Please Me Daddy (Gracie) novel Chapter 3

Gracia

I stared down at the glass of whiskey in my hand, watching the amber liquid catch the bar lights.

“So, yeah,” I muttered, the words slurring slightly. “That’s the story of my fucking life.”

I gave a bitter little laugh and tipped the glass toward my lips, feeling the burn all the way down.

“I found out my fiancé was gay, days before the wedding. And not just gay, ” I snorted, shaking my head. “The bastard even hit me. Can you believe that?”

I turned to the bartender, who was wiping a glass but had frozen mid-motion, his eyes wide.

"I was the one who was supposed to be doing the hitting! How could I have let that bastard lay his hands on me? I should’ve hit them so hard in the face instead of just standing there and crying like a fool."

The bartender set the glass down and shook his head, looking genuinely rattled. “Woah. When I said I wanted to hear your life story, I didn’t think it’d be that bad. Jesus.” He whistled low. “I can’t even imagine how terrible you must be feeling right now.”

I dropped my glass onto the bar with a clink, blinking hard as my head spun. The alcohol burned in my throat, and everything felt a little too much.

I didn’t even remember how I got here. One second, I was storming out of that godforsaken house, and the next, I was parking outside some random hotel. Instead of booking a room like a normal person, I went straight to the bar and ordered the biggest bottle of whiskey they had.

Now, most of it was gone. I frowned, picking at the peeling label on the bottle like it had wronged me personally.

God, this is so cliché, I thought miserably. I was cheated on, drinking myself to death, and spilling my sob story to a total stranger.

I used to roll my eyes when I saw women doing this in books and movies. I used to think, Wow, how unoriginal. The author should find a better coping mechanism. But now, I understood how they felt.

When you felt so shitty, so useless, so fundamentally worthless, sometimes the only thing that numbed it was drinking yourself stupid.

I pushed the glass toward the bartender.

"Imagine this," I said, my voice bitter. "Finding out your fiancé is cheating? Sure, that's bad enough. But finding out he was never attracted to women to begin with? That he loved someone else and was just using you to hide the fact that he's gay? And not only that, he had the audacity to hit you while protecting his lover."

The bartender swallowed hard, setting his towel down. His face was pale.

“Yeah…if that were me, I’d probably just kill myself.” He held up his hands quickly. “Don’t kill yourself, though! I mean, seriously, don’t.”

He grabbed the whiskey bottle and poured another full glass for me, setting it down like he was offering a truce. “This one’s on the house. Don’t worry, hon, you’ll find someone way better. Someone better than that trash.”

Someone better? I stared at the golden liquid swirling in the glass. Who was better than Charles? I’m twenty-three. Most men my age were just as bad, annoying, childish, and unable to give me the things I wanted. Maybe I should just go for older men at this point in my life. At least they would know how to satisfy a woman and treat her right.

I picked it up and tossed it back in one long gulp. I set the empty glass down harder than I meant to and dropped my head into my hands, squeezing my eyes shut. I hated this. I hated this feeling so fucking much.

My phone started ringing, vibrating against the bar counter. I blinked down at it, my vision swimming slightly from the whiskey.

I stared at the caller ID for a long moment, my thumb hovering over the screen. It was my mother. I didn’t want to answer. God, I didn’t. Because I already knew how this would go. I could explain everything, I could scream, cry, beg, and it wouldn’t matter. It never had with my family. But some small, pathetic part of me still hoped. I wanted to believe that maybe, this time would be different. That maybe she would actually listen. Maybe she would defend me, or at least pity me, right?

I answered the call. “Mom…”

I didn’t even finish the word before her voice exploded through the speaker.

“You stupid child!” she screeched. “What is this nonsense I’m hearing from Charles’s family?! You broke the engagement? Are you insane? Do you know the wedding is in a few days?!”

I bit my lip, an old, nervous habit I thought I’d outgrown but clearly hadn’t.

“Mom, I… Charles, he—”

“Shut the fuck up if you can’t talk properly!” she barked. I flinched, holding the phone slightly away from my ear.

“I want you to go back to that house this instant,” she commanded. “Get down on your knees if you have to. Beg him to take you back!”

For a moment, I was frozen. Staring down at the bar, at my empty glass.

“Mom…” I said, my voice shaking. “How can I take him back? Charles… he cheated. I caught him—with someone else on our bed.”

There was a pause at her end and I thought she would get angry for me. Maybe she would finally stand by me, but then she laughed mockingly.

“And so what?” she scoffed. “Is he the only man who cheats? Anybody can cheat. He’s a man. It’s normal for men to cheat.”

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