Page 42 of Heart Breaker

I stare at her for a long second, taking in the tears welling in her eyes, the way she’s curled into herself, and suddenly I understand her in a way I didn’t before. Maybe Lottie is breakable too, beneath all of her beauty and sharp edges.

“I think we’ve officially crossed into midnight therapy territory,” she says, trying to lighten the mood. She tops off my wine glass before lifting her own dramatically, changing the subject.

I’m not sure I heard that right. “Midnight what?”

“It’s a game,” she says. “I invented it.”

“It sounds dangerous.”

“It is dangerous,” she says matter-of-factly. “That’s what makes it fun.”

I laugh in spite of myself and she points at me. “See? It’s already working.”

She disappears briefly behind the bar before returning with another bottle.

“Absolutely not,” I tell her, raising my hands in surrender.

“Oh, come on.” She sets it down between us, grinning. “Don’t you like games?”

“This sounds like a terrible idea, Lottie.”

Her smile widens. “I only have fantastic ideas, Wes. You should know that about me by now. “So,” she says as she twists the corkscrew into the bottle. “We’re going to take turns sharing embarrassing or depressing life stories. Whoever has the worst one wins.”

I blink once. “That’s the most unhinged game I’ve ever heard.”

“Thank you,” she says, pulling until the cork pops out.

“And what does the loser get?”

She starts pouring wine into our empty glasses. “Emotional damage, mostly.”

I laugh. “You are a deeply strange woman.”

“And yet here you are.” She slides one of the glasses toward me. “Participating.”

I should say no. Lottie already gets under my skin sober. Adding alcohol and late-night honesty seems like handing gasoline to two people already standing too close to a fire. But she’s smiling at me like that again, cheeks pink from the wine.

“Fine,” I mutter.

“Excellent.” She settles onto the stool next to me, tucking one leg underneath her. “I’ll start easy. Biggest teenage humiliation.”

“You planned categories?”

“Oh, Wes.” She takes a sip of wine. “This isn’t the first time I’ve played this game. I invented it, remember? I’ll go first.”

She taps her fingers against the counter thoughtfully. “Okay. When I was sixteen, I passed out during orchestra regionals because my dress was too tight, so I refused to eat lunch.”

A laugh escapes me instantly, and her jaw drops. “You’re laughing at my biggest humiliation? That’s cruel, Wes.”

“You literally fainted?”

“On stage. In front of everybody.”

“That’s hilarious.”

“I hit the floor hard. You’re a terrible person.”

I lift my glass and knock back the wine. She watches me with entirely too much satisfaction. “See? Midnight therapy wine is fun.”