Page 52 of Unsuitable

I watch him walk away. Taking a deep breath, I wipe my eyes again. Screwing up the napkin, I toss it on the bar.

Ugh, I’m such a fuckup.

I lay my arms on the bar and rest my head on them.

I should call Cece and let her know that Jesse hates me.

Reaching for my bag on the stool next to me, I rake through it, searching for my phone. My fingers find and curl around it. Pulling it out, I unlock the screen.

Bloody thing is all blurry.

I blink, trying to clear my eyes.

I go to my Contacts, all four of them.

Jesus, I’m pathetic.

That makes me snort-cry.

I wipe at my eyes as I press Cece’s number. I put the phone to my ear and wait.

It seems to ring for ages.

Then, the line connects, and a male voice says, “Daisy?”

Um, what?

I pull the phone from my ear and look at the screen.

Oh, holy mother of crap.

Kas.

I dialed Kas’s number instead of Cece’s.

Crappity crap!

I can hear him yelling my name down the phone.

I tentatively put the phone to my ear.

“Hey, Mr. Matis.” I try to sound normal. Of course, I slur the words.

“Daisy”—his voice is like stone—“are you drunk?”

“No!” I shake my head, like he can see me. “Of course I’m not!” And, of course, that also comes out slurred. I clear my throat and try to focus on my words. “I’m not drunk. I’m just happy! Happy! Happy! Happy! This is my happy voice!”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” he sighs. “Where are you?”

I don’t think I’ve convinced him of my soberness.

Shit.

“Where am I?”

“Yes, Daisy. Where the fuck are you right now?” He talks to me like I’m a small child.

“There’s no need to swear, Mr. Matis. And I’m in a bar.”