“You do? When did you learn that?”
“At college.”
Lydia wrinkled her nose. “That’s like learning about champagne at school. You should go to Mexico and drink tequila there. It’s delicious.”
“Maybe I will,” Autumn said, though they both knew she wouldn’t. Where Lydia was the free spirit, Autumn was the sensible one, doing exactly what her father expected of her. It had been that way for as long as she could remember.
A shrink would probably say it was their reaction to their mom’s death when Autumn was five and Lydia was only a toddler. Not that it mattered. She liked who she was.
“Okay, then. Let’s do it.” Lydia dragged her tongue across the back of her hand and sprinkled salt along the moistened skin, passing the shaker to Autumn to do the same. Licking it off, they banged their shot glasses on the table, swallowing the tequila in one go before sucking on the limes.
“Oh god,” Autumn said, already feeling the alcohol rush to her head. “That’s strong.”
“It’s José Cuervo. You should try the good stuff.” Lydia wiggled her eyebrows.
“I have two more shots for you,” the bartender said once they’d finished the second they’d ordered. “Courtesy of the gentlemen over there.”
Autumn followed his gaze to the bar, where two suited guys were leaning on the counter, smiling at her and Lydia. She shot a pleading look at the server. “Please tell them thank you, but we’re not interested.”
“Who said we’re not interested?” Lydia asked, her eyes sparkling. “They’re pretty cute.”
“Okay, I’m not interested.” She grimaced. “I got divorced today, remember?”
The bartender blinked as though a pair of headlights were trained at his eyes. Autumn tried not to laugh. “It’s okay, I initiated it.”
“In that case, congratulations.” He set the shots on their table. “I’ll pass the message back to the gentlemen. I’m sure they’ll understand.”
“You’re going to have to get back in the saddle sometime,” Lydia said when they finished the third shot.
“No way.” It came out more slurred than Autumn intended. “I’m not interested in guys. Maybe I’ll stay single. It’s safer that way.”
“You’re twenty-nine. You’ve got your whole life ahead of you. You don’t want to spend it alone. Not every guy is like Josh.”
The two suits walked over to the table they were sitting at, and gave them a dazzling smile. “Ladies,” one of them said, the ring on his wedding finger catching the light. “Can we join you?”
“Not every guy?” Autumn said to Lydia.
Lydia laughed then looked at the suit who’d asked to sit with them. “I’m so sorry, but my sister here is swearing off guys.”
The suit’s smile widened. “Let me give you my number, anyway. Call me if you change your mind.” He passed them both a business card, as though they were at the office rather than in a bar.
When they’d gone, Autumn turned to Lydia and raised her eyebrows. “I think I need another drink.”
Lydia grinned. “I thought you’d never ask. Come on, let’s find another bar and celebrate properly. It’s not every day you get divorced.”
* * *
She couldn’t see out of her left eye. And if she was being honest, the right one was blurry, too. Add that to the fact her mouth tastes as furry as a monkey’s behind, and it didn’t take a genius to realize she was hungover.
Ouch! Yep, there was the banging headache to remind her that she and tequila definitely didn’t mix. Why, oh why had she drunk that last shot?
And the five before that…
Today was supposed to be the first day of the rest of her life. She’d planned to spend the morning going through her closet a la Marie Kondo, throwing out anything that didn’t give her joy. And then working out what the hell would give her joy post-divorce.
Finally, her left eyelid unstuck and the light came flooding in. Slowly, she sat up and took in her surroundings. Her bedside table was strewn with papers, which on closer inspection looked like her divorce agreement. Her laptop was open, though at least she’d changed the stupid screensaver picture of her wedding day on a beach in the Bahamas to a less emotive image of the desert at night. She didn’t need a reminder of what she’d lost every time she opened it.
Leaning to grab the laptop made her stomach turn a double somersault, and she had to swallow down the nausea. This is why she didn’t drink. That and the fact that the last time she’d gotten drunk in Grad School she’d ended up texting her professor to tell him his wire-frame glasses were very sexy, and to see if he would be interested in a date.