Vote Then Read: Volume III

by Aleatha Romig

  Somehow, Kyle volunteered for Chloe babysitting duty—not surprising. He’s always enjoyed being in charge and bossing people around. Sober me does not like him being in charge and bossy. But drunk me—good ole stupid, drunk me—loves his authority.

  Somehow, the liquor numbs my hate for him. His attractiveness is the culprit of my sliding closer to him as the night grows later. My attention closes in on his hair as I think of how amazing it’d be to mess it up, run my hands through it, while he touched me in places he shouldn’t. The flannel hugging his muscular arms looked hot when he sat down, but my mouth watered when he unbuttoned it later and revealed a black V-neck tee. He hung the flannel on the back of his stool and stretched his arms out on the bar.

  I knew vodka went straight to the head, but I didn’t know it messed with your head like this.

  Maybe I should drink away those thoughts.

  Excellent idea.

  I need to up my alcohol intake.

  I reach for the half-full glass of vodka soda he confiscated, but he grabs my hand. His finger massages the space between my thumb and finger before sliding the drink farther away from me.

  “Nice try,” he says.

  “But it’s half-full!” I argue as if he took my favorite toy. “Isn’t that a drinking foul?”

  “True, but you’re way over being tipsy.” His response drips with authority, and I shiver.

  “Duh. It was my game plan tonight.”

  He cocks his head toward the door. “Come on, my drunk Nancy Drew. I’ll drive you home.”

  I cross my arms. “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “I can find my way home.”

  He snorts. “It’s not like it’s out of my way or anything.”

  “I’m not getting in the car with my archnemesis.”

  “Archnemesis?” he scoffs. “What are we, a fucking high school drama?”

  “Piss off.”

  “Come on, I’m a nice guy. I ordered you fries. Mean people don’t order other people fries. They keep them to themselves.” He elbows me. “So, admit it. I’m a nice fucking dude.”

  I reach for my water, which he allows, and play with the straw, staring at it instead of him. “Maybe now … but not then.”

  His eyes narrow my way. “I was a stupid teenager, Chloe. Get over it.”

  “Get over it? You don’t understand the consequences I had to deal with because of your stupid teenager actions.”

  He throws cash onto the bar and rises from his stool. “Stand up before I call your ex-fiancé and ask if he’ll ditch his wedding to pick you and your vibrator-loving pussy up.” He pauses and grabs his flannel, throwing it on over his tee. Then, he leans in. “On second thought, I won’t even need to call him. The groom’s party walked in. Now, you can either leave with me and not face your ex and his new wife or you can keep your ass in this corner and watch their happiness. It’s up to you.”

  I glance up to see Kent’s best man walking to the bar with a bridesmaid at his side.

  This is where they chose to reception it up?

  I grab my purse. “Fine, but how am I getting my car in the morning?”

  “I rode with my sister. She helps Maliki close sometimes. I’ll drive your car.” He holds out his hand. “Keys, neighbor dearest.”

  I roll my eyes but grab them from my bag and shove them in his hand. “Can we go out another way, so they don’t see me?”

  He nods toward the back exit and grabs my water. “Sure can.”

  I allow him to take my hand, and he guides me down a dimly lit hallway. My head spins, and I use the wall and him to level myself. The chilly night hits me when we make it outside, and my car headlights blink when he hits the unlock button on my key.

  Opening the passenger door, he assists me into the seat and then moves to the driver’s side.

  He hands me the water and helps me with my seat belt. “Drink this,” he orders.

  I gulp it down, realizing how thirsty I am.

  He rests his hand on the top of my seat while reversing out of the parking spot. “See, I’m a nice guy, babe.”

  “Fries and rides don’t make everything better,” I mutter. “They don’t erase my hate for you, so, no, you’re still not a nice guy.”

  “I’ll prove it to you then.”

  I narrow my eyes at him. “What does that mean?”

  “You shall see, dear neighbor.”

