Read Online Other Broken Things by C. Desir - Free Book Online

junk.
    â€œEnough,” he says after a minute of my half-assed licking. “You’re not even into it.”
    Shit. “I am,” I lie.
    â€œGive me a break,” he says, pulling me onto my feet. “Talk.”
    â€œNo.” I try to drop down again, but he holds my elbows and looks at me hard.
    â€œNat.”
    â€œWhere’s my vodka-cran?”
    He sighs and pulls two bottles from the inside of his Mark Jacobs down coat. I snag them and shimmy out of my jeans as I down the first bottle. I turn and am ready to pound the second bottle before we really get to things, but he’s standing at my door, rebuttoning his pants. He has the saddest look on his face. Too many questions, too many answers, too many things we’re supposed to say but I don’t fucking want to.
    â€œYou’re a dick,” I say, my voice cracking.
    â€œYeah. So you say.”
    â€œThought you said you wanted to have sex?” I wiggle, trying to distract him. Trying to do something to wipe the look off his face.
    He shakes his head and opens the door. “Let me know when you’re ready to talk.”
    He slips out of my room and it’s the worst kind of sucker punch. I throw the empty bottle at the door and quickly uncap the second one, slamming it down even faster. This night needs to fade away.

Chapter
Ten
    I wear my Prada sunglasses to my sponsor meeting with Kathy. She’s already got a full cup of coffee and a half-eaten scone beside her when I get there. Plus the Big Book right in the middle of the table. I quickly glance around to see if anyone I recognize is here, since apparently my sponsor is as subtle as a car crash. No one is and I ease into the chair opposite her.
    I point to the book. “Isn’t there a pocket-sized version of that so we don’t have to be so obvious?”
    She rifles through her big pleather bag. Same one she had at the meeting. I almost feel guilty about the number of Coach and Kate Spade purses in my closet, but whatever, I can’t help my parents being rich.
    â€œAs a matter of fact, there is.” She hands me a mini Big Book and I drop it in my lap. “Are you ashamed of someone seeing you?”
    â€œYes. Duh. I mean, my friends know I went to rehab, but the whole town doesn’t. And my dad sort of wants to keep it on the down low.”
    Her face pinches. “Huh.” She grabs the book and shoves it into her bag—yes, the bag is that big—and pulls out another mini. Which, okay, so she was testing me? And apparently carries an entire library in her bag.
    â€œLose the glasses,” she says. I push them off my face and up to hold my hair back. My hair is loose and crazy, untamed curls because I woke up too late to shower.
    â€œYes, ma’am,” I mumble.
    She tips her head to the side. “You’re hungover? Jesus.”
    â€œWhat? No, I’m not.”
    â€œOf course you are. I’ve seen that look in my own mirror more than once. It’s not a bad hangover, but it’s still a hangover.”
    She’s right, but I don’t say anything. Silence normally makes people think they’re wrong or being judgmental. Unfortunately not with Kathy.
    â€œThat’s strike one. Two more and I’m dropping you as a spons. I don’t need the hassle, and if you’re just playing, I’d prefer to have my Sunday mornings to myself, thank you very much.”
    â€œWhy are you even doing this?”
    She takes a sip of coffee and shrugs. “ My sponsor told me it was time I get a spons of my own. It’s the Twelfth Step, helping bring the message to others, practicing it in all aspects of our lives.”
    I smirk. “So? You need me as much as I need you.”
    â€œHardly. There are always people looking for sponsors. Way more demand than supply at SFC. You’re lucky I agreed to take you on.”
    I probably am, but I’m not about to admit it. Especially with my head