“Well, feel free to do the same. I’ve never exactly heard a string of apologies from your lips either.” I twirled my hand in a proceed kind of motion, and he lifted a brow in disbelief.
“What exactly do you want me to apologize for?”
The blood pulsing through my veins heated. It was already at an ungodly temperature—I did not need to start heating myself from the inside out as well. Another degree or two up, and I’d be passing out.
When Boone’s brow stayed elevated, implying he was innocent on all counts, I reached for the refilled shot. Screw it. “Nothing, Boone. Absolutely nothing.”
After that, I twisted back around and finished my shot in one drink. When the bartender meandered over, bottle at the ready, I covered the glass with my hand and shook my head. I was already showing up alone, late, and dressed in what my mother deemed “scrubs intended for the homeless, not for an Abbott daughter.” If I showed up drunk too, heads would roll. Starting with mine.
After a minute of silence, my phone started going off like a fireworks display on the Fourth of July. It was buzzing so much, so non-stop, it rocked across the counter. All I could do was stare at it and clasp my hands in my lap. I couldn’t deal with them right now. I’d be forced to deal with them soon, but they weren’t going to ruin my last half hour to myself.
“Your phone’s about to blow up,” Boone piped up, still angled my direction.
“Well aware of that. Thank you.” I glared at the phone, still jumping around like it was alive.
“If you wanted to avoid your family, why the hell did you fly down here for the wedding?”
I went back to rubbing at my temples. I couldn’t put this off for much longer. Rip off the bandage and suck it up. It was only a week. Seven days. I’d endured eighteen years; what was one week?
“What do you know about any of it?” I said when my phone almost vibrated off the edge of the counter, forcing me to grab it before it careened to the floor . . . also made of particle board.
“I know more about you and your family than any of you care to acknowledge, that’s what I ‘know about it,’” he replied, his voice calm and even. He’d always been better about controlling his emotions . . . or masking them.
I hadn’t meant to look at my phone, but after catching it screen-side-up, I’d already read a few texts before I realized I’d done it.
Avalee just told me she told you! Isn’t it fabulous? Mom’s first message read.
Followed by Charlotte’s, Can’t wait to meet your Plus One. Where are you two? It’s late.
Followed by another from Avalee. You’re next. I know it.
Followed by three more from my mom. Who is this mystery man you’re bringing with you? Do we know him?
Followed by, Is it serious? As in your father and I should keep the caterer on retainer serious?
Followed by, Everyone’s waiting for you and your date. Please don’t keep us waiting much longer.
Followed by another half dozen messages I refused to continue scanning.
I powered off my phone, slid it into my back pocket, and let my head fall into my hands. What a fucking mess. I hadn’t even shown my face at home yet and everything was in crisis mode. I knew better than to expect anything to get better once I did see my family. I knew better than to hope they’d be understanding and keep their comments and opinions about my lack of a plus one to themselves. I knew better than to expect the best when the opposite had been the theme of my formative years.
My head was swimming both from the alcohol and my family pressing down on me like a hot iron, and that might have been what was responsible for the plan formulating in my head being verbalized.
“Boone?” I said, twisting my neck to look at him. He hadn’t stopped looking at me. “What are you doing this week?”
He reached for his replenished drink and lifted it in my direction. “A whole lot of this.”
I swallowed when he did, but I was fighting the voice in my head that warned me this was a bad idea—quite possibly my worst idea to date. “How would you feel about earning some extra money?”
Boone settled his glass on the counter, keeping it clutched in his hands. “Who says I haven’t already earned so much of it I couldn’t possibly be interested in earning any more?”
Now it was my turn to lift an eyebrow in his direction. While the Abbotts were known for the wealth spilling from their ears, the Cavanaughs had been known for the past few generations for the opposite.