  2

  Kyle

  Five days out of the week, my mornings consist of showering, pouring myself a cup of coffee, and then walking outside to fuck with Chloe before she leaves for work.

  I consider it our cute little routine.

  She most likely thinks of it as a prologue to the day she murders my ass.

  I tap my fingers against the steering wheel of Chloe’s Honda and peek over at her slouched in the passenger seat. She’s desperate if she’s publicly drinking and allowing me to drive her home.

  I ditched the guys as soon as I caught sight of her sitting in the back of the bar, resembling an old heartbreak country song. Gage gave me a glare and then a sly smirk when I instructed him to bury my body next to my grandmother’s in case she killed me, and my sister sent me five smile emojis after I sent her a text saying I didn’t need a ride home. They’ve been up my ass about getting a girlfriend, like it will establish world peace.

  “Quit staring at me like that,” she snarls.

  “Like what?” I ask.

  “Like you pity me.”

  “I don’t pity you.” I stop to correct myself. “Scratch that. I do pity you.”

  “Someone grew up and put their honest undies on.”

  I soften my tone and explain myself. “I don’t pity you for the reason you think. I pity you for having a boyfriend who failed to get you off.”

  My response is met with silence.

  “Was it every time?”

  Groaning, she shifts her neck from side to side as if it’s sore. “I’m not discussing this with you. I should’ve never told you in the first place.”

  “Jesus, Chloe, I won’t tell anyone you own a vibrator. It’s not uncommon, but if you’re ashamed of your sexuality—”

  “I’m not ashamed of my sexuality,” she snaps with a sneer.

  “Appears that way to me. You pleasure yourself. Who the fuck cares? I’m more concerned that you consider it weird that you masturbate but not weird that your boyfriend didn’t give two shits if you were satisfied.”

  “Contrary to your belief, not every relationship is about sex.”

  “True, but Kent not giving a shit about satisfying you wasn’t a healthy relationship. It was a selfish one.”

  “I don’t like being around you,” she huffs out.

  “Tough shit. We’re neighbors. Get used to it.”

  She shifts in her seat to face me. “Speaking of that, why would you buy the house next door? What’s your play here?”

  “Don’t flatter yourself by thinking I’m secretly in love with you,” I say with a laugh. “It’s a nice home in a decent neighborhood with great landscaping.”

  Lies. The landscaping sucks ass.

  “Oh, look, we’re here,” I say while pulling into her driveway. “No more time for your paranoia of me moving in to ruin your life.”

  “Until you tell me why, it’s what I’m assuming.”

  I park the car. “Keep assuming wrong then.”

  She starts to talk, no doubt to continue this ridiculous argument, but her hand closes over her mouth. “Oh shit,” she groans.

  Fuck!

  Those are never good words to hear from a drunk person with, most likely, a low alcohol tolerance.

  I turn off the car. “Oh shit, what?”

  The door flies open, and her head disappears from my view.

  Motherfucker.

  She’s a damn puker.

  I unbuckle my seat belt and walk to her side. Sure enough, there’s vomit. It’s not just outside but also on the side of her mouth and on her top.

 
I drag my flannel off, step to the side of the puke, and wipe her mouth with it. “Swear to God, you’d better not fucking flip me off tomorrow morning.”

  After I’m finished using my favorite shirt as a puke rag, I assist her out of the car. She doesn’t argue, doesn’t fight me, but I can see the humiliation on her face. I’m the last person she wants help from. My arm is on her shoulder, the other at the dip of her back, and her side is resting against mine. She points to the door key on the ring, and I unlock the door before walking in. A lamp in the room’s corner provides light for me to walk through without running into furniture.

  “I’m usually not up for drunk babysitting,” I say when she points toward what I’m guessing is her bedroom. “Not even for my little sister, who can hold her liquor better than you. Jesus, you damn lightweight.”

  She argues with a groan and a tip of her middle finger, and I can’t stop myself from laughing.

