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“Bourbon.” I can't hold back a chuckle at her reaction. “My dad used to say it's an acquired taste.” The instant I say the words, I wish I could yank them back as the memories begin to flood over me. Pushing them all the way, I try to refocus my anger and frustration at the situation at hand. The fact that Methew had invited me to watch them on their date, the fact that I’d been dumb enough to show up, and the overwhelming anger I feel at him and myself for the whole stupid rivalry leaves me shaken.
“Remind me to never drink that again.” She lets out another cough, and I know that she's breathing spicy liquor Dragon breath right now that likely stings more than anything she’s experienced before.
“Will do.” Now, with the thought of her on a date with the man who's been trying to make my life a living hell, and thoughts of my dad all rising to the surface, I feel worse than I did before. But she’s still a ray of sunshine in my day somehow.
“What if I need that moral support after all?” She’s watching me closely as the last several glasses of alcohol - drank far too close together - begin to unfocus my eyes.
“I wish you'd have just told me up front that you're interested in Methew.” All the rage inside me begins to bubble up, and I watch her blink at my words and open her mouth as if to speak, but she says nothing.
“Instead, you're over at my place, admitting that you might have feelings for me instead of telling me that you're dating - or looking to date - someone else.” Doesn't she realize how incredibly awful what she'd done to me is? I can't even imagine telling someone that I might be developing feelings for them, only to be going behind their back to go on dates with other people. And while we hadn't said anything about being exclusive to one another, I had just assumed that she wasn’t telling multiple people she was falling for them.
What if she was telling him the same thing she was telling me?
My stomach tightens and my heart hardens as she still stays silent. I watch the bartender refill my drink and swallow the blazing liquid quickly while letting my anger out instead of holding the tide back. She falls silent, just watching me talk as I try to articulate what I’m thinking and battling back the haze from the alcohol.
But the booze wins and thinking - and speaking - become more increasingly difficult. “Is he the reason you blew me off when I told you I wanted to see more of you?”
Her eyebrows furrow as if she's trying to remember when I said those words, so I clarify. “Right after the party, after our kiss, I told you I wanted to see more of you.”
Her eyebrows shoot up and she seems stunned. “I completely misunderstood. I thought you wanted me to work longer hours, like we’d discussed in the beginning when I started working for you.” She brings her palm to her forehead and continues. “I don't know why I didn't put two and two together. I guess I was just so flustered from the party and everything that happened.”
The fact that it may have just been a simple misunderstanding makes me feel quite a bit better about that whole incident. I decided then not to hold her refusal against her, but if she was turning me down to pursue someone else while leading me on, I'd feel justified being upset.
Now I don’t feel justified at all, but I let that upset go because there’s no reason to hold onto that feeling.
The bartender refills my drink and I down the alcohol in a quick gulp, aware I only feel numb now - even the sting of the liquor feels dull and muted.
“I think you should slow down on the alcohol, Charles,” she says softly, but I wave her away.
“I’m fine,” I say, knowing full well I’m not fine at all. I’m drunk. Not so drunk I can’t function or walk, but drunk enough I certainly will be getting an UBER home. Drunk enough that I should probably not have this conversation with her in a crowded club with ears everywhere.
Even though we're in such a busy location, it still somehow just feels like her and me. She has the magical ability to make me forget the rest of the world exists because all I can do is focus on her. Or maybe it's more of a curse.
“Maybe we should get you home.” As she says the words, she takes my arm and I pull away from her grasp. She seems surprised by my movement and stands by my side, staring at me. Then her gaze shifts and I follow her stare to Methew, watching us both with a smile. When he sees me looking his direction, he raises his glass in a clear cheers gesture.
I can hardly believe that he's acting as if he's giving me permission to take her. Maybe there is more to their relationship than I thought, and more than she's willing to admit because he acts as if he owns her. Which, come to think of it, is damn interesting behavior for a married man.
I glance back at Alisha, wondering if I’m missing something but she’s refusing to look at either of us. Instead, she's looking at the door as if wondering if she can make a quick escape.
Another glance at him shows that he has an amused smile on his face as he lifts an eyebrow. He must know he's getting to me, but I know exactly what to do to piss him off. I slide off my stool, slip an arm around her shoulders, and start making my way toward the front door.
She glances up at me in surprise.
“Thank you for the help,” I say. “I definitely drank too much.” Anger still boils deep in my core, but I'm not sure what else to do or say. And I don't want to do anything at all while I’m drunk.
We make our way to the front door and then step out into the cool afternoon air. She’s warm and comforting under my arm, and she guides me toward her car.
“You absolutely can't drive. Do you have someone who can take your car home for you?” She sounds concerned.
“I’ll ask Arson to send someone to my place with it - he has a spare key as part of our agreement.” That might have been too much info to share, but even though she lifts an eyebrow, she doesn't ask any further questions.
As she walks me around to the passenger side of her car, she glances at me with a silly smile. “I just realized this is my first time driving you anywhere, but not the first time we've driven somewhere together.”
I have to wonder if she's used to being the passenger in other people’s cars or if she’s often the driver.
“So what's between you and Methew?” That question is poison in my blood, and I can't help but hope she'll answer.
She sighs. “There's no easy answer to that and I'm not sure it's a conversation we should have when you've been drinking.”
