Walk of Shame by Andrea Smith

Author:Andrea Smith [Smith, Andrea]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Romance, New Adult
Publisher: Meatball Taster Publishing, LLC
Published: 2015-12-13T16:00:00+00:00

I'm finally feeling more relaxed, with less people in my face, but I can’t help but feel I’m under Carson’s scrutiny for some reason. She’s watching me. I can see that in my peripheral vision. I can’t stray from my purpose.

I’m here to observe Weston’s interactions with his gene pool. So far, nothing extraordinary; nothing that I would not have expected for someone who was born into wealth and privilege.

His mother is sweet, perky, and seems able to hold her own with her husband and children. Weston seems to love and respect his mother in the short amount of time I’ve been able to observe. And is civil with his father, though standoffish, which I totally get from what he shared with me that day after he came back from New York. His sister comes across a bit more complicated but, then again, she’s been through a major trauma recently.

I’m sure that his father was, and still seems to be the classic overachiever. Driven, intelligent, maybe even controlling to a point, but to say cold and aloof? No, I don’t see that at all. I can tell in the way he looks at his wife and children, that there’s true affection there, though not publicly displayed. I’m betting he has some soft spots along with some vulnerabilities of his own.

My reflections are interrupted when Carson pokes me. “Hey, I’m going outside to burn one, wanna join me?”

I’m not sure what she means by that, so I quickly glance over to where Weston is still engrossed in a conversation with his grandfather. I suppose they’re catching up while watching some football.

“Sure,” I say.

She refills her wine glass. “Take your wine. We can have a nice chat outside. Those two will be talking or arguing about the game for a bit anyway. Welcome to the Matthews’ Holiday Gathering, Penny.”

I follow her out to the terrace, and the view is every bit as panoramic as Darcy described. “This is breathtaking,” I say more to myself than anyone else. “Simply beautiful.”

“Yeah, it’s alright, I guess,” Carson replies, taking a seat at the wooden patio table. She sets her glass down, and pulls a lighter and a thin plastic prescription bottle from the pocket of her jeans. She uncaps it and pulls out a joint.

I feel my eyes widen as she fires it ups, and then puts it up to her lips taking a long drag from it. She holds it in and then slowly exhales, the smoke curling out from her mouth. She offers it up to me.

“Whoa, I thought you meant a cigarette. That’s pot,” I announce looking around quickly.

“Well, no shit, Penny. I don’t smoke cigs. Those things will kill you. Besides, it’s all good. I have a prescription for it. Medical marijuana. My doctor in D.C. prescribed it for me. It helps with the residual pain I still experience from my accident.”

And now I have a dilemma here. It’s not that I don’t smoke pot because, hell, occasionally Eva and I have been known to fire up a joint.

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