  This is my first time stepping into her house. It’s nice—plenty of feminine shit everywhere. We pass a child’s room, and she points to an open doorway. I flip on the light and take in her bedroom. It’s not what I expected from her—not uptight. It’s bright purple with gold accents scattered throughout.

  “Come on, let’s get you in bed,” I say, jerking my head toward it.

  My statement is more of a guess.

  Does she want to go to bed?

  Shower?

  Sleep by the toilet?

  I take the bed as her decision when she allows me to lead her there and grab her waist to steady her. The way I deposit her on the bed is far from graceful, and I hear a thud when her head hits the headboard.

  Whoops.

  I’m not trying to be Mr. Romantic over here anyway.

  She rubs her head while chewing on her lower lip. “I’m going to bed alone.”

  I hold my hands up and grimace. “The frilly-ass bed is all yours. Taking advantage of puking, drunk chicks isn’t a hobby of mine. I wouldn’t kiss you right now if you begged me. French-fry vomit is not a turn-on.”

  She makes herself comfortable, still wearing her clothes and shoes, and I wonder if it’s how she’ll sleep. I’d offer her help, but I’m not risking her losing her shit on me. She stretches out on the bed and pulls the blanket until it smacks her chin. Her blonde hair is half-smashed against the headboard and half-down in tangles, and she stares at me with mascara smudged around her baby-blue eyes.

  Even when she’s a drunken mess, there’s no mistake that Chloe is fucking gorgeous in every sense with her light skin, freckles scattered along her nose and cheeks, and plump lips that tasted like candy the first and only time we kissed. I wonder if they still taste the same.

  “I thought any woman willing to sleep with you was a turn-on,” she replies, proud of her comeback.

  “As usual, your thoughts are inaccurate, Nancy Drew.” I do a sweeping gesture to the hallway. “By the way, are you hiding children in here?”

  She could be dating someone with kids. But he’d have to be against staying over or going out in public with her because I’ve never seen anyone.

  She shakes her head and then hiccups. “I help my sister with my niece and nephew.”

  I draw in a breath. “Ah, I’ve seen her drop them off a few times.”

  “You need to quit stalking me.”

  “You need to quit thinking I find you important enough to stalk.”

  That shuts her up real quick.

  I walk backward while staring at her. “Anything else you need?”

  “Nope. I’m good.”

  “You sure? Water? Advil? Your vibrator?”

  She grabs a pillow and hurls it at me. “Get out!”

  I turn around but glance over my shoulder at her before taking off. My voice softens. “And, Chloe, thank you for not running the story.”

  I asked a woman who works at the printing company, and she confirmed Lauren’s name was nowhere in the paper.

  Her eyes narrow in my path. “You’re not welcome. I’m risking a potential promotion—all because you threatened to blackmail me.”

  She’s right.

  It didn’t feel good, threatening her, but I protect the people I care about.

  I turn on my heel, her keys still in my hand, and leave the room. I lock her front door behind me, the key ring swinging around my finger on my short walk home.

  I started my day telling Chloe good morning.

  I’m ending my day telling her good night.

  Tomorrow, she’ll tell me to fuck off.

  It’s the circle of us—enemies since my balls dropped.

  My phone vibrates with a text as soon as I stroll through my front door.

  Gage: You home?

  I drop both our keys into my designated key bowl before replying.

  Me: Just walked in. What’s up?

  Gage: You home alone?

  Me: Why? Does Lauren want to come over and give me company?

  My phone vibrates in my hand seconds later, and I answer it after two rings.

  “Say something like that again, and I’ll come over and beat your ass,” Gage warns as soon as I pick up.

  I chuckle. “You’re not doing a satisfactory job as a fiancé if you’re calling me this late and not snuggled up with her … or whatever you lame, monogamous people do these days.”

  “I don’t share my bedroom talk.”

  Gage is my best friend, but Lauren is a delicate subject for him. He loves her more than anyone—has since we were kids.

  I fake offense. “Not even your best friend?”

  “Especially not with my best friend, who referred to her as Satan for years.”

