Free The Shooting by Chris Taylor

he’d been waiting for: Charlie had spoken to David who’d talked to Lily and yes, she was willing to give Tom her number.
    He’d punched the air with excitement and then immediately felt sick to his gut. What if she only wanted to speak to him in order to chew him out? He was mortified over his behavior at the party. He could only assume she’d heard him being sick. Charlie had been more than happy to tell him he’d made so much noise, there hadn’t been a single soul at the party who hadn’t heard Tom Munro emptying his guts.
    At least he’d made it to the toilet in time. He couldn’t imagine the humiliation of having to ask for a mop and bucket…
    Pushing the revolting thought aside, he concentrated on the positive. Lily had given him her number. It was better progress than he’d made the night they’d met. She wanted him to call. Surely, that was a good sign? He was determined to believe that it was.
    * * *
    Lily pulled her long hair back into a ponytail and secured it with a band. Choosing a pale pink lipstick, she applied it to her lips. Moving back from the bathroom mirror, she stared at her reflection and sighed. Her heart was racing at the thought of seeing Tom Munro again, but was she being fair? To either of them?
    When David told her that Tom had asked about her and wanted to give her a call, she’d been both excited and nervous. She recalled how she felt when she spied him from across the room; how everyone and everything had simply faded away. The moment was surreal. It was the most romantic moment of her life. But then, she’d gotten closer to him and had realized he was drunk.
    His Hollywood looks had immediately lost a lot of their appeal. She remembered feeling disappointed. After the nightmare of her childhood, she’d vowed never to get involved with a drinker. It was the reason she’d refused to give him her number at the party. Now, she had to admit he’d been almost constantly on her mind.
    She was nineteen and had nearly finished the first year of her teaching degree. She’d dated a string of men, though none of them had made a lasting impression. One thing her dates had in common was that none of them, not a single one, drank.
    Most of the time, she vetted them before they went out. She simply asked them straight up if they drank. Those that said yes never made it to the first date. There were still plenty of men who refrained from alcohol. Okay, maybe she had to search a little harder, especially on a college campus, but it was possible to find them and she’d enjoyed their company.
    It was just that none of them had reached into her soul and touched her like Tom Munro had. It depressed her and saddened her and maddened her all at once. Finally, she’d found a man who touched her so deeply, she was sure she wouldn’t find it with anyone else. There was just one problem: He was a drinker. And that fact was insurmountable.
    Not only did he drink, but he drank until he fell down. The thought of having any kind of relationship with him went against every promise she’d ever made to herself. And yet, here she was, primping and preening in preparation for his arrival and doing her best to contain her excitement.
    Perhaps he wasn’t much of a drinker at all? Perhaps it was his first time? Maybe that was the reason he hadn’t handled his liquor? Or perhaps someone had spiked his drink?
    She shook her head at the list of excuses and smiled ruefully at her reflection in the mirror. She was being ridiculous. She barely knew the guy. Besides, he’d been holding a bottle of rum. It was only because he’d managed, without even a word, to touch something deep inside her and despite her reservations, she was intrigued enough to want to spend a little more time with him.
    The doorbell to her apartment chimed and her nerves kicked up a gear. With a hand that wasn’t quite steady, she applied another coat of lipstick and then dropped it into her evening bag. She could hear the murmur of voices