The Truth About Forever (The Truth About, #2)

6

Penelope

It feels like someone is trying to crack my skull open with a butter knife. Fucking red wine. Fucking Cassian. Fucking Ophelia. So much inconvenience.

Sitting up, I sigh. Even in my head, I sound like an asshole. That's what alcohol does to me; it manipulates my emotions and brings out the worst in me. Not all the time, but most of the time. I wasn't a condescending asshole at Jake and Gemma's wedding, and nor was I one during the business trip that started my partnership with Elemental Coffee. But I was before Cassian left for his date.

I close my eyes and groan, pulling a pillow over my face as my back flops against the mattress. He hates being called Cassie. His attitude did suck before he left. I can't believe he had the audacity to dump my bottle of wine down the drain. Even if I destroyed his pack of cigarettes, there's a definitive difference between smoking and drinking. As long as someone drinks in moderation, it's okay. Smoking, be it in moderation or a pack a day, isn't good.

I shouldn't have poked at him. I should have kept my emotions in check. Thank God I was sober enough to keep my mouth shut when he asked if I was okay. Stupid voice. Stupid emotions. Stupid heart. Why can I let him go? It's clear he's not interested in being more than friends with me. And why the hell did I text Patrick? I thought it would be a good idea. Now, I'm dreading going out with him. The last place I want to go is a bar to play pool and sip cheap beer. Okay—I'm being unfair. I'm not sure what Patrick's dating preferences are.

Ugh.

I toss the pillow to the foot of the bed and sit up, planting my feet on the floor. The streaks of light coming in from the porch light make it feel like someone is trying to stab out my eyeballs. It hasn't even been twelve hours since Cassian wasted my bottle of wine and I'm already experiencing a hangover.

When I glance at the clock, I realize it's approaching eleven thirty. I groan again. I didn't make it through the night. There's no way I'm sleeping tonight. Sluggishly, I climb to my feet, gripping the edge of the bed as the room spins and my stomach twists. It takes several long seconds for the nausea to pass. Once it does, I brave walking. The painkillers are in the medicine cabinet above the fridge and I'm in dire need of them. Hopefully, I'll make it without keeling over or throwing up.

Before I can take the first step, my phone goes off. Annoyance pokes at me. Who the hell would call at this time? I swipe my phone from the nightstand and stab at the screen, choosing the speaker option. No way am I blowing my eardrum because of a stupid phone call. It's probably some telemarketer telling me I've won a trip to Hawaii. "What?" I demand.

Silence follows—a long silence—before he replies. "Could you, uh, unlock the front door, Pen? I think you locked it before you fell asleep."

"Well, you're going to wait," I snap. "I'm hungover and can't walk without feeling like I'm on a boat." I end the call and massage my throbbing temples. I feel like trash. My mouth feels like I snacked on cotton balls and my head is the equivalent of sewage. I also have to pee. And maybe vomit. I wouldn't mind if both happened at the same time because then I wouldn't need the extra effort to do one after I finished the first. I'd just sit on the toilet and pee while vomiting into the garbage can.

I drag myself to the front door, catching my reflection in the mirror. I've seen better days, that's for sure. Sweat plasters my hair to my forehead and there's dried drool along the corner of my mouth. With a heavy sigh, I unlock the door and open it, treating myself to a full view of Cassian. Despite being hungover and in a worse mood than Scrooge himself, Cassian's rugged handsomeness still gets to me. In the soft light coming from the house, he looks like the devil in disguise. I can only imagine what he'd be like in bed.