  “Some would find the name flattering. Now, to what do I owe the pleasure of a call so urgent that it couldn’t wait until tomorrow?”

  Gage is my partner, and I’ll see him bright and early in the morning, so we rarely do nightcap conversations.

  “Call me curious, but I was wondering if you were sleeping over at your neighbor’s.”

  I stroll into the kitchen, snag a bottle of water, and head to my bedroom. “Mrs. Kettle? We went to school with her son. Gross, man.”

  He laughs. “Hey, maybe it’s time for you to change your type. Nothing else has worked out for you.”

  I’m not looking for anything serious and unsure if I’ll ever be. “I’m not at Chloe’s. Drunk chicks who can hardly walk don’t make my dick hard.”

  He releases a long breath before responding. “Jesus, Kyle. I wasn’t referring to you fucking her. I want to know where her head is regarding publishing the story.”

  I toss my puke-decorated flannel into the hamper and undress. “You’re asking if I questioned her while she vomited?”

  “No. I’m asking if you questioned her when you visited her office or when you spent your night canoodling with her in the pub’s corner. Please make sure the story isn’t run.”

  “I know for sure she’s not running it in this week’s paper. How did you know I was in her office today?”

  “Her assistant, Melanie.”

  “Is Lauren aware you’re chatting it up with Chloe’s assistant, Melanie?”

  “I’m not chatting it up with anyone. Melanie is fooling around with Joey and told him. Joey relayed the message to me.”

  Damn Joey.

  No more women advice from me for him.

  “So, you used Joey’s big mouth to your advantage?” I ask.

  “Obviously.” He sighs. “Give me the fucking details on what’s running through her head.”

  “I was hoping for a bedtime story first.”

  “Once upon a time, a dude needed to give his friend details. He didn’t. Got his fucking head ripped off. The end.”

  “I love a happy ever after.” I grab a towel and turn on the shower. “I think I made myself clear, but I’ll talk to her again, okay?”

  “Thank you.” He sighs again. “Tell her she owes you a favor for your drunk babysitting.”

  I grin. “Don’t worry; I intend on letting her
know.”

  3

  Chloe

  Yesterday morning, I thought my ex tying the knot would be the lowest thing to happen to me. I was so wrong. Somehow, my mission to escape thoughts of Kent derailed me straight into the company of a man I’d been avoiding for years.

  I drank with him, allowed him to drive me home, and gave him the keys to my house to escort me inside.

  He was in my bedroom, for Christ’s sake.

  I’m appalled at myself for admitting how I received most of my orgasms in my last relationship.

  Today’s to-do list: research realtors and vacate my ass out of here ASAP.

  While I shower, my head pounds with a reminder of every sip I took last night, praying Kyle doesn’t deliver his morning greeting. Maybe he’ll see me as a weird, self-pleasuring freak he no longer wants to live next to.

  Maybe he’ll move.

  Fingers crossed.

  Doubt it.

  He pressed me for every detail about the morning Kent had walked in on me. I don’t know if it was the drinks I’d consumed or Kyle seeming sincere for once in his life that drove me to spill the embarrassing story.

  I get dressed and opt for flats rather than heels. It’s easier to run in them. Operation Avoid Kyle is now in full force, and my first mission is to sprint to my car as soon as I open my door. I find my bag on the couch and shuffle through it in search of my keys.

  Nothing.

  Maybe he left them in my car.

  I suck in a calming breath and open my front door.

  “Good morning!” His voice is louder than usual, closer than usual, more annoying than usual.

  I shriek, my coffee falling from my hand and splattering onto my porch, and my heart stops in my chest.

  Kyle is standing on my front porch, smiling in front of me.

  My mouth drops open. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I mutter under my breath. I guess I didn’t scare him away last night. “This is getting out of hand,” I add when he bends down to pick up my coffee mug. “And stalker-like.”

  He sets the cup and lid on the porch railing, and there’s mischief in his smile.