Page 79 of Faking Forever
Kenny woke alone.
She opened her bleary eyes and groaned when the bright sunshine scorched her retinas.
Her head was pounding, her mouth felt like it had been stuffed with cotton wool, and everything felt just a little off-kilter.
The three tequila shots she had downed in quick succession last night were back to haunt her. Last night they’d afforded her the bravery to stand up in front of a crowd of strangers and sing. Today, they were reminding her how low her tolerance for alcohol was. It didn’t help that she hadn’t eaten much beforehand.
She wished she could blame the crying jag that followed on the alcohol too, but that had been a long time coming. And it almost certainly contributed to the headache and dehydration this morning.
She sat up and groaned.
Everything hurt.
She’d spent the entire night on the overly soft, lumpy, too-small two-seater.
Smith had left sometime after two a.m. after waking her gently to tell her he was going.
Kenny buried her face in her hands with a muffled moan as she recalled the way she’d protested and clung to him.
Don’t go. I’m homeless without you.
Oh God, had shereallysaid that to him?
Out loud?
He’d paused for a moment, tilting his head quizzically, while he stared at her as if her words were cryptic code that needed cracking.
In the end he’d chosen not to respond. He’d left a bottle of water within easy reach, asked if she needed help getting to the bedroom, and then, after tracing the line of her jaw with a gentle, lingering finger, had left.
Her phone buzzed gently but she couldn’t pinpoint its location.
Latching on to that as an excuse not to obsessively replay last night’s disaster over and over again, she began a frantic search for her device.
She kept calling for Siri to “find my phone”like a madwoman, but that damned bitch maintained a stubborn silence. Which probably meant that her phone was face down or covered.
She squeamishly checked down the sides of the sofa, which yielded some loose change, half a slice of moldy toast, crumpled tissues, and various other disgusting bits of detritus.
Right. She was never sitting on this thing again. In fact, as soon as she found her phone, she was going online to find a new sofa. Her landlord could consider it a gift.
She cast her eyes around the room and…
The phone buzzed again, drawing her gaze to her cast, which was propped up against a coffee table leg.
She sighed and rolled her eyes, when she saw the dim light shining through the ventilation slits along the sides of the fiberglass boot.
She hobbled over to the kitchen sink and washed her hands before retrieving her phone. The device also got a quick clean with a sanitizing wipe before she checked her messages.
Of which there were many.
Cade was just checking in.
Gideon had sent a dog meme.
Her father had sent her a picture of a welt on his toe and asked if it was cancer.
She replied:
Dad, it’s a mosquito bite. Use repellent next time you’re outside at night. And stop sending me these gross pics. If you’re really concerned about something, see your GP.
