Must Love Otters by Eliza Gordon Read Free Book Online Page A

I have left with my few remaining cop friends and make sure you’re escorted off the premises.”
    “You’re serious.”
    “As a heart attack.”
    “But … I thought we loved each other.”
    “No. We don’t.”
    “Hollie—”
    “I’m leaving. I’ll be back in three hours. Whatever you can’t take today, we can arrange something for your next days off. If you need me to, I can go to my dad’s to give you time to unload everything of yours from the apartment.”
    “You can’t afford the rent by yourself, Hollie.”
    “Still not a good-enough reason for us to live together. Goodbye, Keith.”

6: Drowning of Sorrows

6

Drowning of Sorrows
    “’Nother shot over here,” I slur. I should probably stop soon. This is gonna hurt like hell tomorrow, but the place is almost all mine, the music is good, and the bartender is hot.
    “Hollie, you want me to call Keith for you, hun?” Ridley the bartender—he is so adorable.
    “Rid, why do you have to be gay? I want to get naked with a man who looks like you.”
    “They all do, sweetheart.” He starts to pull my glass away.
    “No. I want another one. Pretty please …” I bat my eyelashes at him. Or, try to.
    “Maybe something besides schnapps, then?”
    “What d’you recommend …”
    “Something nonalcoholic.”
    “That is totally not what I had in mind.” I slurp the last drops out of the highball.
    Rag in hand, Ridley lifts my phone from the counter, wipes underneath it. It’s been chiming at me all night. It does so again.
    “You gonna answer that?”
    “Why? So Keith can try to guilt me into coming home?”
    “Lovers’ quarrel?”
    “No. That would mean we were lovers. We’re nothing but roommates. And he’s a lousy lay. I’d have better luck with—”
    “Stop right there. Some secrets are best left unshared.” He slides a glass of water with lemon in front of me. I stick my tongue out at him. The phone chimes again.
    “Answer that, or I will.”
    “God, you’re so bossy. Why is everyone always bossing me around?” I slide a sticky finger across the phone’s face. About twenty text messages from my dad are awaiting response:
    What happened?
    Keith just called. He’s worried about u.
    Where r u?
    Should I come into town?
    Why aren’t u answering?
    If u don’t answer within the next hour, I’m coming into town.
    Shit. I text him back. “Dad, I’m fine. Rough day. Will call tmrw. Don’t worry. Luv u.”
    “Keith looking for you?” Ridley says.
    “Nope. Dad. He’s freaking out. Prolly thinks I’m face-down in a ditch somewhere.”
    As I scan through my emails, my drunk eyes crossing from the tiny screen, one subject line catches my attention. “Rid, Rid, c’mere. I need you.”
    He refills another patron’s beer and returns to my perch. “Can you read the fine print on this for me?”
    “What am I looking at?”
    “My dad—he bought me an early birthday present. A weekend at a resort in O Canada.”
    “Sounds swanky.”
    “Can …” A slight wave of nausea flits by. I sip water. “Can you see if it says anything about me having to take Keith with me?”
    Ridley pulls reading glasses out of his shirt pocket. God, he’s like a gay sex god. “It doesn’t say much of anything about rules. Is this place really up in Canada?”
    “Yup. British Columbia. And I’m goin’ there. I gotta get outta town for a while.”
    “When you going?”
    “Dunno. Soon. Gonna get drunk and run away. Just what the doctor ordered.”
    “Some doctor. Give me his number.”
    I swallow more water, wondering if I should try to go pee. I really have to pee. “I gotta go somewhere far away from this stupid place. No offense—I don’t mean your lovely bar. I just mean … here.”
    “I know what you mean, darlin’.”
    “Yup. I gotta do some soul searching. Find me some otters and whales and maybe a bear and definitely some men because that is what I need right now. A real man who doesn’t talk about stupid shit and who doesn’t