Read Online TROUBLE 1 by Kristina Weaver - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kristina Weaver
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the time we reach our building and pay the cabbie, I’m almost unconscious.
“You okay, Han?” Chrissie asks when we hit the elevator, and I turn green from the swift upward motion.
“M’great! I just need a few minu’s till my stomach settles. Screw him!” I yell suddenly, feeling the need to vent.
We’re giggling while singing the chorus to Scrubs as we stumble off and wobble our way to my door. Chrissie stop abruptly, and I teeter on my heels so violently we fall against the wall.
It’s only when she doesn’t help me up that I realize something’s wrong, and I look up to see Gregory leaning against my door.
“Aagh! You!”
“What the hell is wrong with her?” he growls at a mutinous Chrissie, grabbing at my arms to keep me steady as I rise.
“We went out to celebrate her first sex since her divorce three years ago,” she snarls through thin lips and narrowed eyes. “We thought she should at least earn her hooker badge, since she got treated like one.”
I giggle, unaccountably amused by the way she’s phrasing everything, until I realize she’s telling him exactly what I strove so hard to deny at his house.
“Sshh,” I hiss into her ear.
“No! If he’s got the balls to do it he can most certainly cop to it. So what are you doing here, Mr Big Shot? Decided one round of whorehouse wasn’t enough for the night?”
Gregory narrows his eyes at her and snarls.
“She’s falling down drunk!”
“Better than her crying while she eats a gallon of ice cream!”
I watch as they glare at each other, their stances so aggressive it’s like watching two lions circling a carcass. I’m the carcass, apparently, and while I am drunk, I am most certainly not too drunk to put them straight.
“Chrissie, thanks for a great night. Go home,” I say softly, shaking my head when she tries to argue. When her door slams shut I turn to Gregory and give him a scornful onceover from head to toe and back again. “You can go home too, thank you.”
At least I’m stone cold sober now. Being confronted by him like this is like cold water to the face. Not invigorating, just painfully sobering.
“Go home,'” I hiss, adding a ‘go screw yourself’ under my breath.
With that I march to my door, determined to have the last word if it kills me. Look, I may not be from the Upper sides, and I may not wear designer labels — except for that one time with Margery’s dress, but I’ve prayed on it and asked forgiveness — but I am most certainly not deserving of his treatment.
Anyway, we’ve had sex, I know what that’s like — wonderful — and I’ve promised myself I won’t go looking for anything more. He’s done me a favor by being such an ass, really he has, because if he weren’t I may have started liking him more than is wise.
“Hannah. I need to—”
“Get your ass off my doorstep,” I finish, swinging my door open and turning back.
He stays where he is, staring at me with a look I cannot define, and that makes me angrier than I already am.
“Please just listen. I need to explain,” he says softly.
“Nope. You had your chance to act like a human being, and you blew it. I wasn’t looking for anything more than what you were offering anyway, so we can call it done and move on. I don’t want to see you again.”
I close the door and collapse back, waiting for his footsteps to recede. A moment later I hear him stalk away, and then the elevator doors closing with a ding.
Good riddance. If I never see that man’s too-handsome face again, it’ll be way too soon.
Chapter Twelve
Saturday morning I wake to sewer breath and jack hammers in my skull, feeling more miserable than I’ve ever felt. This is all Gregory’s fault, and I’d tell him so if not for the fact that I never intend to see him again.
I mean, who does that to people?
When the jack hammer doesn’t stop, I sit up with a groan. Someone’s at the door, and the thought of getting vertical and
“You okay, Han?” Chrissie asks when we hit the elevator, and I turn green from the swift upward motion.
“M’great! I just need a few minu’s till my stomach settles. Screw him!” I yell suddenly, feeling the need to vent.
We’re giggling while singing the chorus to Scrubs as we stumble off and wobble our way to my door. Chrissie stop abruptly, and I teeter on my heels so violently we fall against the wall.
It’s only when she doesn’t help me up that I realize something’s wrong, and I look up to see Gregory leaning against my door.
“Aagh! You!”
“What the hell is wrong with her?” he growls at a mutinous Chrissie, grabbing at my arms to keep me steady as I rise.
“We went out to celebrate her first sex since her divorce three years ago,” she snarls through thin lips and narrowed eyes. “We thought she should at least earn her hooker badge, since she got treated like one.”
I giggle, unaccountably amused by the way she’s phrasing everything, until I realize she’s telling him exactly what I strove so hard to deny at his house.
“Sshh,” I hiss into her ear.
“No! If he’s got the balls to do it he can most certainly cop to it. So what are you doing here, Mr Big Shot? Decided one round of whorehouse wasn’t enough for the night?”
Gregory narrows his eyes at her and snarls.
“She’s falling down drunk!”
“Better than her crying while she eats a gallon of ice cream!”
I watch as they glare at each other, their stances so aggressive it’s like watching two lions circling a carcass. I’m the carcass, apparently, and while I am drunk, I am most certainly not too drunk to put them straight.
“Chrissie, thanks for a great night. Go home,” I say softly, shaking my head when she tries to argue. When her door slams shut I turn to Gregory and give him a scornful onceover from head to toe and back again. “You can go home too, thank you.”
At least I’m stone cold sober now. Being confronted by him like this is like cold water to the face. Not invigorating, just painfully sobering.
“Go home,'” I hiss, adding a ‘go screw yourself’ under my breath.
With that I march to my door, determined to have the last word if it kills me. Look, I may not be from the Upper sides, and I may not wear designer labels — except for that one time with Margery’s dress, but I’ve prayed on it and asked forgiveness — but I am most certainly not deserving of his treatment.
Anyway, we’ve had sex, I know what that’s like — wonderful — and I’ve promised myself I won’t go looking for anything more. He’s done me a favor by being such an ass, really he has, because if he weren’t I may have started liking him more than is wise.
“Hannah. I need to—”
“Get your ass off my doorstep,” I finish, swinging my door open and turning back.
He stays where he is, staring at me with a look I cannot define, and that makes me angrier than I already am.
“Please just listen. I need to explain,” he says softly.
“Nope. You had your chance to act like a human being, and you blew it. I wasn’t looking for anything more than what you were offering anyway, so we can call it done and move on. I don’t want to see you again.”
I close the door and collapse back, waiting for his footsteps to recede. A moment later I hear him stalk away, and then the elevator doors closing with a ding.
Good riddance. If I never see that man’s too-handsome face again, it’ll be way too soon.
Chapter Twelve
Saturday morning I wake to sewer breath and jack hammers in my skull, feeling more miserable than I’ve ever felt. This is all Gregory’s fault, and I’d tell him so if not for the fact that I never intend to see him again.
I mean, who does that to people?
When the jack hammer doesn’t stop, I sit up with a groan. Someone’s at the door, and the thought of getting vertical and
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