More Than Sorry

13: She Calls Him Drunk

EDEN

My hand shoots out to push open the door with the sign that says Bonitas. I don't speak a lick of Spanish, but I'm guessing that's El Diablo Cantina's fancy-ass way of saying women's toilets.

I stumble inside. The bathroom is a mish-mash of black and white tiles and blood-red doors, but it's spotless, so it ain't the men's. The stall at the end is free. Somehow my wobbly legs make it there, and I slam the door shut, but it takes two goes for my fingers to fumble the stupid lock closed.

My eyes dart around the tiny, suffocating space. I'm not sure what to do next. My escape plan never got further than getting my ass to the bathroom. I had to get away from Andie and her judgemental eyes. She's always watching. Asking too many questions. Are you okay? Have you had too much to drink? Blah, blah, blah.

Andie's eyes nearly bugged right out of her head when I chugged down my first cantarito in record time and then demanded a second. Then she had the nerve to rain all over my little pity party when she banned me from any more drinks after I had downed my third.

Well, the joke's on her because I stole sips from Yvette's glass when she wasn't looking.

My head is a sweet happy numb now. A wave of giggles escapes me and bounces around the toilet stall like there's a whole party in here. The distraction only lasts a second. There's no party in here. It's just me. Sad, lonely me.

Why can't Zach just stay away? Locking my feelings away and pretending like I hate him is a lot easier when he's not around.

I sigh, leaning back against the stall door, and I close my eyes so the world goes blissfully dark to everything except my memories of Zach. God, he looked so good tonight. A shivery ache races up my arm when I remember his sweet, uncertain touch on my wrist. I controlled myself—barely—but one more second or another one of those sweet shy smiles and I would have caved. All over, red rover. I would have thrown myself right into Zach's arms, buried myself against his chest, and never let go.

And then he sent that message...

This isn't fair.

I'm gonna text him. Something mean. Yeah. That'll teach him. I'll be rid of him and his stupid perfect face once and for all.

My fingers fumble on the clip of my clutch, and I eventually manage to tug my phone out without tipping everything else on the floor. When I drop my eyes to look at my messages, it's like the whole world drops too. My head feels all floaty. Spinny. I squint, but the letters on the screen stay floaty too. Whoa. Was I always this bad at reading?

Okay, maybe no messages.

I'm gonna phone him. Yeah. That's a much better idea. I'm a talker—a doer. I'm gonna give that doofus a piece of my mind. Let's see how he likes that.

I jab my finger to press the call button. My hand shakes as I hold the phone to my ear. Maybe this wasn't such a great idea. The phone rings for a beat. What the hell am I doing? This definitely wasn't such a great idea. I can't—

"Eden?"

Zach's low rumbly voice is uncertain but so sweetly familiar. My heart surges, already pounding loud against my ribs. My strappy heels feel too flimsy to hold up my wobbly legs, so with my knee, I flip down the toilet seat lid, and it cracks shut with a bang so loud it rattles my already rattly nerves. I'm shaking—suddenly shit scared—and I sink my butt down on the lid.

I gulp in a breath. "H-hi."

"Oh, Eden..." Zach's voice is low and heavy, like a sad but relieved sigh. "It's so good to hear your voice."