Against her better judgment, but forced by Thomas’s glare as he still sat in his parked truck out front, Cheri stepped inside the lobby of her former office building. Immediately, the guard questioned her, but she was glad it was not a familiar watchdog. She quickly made up a story, told him she was just waiting for someone. After a few minutes, she checked her phone and pretended to be at the wrong address, then slipped out the back of the building, paranoid that countless people might be spying on her, Marlene and Thomas among them.
In spite of her promise to abstain, all roads led to a drink. In an instant, her head was screaming for one. With everything she had just gone through, knowing the predicament she was in, Cheri found herself hardly able to wait for one. In no time at all the lightweight had move up to the hard-core division, and she wasn’t proud of that at all.
She had never really had much experience with men before, either, not before Thomas, and he was enough experience to last a lifetime. She knew she would never meet a more vibrant, charismatic, gorgeous son-of-a-bitch, not as long as she lived. As irresistible as he was, it felt as if he was breathing down her neck that very minute.
Cheri jogged a couple blocks to a place called the Oasis, still scared to death she was going to get caught. It was a dimly-lit place, certainly not glamorous or outstanding by any stretch of the imagination, about as inconspicuous as the corner bag lady. The Oasis was definitely not the Four Seasons, but the barkeep didn’t have any problems with her being there, and she was relieved to be swallowed up by the darkness and anonymity.
The very last and only thing she remembered doing after sitting down at the bar was lifting the shot glass to her lips. When she awoke, she found herself looking up at the stars from the sidewalk in front of her house, in the middle of the night, with rain pouring down on her. Her purse was spilled out all around her, and her head throbbed as it became quite evident that she’d once again lost an entire day to her nasty habit.
Mercifully, her wallet and keys were still there and within arm’s reach. She all but crawled to the front door and safely made her way inside. She was still drunk but, though her body was crying for sleep, some sober part of her brain was really upset about the truth of her situation. I really do have a problem, she thought, a major fucking problem, and it’s not just Thomas Graham.
***
Cheri didn’t wake again until well past the time she was supposed to be at work. Not only that, but she’d not had the sobriety to show up for his ride-home offer the day before, so that meant Thomas was probably wise to her. With a cup of microwaved coffee in hand, not nearly as delicious as the cuppa joe he always made for her, she peeked out the curtains for some sign of him. Sure enough, he was parked in front of her house.
Thomas spotted her checking him out and immediately got out.
“Damn it,” she hissed, plopping down on the couch. “I don’t need this, not now. Can’t he take a fuckin’ hint?”
He let himself in and stared at her disappointedly. “I came by this morning and knocked, but you didn’t answer. I woulda busted the door down, but I got called about an emergency at a job.”
“Hmm. I guess that explains why I didn’t wake to find you hovering over me this morning, like an alarm clock,” she snapped.
“Are you suggesting it’s my fault you didn’t make it to work?” he asked, a loaded question if there ever was one.
“Leave me the fuck alone,” she said emphatically, unable to control her speech and to keep the drunkenness out of it.
A storm gathered in his eyes as he stared at her. “Cheri, I told you—” he began to scold.
“Yeah, yeah,” she said. “I have a good reason, but I’d rather not get into it.”
“You’d better get into it!” he yelled with a scowl, then body-blocked her from taking another step.
“Fine. You want me to explain it, Thomas? You broke my fuckin’ heart and caused me to get fired. I worked my ass off there for eight years, and now I’m gonna have to file for unemployment or start flippin’ burgers till I find something else. There! Are you happy now?” she challenged.
“Fired? When?” he asked quietly.
“About six weeks ago,” she replied, looking at him as if it was the stupidest question anyone had ever asked.
“So yesterday was total bullshit?”
“Takes total bullshit to know total bullshit,” she accused. “Don’t tell me you didn’t know.”
An uncomfortable pause fell between them, and Cheri squirmed in her seat as he ordered softly, “Look at me.”
“No. I really want you to go,” she said.
“You have a problem,” he said.
Cheri’s lip quivered, and she couldn’t control it, as hard as she tried. “I’ll figure it out,” she countered.
“You do that, because the deal still applies,” he said.
“And what deal would that be?” she asked sarcastically.
“Straighten up, or I’ll call the cops,” he said.
“Are you serious, Thomas? This isn’t how rehab works, you asshole. When has putting more pressure on an alcoholic ever made them stop drinking?” she asked.
“Are you saying you’re an alcoholic?” he asked.
“You know what I mean, Thomas. People drink because they’re stressed. Adding more stress solves nothing.”
“Ah,” he said, almost sarcastically. “I see.”
Another pause pressed down on Cheri, and she didn’t feel well at all. She immediately realized the bitter coffee was not a good idea, and the yelling certainly wasn’t helping. She was at risk of losing it in front of him, and she certainly didn’t want to do that, not her cool or the contents of her sour stomach. “You’re not gonna give me one damn bit of space, are you?” she asked, almost begging. “You claim you want to fix things, but you’re only making everything worse.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said, with not a tinge of sympathy or apology in his voice.
“Gee, thanks,” she said skeptically.
“Where are the keys to your car and your wallet?” he asked, darting his eyes around to look for them.
“Why?” she asked in a panic.
“You’re cut off. It takes about five good days to get the booze outta your system.”
“And who are you, Dr. Drew?”
“I know because when I realized what I did to you, to us, I also drank like there was no tomorrow,” he said. “I had a helluva time detoxing, but I kicked its ass and so will you.”
“I just told you I lost my job. I have to find another one,” she argued. “How am I gonna do that without funds or a ride?”
Thomas stared at her. His eyes were hard, but his lips were curled with amusement. “In hindsight, I guess it was naïve of me to hope you could just be scared off the sauce. You need to detox first, and then you can go look for a job. You certainly can’t go on interviews smelling like you do.” He wrinkled his nose.
Cheri wasn’t sure what he was trying to do, but his words got to her. She was so, so vulnerable, and everything he said, coupled with his hotness, were like harsh blows to her churning stomach. She was too stunned to cry, but tears were definitely coming, and she could think of no better way to camouflage them than under a stream of water. “I guess I’d better shower,” she said as she got up and turned toward the stairs.
He blocked her path a moment. “I’m not enjoying this,” he said. “I don’t like hurting you. That’s not what this is about, Cheri, but you’re in a dangerous place. You don’t have the luxury of wallowing in self-pity.”
She agreed that she needed to knock it off, and she was scared out of her mind that maybe she couldn’t, but she was also sick of his interfering and treating her like a child. “That’s right, and you’re the guy who’s gonna see to all of that, right? You’re the handsome knight on the shiny motorcycle. When you aren’t saving me from muggers in the metro or sleazy contractors who take advantage of me, you’re saving me from the bottle. You, the almighty Thomas Graham, ex-convict, are gonna see to it that I’m saved once and for all.”
Thomas, unmoved, just stood there glaring at her, as solid as an oak tree. “What’s it gonna be?” he asked.
“Don’t you have a girlfriend waiting for you, Mr. Graham?” she snapped.
“I sure hope so,” he responded, his gaze melting into something temptingly emotional.
She wasn’t sure what he meant by that, as she was still intoxicated and very confused. Part of her thought he was talking about her, but she was sure that was only delusional, wishful thinking. “I am not an alcoholic,” she insisted.
“Go take your shower. I’ll check in on you later,” he answered, then quickly snatched her purse and keys from the table where she’d left him.
“I hate you,” she said.
He just shook his head and smiled, as if he knew better.
Sighing, Cheri trudged up the stairs. Maybe he’s right. Maybe I don’t hate him, but I sure as hell wish I could!