Chasing His Kickass Luna Back novel Chapter 251

Abby

My apartment is dark when I finally get home tonight. It still smells faintly of fresh paint from the new coat that my landlord put on, but I can still sense the lingering scent of smoke, too.

I decide to avoid the harsh glow of the kitchen lights as I plop the wine glass that’s been tucked under my arm onto the counter island, followed by the bag of takeout food that I picked up on my way home.

It’s still warm, the grease beginning to seep through the bag as the faint smell of garlic and onions permeates through the air. On any other night, I might be delighted to dig in; but honestly, I have no appetite tonight. Even the thought of food makes me sick after everything, after all of the failed dishes. But I know I need to eat, and if I don’t, I know I’ll regret it later.

For a moment, I dig through my cupboard for a plate and some silverware, but eventually decide to opt out of the plate.

The cork gives a subtle pop as I open the wine. No glass, I decide. Not tonight. I take a swig straight from the bottle, the sharp taste of alcohol momentarily cutting through the numbness. It’s a start.

I crash onto the couch, the plush cushions a welcome comfort after being on my feet all day. The TV flickers to life with a soft buzz a moment later, and I navigate to N*****x to drown myself in a world away from reality.

I’m not sure how much time passes. Hours, maybe. I feel like I’m caught in a haze of cheap movies, cheap wine, and even cheaper food. But the memories of today—the truffle dish, the disdainful look in Logan’s eyes, the trophy in Daniel’s hand, the kiss with Karl—keep playing in front of me, crowding out the movies on the screen.

“Dammit,” I whisper to myself as I take another swig.

I must look pathetic now, especially when I was so sure that I would win. And it’s not even just that I lost, either; it’s that I was humiliated on live television. Ingredients were swapped, tussles were had, insults were thrown, and my pleas were ignored.

Come tomorrow, I’ll be a culinary laughingstock. Hell, I might even be laughed right out of my own restaurant.

I couldn’t bear to go there tonight. I can’t even bear to glance at my phone, because I know I’ll be barraged with a chorus of sympathies that will only make matters worse. Right now, I just want to hide my head in the sand.

At some point, the bottle of wine finally empties. I don’t remember finishing it, but the fuzziness in my head is enough proof. Groaning, I push my way up off of the couch and shuffle into the kitchen, where another bottle waits for me in the fridge. I pop that open, too, and make my way back to the living room.

It’s then, as I’m standing in the doorway with the second wine bottle to my lips and a romance scene on the TV, that I hear it: my wolf’s voice, clear as day, in the back of my mind.

“Are you just going to wallow in misery, or are you going to keep pushing forward?”

Her sudden presence is like a slap to the face, or a rush of cold wind on a hot day. It takes me completely by surprise in my current state.

The bottle slips from my grasp, wine splashing onto the carpet—a vibrant red against the white fibers. I curse out loud and nearly fall onto the tile floor as I dash into the kitchen for a towel.

“You could have warned me,” I say out loud as I grab the towel off of the hook and return, falling to my knees and dabbing it into the carpet before the stain can spread. “Now I’ve spilt wine everywhere.”

“That’s really your main concern, Abby?” My wolf’s voice is thick with disapproval. “The wine? Don’t be so miserable.”

“Look, I think I’m allowed to be miserable after today, okay?” I grumble, pressing the towels into the wine, but the red just seeps deeper into the fabric. “After all that public humiliation, I think I've earned a little wallowing time.”