Devoted

Brody

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BRODY

Nothing good ever came from getting a call from Marcus at nine o' clock in the morning. Add to this that it was a Saturday and I was hung over as fuck and it was a recipe for disaster.

It started out as just another night out with the guys. Drinking, singing, meeting some Broadway Girls who were hot and always fucking down for anything and not stopping until I had one under my arm as I walked out that door. Everything was going great.

Until it wasn't.

Everyone told me that Marcus was going to hear about this. They told me that I was going to catch hell for it in the morning but fuck. When you're already eight beers and three whiskey shots deep, shit really doesn't seem to phase you. Not even when you're getting escorted out of the bar at one in the morning by the bouncers like some nobody piece of trash.

But now I wish that it did.

I groaned, dropping my head in my hands, my fingers tightly wrapping around the worn blue bill of my Field and Stream hat making the muscles flex in my worked biceps. If Marcus didn't fucking get here in the next few minutes he was going to be walking into an empty office. That or he was going to be walking into a pile of vomit all over the top of his desk.

The second would be kind of fucking hilarious. But fuck I was already in enough trouble. Well supposedly.

I squeezed my lips together, that telltale sign that all the bad decision making I had made last night was going to make a reappearance started to taunt me.

As hilarious as it would be to ruin Marcus' fucking day even more, bringing up last nights libations was the last thing that I wanted to do. My worn brown cowboy boot started to shake on the ground while I inhaled mouthfuls of air trying to drown out the feeling.

Whiskey only tasted good going down, never coming back up.

The seconds ticked by agonizingly slow and my hangover just kept feeling worse. This was fucking torture, and maybe it was payback for making a mess for Marcus. He was no doubt working on what should be his day off, calling whoever he needed to so my name would disappear from the media. But I'm sure it was too late. There were too many people there last night for it not to be leaked to someone. Guess I should've thought of that before taking that last shot of whiskey to pump me up. But nothing I could do about it now.

I sat back in the chair, my head falling back against the cold leather pushing my hat down to cover my eyes, my elbows resting against the metal armrests, my fingertips on my thighs while I continued to turn the chair side to side. He was already ten minutes late to a meeting that he said needed to happen right now. But maybe him being late was a good sign.

Maybe I was just working myself up.

Maybe things weren't as bad as they seemed.

Maybe he was just being a dick.

Another wave of undeniable nausea swept over me, my body breaking out in a cold sweat as I started to push myself from the chair, but it was too late.

Marcus swung through the door like a hurricane, his face beat red and a whirlwind of an unreadable mix of emotions as he sank down into the seat giving me a stone-like stare.