Page 51 of We Drank the Dawn

“I was hoping you would tell me.”

“Sarah, if there’s something that needs to be said, just say it. I’m not a mind reader and I’ve got a pounding headache.” I took another sip of the Gatorade.

“A ton needs to be said, Peter. But you need to say it. Why don’t you start with the phone numbers.”

Phone numbers? What the hell was she talking about?

My face twisted as I wracked my brain. “What phone numbers?”

She moved across the room. “As I was picking your clothes up off the floor last night”—a drawer opened—“I found these in your pocket.” A light-weight object hit my chest then rolled down into my lap. My hands moved to gather it up, only to find…napkins?

“What is this?” I asked. “It feels like napkins.”

“They are yours. What I want to know is why you have them.” Her voice rose in pitch and volume, starting to shake with desperation and anger.

“Napkins?” My own pitch rose as confusion mixed with the fog in my head. “Sarah, I have no idea. Why are you freaking out about napkins?”

She didn’t respond immediately. For a few long beats, she waited. When she spoke again, a little of the fight had drained from her voice. “You don’t remember, do you?”

I opened my mouth again, searching for words. “Apparently I don’t. Because I have no clue where this conversation is going.”

“Well,” Sarah’s tone deepened with anger. “Allow me to jog your memory.”

I held my breath, tingles erupting over the back of my neck.

“That variety pack of napkins represents all the different bars you visited last night. And all ten have a woman’s phone number written across the top and some of them even have notes from your new friends. A little line or two for you to remember them by.”

My jaw dropped open, and I was certain I heard her wrong.

Battling to piece together the evening, I tried to marry her words with my fragmented memories. Phone numbers? Women?

Wait a second.

Realization clapped against my brain and blood drained from my face. Doom and dread swirled together in my stomach, a concoction infinitely more nauseating than alcohol could ever be.

We were playing a game, weren’t we?

A stupid game.

Ah, shit. Shit. What was I thinking?

I remembered Cody’s suggestion—seeing who could get the most numbers by the end of the night. The room was already swaying at that point, my responses lagging and my judgment severely impaired. Everyone took on the challenge. I couldn’t remember personally agreeing with the idea, but I must’ve been on board.

Did Sarah say ten?

Realizing my mouth was hanging ajar, I snapped it shut as a soft groan slipped through my clenched teeth. I propped my forehead with the palm of my hand, lacing my fingers through the top of my hair as my face exploded with heat and shame.

I couldn’t remember who I talked to, but bits and pieces kept waking up and flinging to the forefront of my mind. I remembered lining up at the bar with the cowboys to do shots. I remembered laughter, claps on the back, and comments about women liking blind guys.

We even put a cash bet on who could get the most. In fact, I was pretty sure I won.

Won.

Fear sliced my throat.

What did I do? What did I do?

I had never been unfaithful to Sarah in any capacity. Since high school, Sarah was the only woman I even looked at. Cheating, flirting, or affairs—even emotional ones—were so far off our radar we never suspected it of each other. To think of me, collecting phone numbers when I had a woman like Sarah, was insane.