“I have no idea, but you couldn’t be like she thinks she broke her foot?” I put my hand on my forehead.

“Oh, that’s a good idea,” she says, tapping her finger on her lips. “Shit, I should have said that.”

I shake my head. “Now, where’s Mark?”

“I told you, he’s gone,” I tell her, and she walks over to the liquor cabinet. Opening the fridge that is built in, she grabs the bottle of tequila and pours a shot.

“You are going to need this,” she says and hands it to me. I’m not sure I want to take it, but I do. The cool liquid goes down smooth, and then the burn comes right after.

“I’m going to need one more,” I tell her. She pours another one, and it goes down pretty much the same. “He wanted me to meet his parents,” I say, looking at her, and she now takes off her jacket and pulls me to the couch with her. The bottle of tequila in her hand and the lone shot glass in mine.

“Sit,” she tells me, pouring another shot. I take it, and this time, there is no burning.

“He expected me to meet his parents when they came down for the season opener,” I tell her. Looking at her, my voice gets just a touch louder. “His parents.”

“Okay,” she says, pouring me another shot, and I look down at it, seeing the liquid in the glass.

“He thought we were in a relationship,” I tell her, his words suddenly playing in my head. “A relationship,” I say the words and take another shot. “Me,” I say, pointing at myself, and I get up, putting the shot glass on the table in front of me. I look at her, and she sits back and watches me, giving me the time to talk, but I don’t need time because it all comes out.

“I don’t do relationships, you know this. Fuck, everyone knows this. I’m a one and done.” She nods her head. “Okay, so maybe with him, I bent the rules by going back time and time again, but I …” I say, walking back and forth now. “He knew. It was just fun.” The words suddenly making the tequila in my stomach gurgle. “So we spent the night with each other, and we spent every day together.” I stop watching and then sit on the couch in front of her. “Oh my God.”

“Did you get it yet?” Karrie says, looking at me. “You were in a relationship with him.”

“I don’t do relationships,” I tell her softly. “Not since …”

“Not since that,” she starts saying, and I look at her.

“I never told you,” I tell her softly. “I was embarrassed and then ashamed.” The words come out.

“He was married,” I say, and she gasps.