Page 48 of All Your Dreams

“You’re drunk.”

“Yes,” she agrees cheerfully. “But I also have a right to question his motives.”

“You’re also entirely wrong about why he, um, did what he did. It has nothing to do with you. He didn’t deserve you or your enthusiasm.”

“That’s what they said.”

I set my half-eaten sandwich down, studying her with equal parts of exasperation and protective amusement. “Listen, I know you’re drunk, but you don’t need validation from some jerk who can’t handle you.”

“Easy for you to say,” she replies with a snort.

“What do you mean?”

“Because you’re…you. You don’t get rejected. People just fall into your orbit. Women and men. All of them. Not that I’m judging, only jealous.”

The comment catches me so off guard that I actually laugh. Jealous of me? That's a first.

“Whoa, hold on. First of all, not everyone falls into my orbit. And second, that’s not even⁠—”

“Uh-huh,” she cuts in, waving her hand. “That’s exactly what it is. You just have this aura or whatever. Everyone loves you and thinks you’re amazing.”

Only if she knew the reality. There's a world of difference between being admired and being known for who you are deep inside. One comes from keeping people captivated. The other comes from letting them see the parts of you you'd rather hide. But I don’t argue further, because what’s the point? She’ll probably forget the conversation by tomorrow morning.

“I’m tired,” Peyton murmurs after finishing her portion.

“Let’s get you to bed.”

She lets me help her stand, her hand in mine as we make our way to the guest room. Peyton sinks onto the edge of the bed while I slip into the kitchen for a bottle of water, setting it on the nightstand along with painkillers.

I help her under the covers and tug the blanket over her shoulders. She glances up at me and for one dangerously tempting second, I swear she might lean closer. God help me, I want her to. But she’s drunk and still technically married, so I step back.

“Sleep, Miss California. You surely don’t need beauty sleep, but you better sleep off tonight’s drinks,” I murmur softly.

Peyton nods, disappointment flickering across her face before she covers it with a tired smile. “Okay.”

She curls onto her side and lets out a soft sigh, her eyes fluttering closed. Against my better judgment, I bend down and press a light kiss to her forehead. “Sleep well.”

There’s no answer as she’s already passed out. I linger, watching the rise and fall of her chest, before finally switching off the light.

15

PEYTON

Igroan and roll onto my side, regretting the movement as my stomach lurches in protest. Never again, I tell myself for the hundredth time since waking up five minutes ago. This is exactly why I don’t drink. My mouth tastes of bad decisions and last night’s cocktails. And my body feels like it has aged twenty years.

Last night flashes in snippets. Rose’s shy smile loosening as the night went on. Soph’s loud and unapologetic laughter. Haisley making the sign of the cross while blessing my terrible sexual history into the afterlife. The clink of glasses. More drinks. A short cab ride home. Ollie making me grilled cheese and—holy shit.

Did I actually tell him that I’ve never sucked a dick or was that just a weird dream? I groan again and pull the blanket over my head. Why did my drunken brain think it was such a great idea to share one of the most humiliating details about my marriage and sex life with him?

I swallow hard, sit up carefully, and wait for the room to stop spinning. It does eventually, settling into a manageable sway instead of a full tilt. From somewhere in the apartment, there’s movement followed by the low murmur of Ollie’s voice as he talks to Tilly.

Getting dressed takes longer than usual. I opt for leggings and an oversized sweatshirt because Ollie loves to keep the place cool, and pad out to the bathroom, completely ignoring Ollie. When I look in the mirror, I barely recognize myself. My hair is a mess, eyes puffy and cheeks flushed, yesterday’s makeup smudged under my eyes. To feel even slightly better, I brush my teeth and splash cold water on my face.

“Well,” I mutter to my reflection. “At least you survived.”

Once I’m ready to face Ollie, I hesitantly step out of the bathroom. He looks up from the couch wearing a black T-shirt and jeans, ceramic coffee mug in hand. Tilly is tucked into her bassinet.

“Good morning,” he greets me.