding down my throat. I eye the untouched glass in front of me, hands itching to drain it in a single gulp. Even with the tiny heartbeat thumping double-time alongside my own — an ever-present reminder of my mistakes — the temptation is almost too strong to resist.
Eve had an apple…
…I have an appletini.
“Don’t worry, they’re mock-tails. Totally virgin,” Harper assures me, misinterpreting the reluctant look on my face for responsibility. “I wouldn’t derail your sobriety. You’ve been doing so well. I’m really proud of you.”
She’s doing her damnedest to keep me away from all forms of alcohol, the memory of my last bender still fresh in her mind. She doesn’t know that, if not for the baby, I’d have crawled inside the bottom of a bottle and taken up full-time residence there.
I sigh — half regretful, half relieved.
I suppose I should be grateful I don’t have to fabricate an entirely different reason that I’m abstaining from drinking the delicious green concoction in my glass. I grasp the stem and lift it to clink against hers.
“Cheers.”
The tart liquid is refreshing, even without the bite of alcohol.
“Are you ready to tell me about it, now?” Harper asks softly. I can feel the impatience running through her like an electromagnetic charge. She’s desperate for information, but too sweet to push me for it after witnessing my breakdown in the parking lot.
“Um…” My eyes dart to Masters.
“Oh, Kent won’t say anything. He couldn’t care less about anything that concerns other people.” Harper elbows her boyfriend. “Isn’t that right, honey?”
“It’s true, I’m a total narcissist,” he agrees dryly. “It’s why she’s so attracted to me.”
“I meantgossip.” She rolls her eyes. “You don’t care aboutgossip.”
His lips twitch in one of the rare smiles only Harper seems capable of coaxing out of him. It’s gone by the time his eyes shift to meet mine. “Don’t worry, Miss Firestone. You’re paying me for my discretion as well as my protection. Anything you say is totally confidential.”
“See!” Harper jerks her chin sharply. Her eyes narrow, patience wearing thin. “Feel free to start talking now.”
I fidget in my seat and look around the restaurant. While we’ve missed the worst of the lunchtime rush, many of the tables are still full. Yet, our booth is in a private corner — a perk of my sudden A-list status — so it’s doubtful anyone can overhear our muffled tones.
I take another sip of my drink and stare into my best friend’s eyes. “Fine. But you can’t freak out.”
“I won’t!”
“You can’t react in any way.”
“I saidI won’t.”
“You have to keep calm.”
“Kat!” She tosses her hands up. “Honestly, you’re starting to worry me. Just spill already.”
I steady my shoulders and force the words out in as steady a voice as I can manage, considering it’s the first time I’ve actually said them out loud.
“I slept with Wyatt.”
“WHAT?!” Harper screams, loud enough to make every head in the restaurant turn our way. “ARE YOU—DID YOU JUST—BUT HOW—WHAT THE—WHAT?!”