by Kira Berger
But I also don’t want to show either of them weakness. I have a feeling Duncan is the type of man who’d pounce on any opportunity presented. But I’m also just too stubborn to let myself be forced into a decision like this.
Fine, he’s here. Big deal. I’ve survived worse. I can be cool, collected, and unaffected. I hope.
Grabbing the two tequila shots on the table, I raise one in mock cheer. “Well, here’s to a great and not at all awkward night. Cheers.” And with that I drink one shot after another before any of them can say anything.
No one said I couldn’t use alcohol to get me through the night.
It’s probably a bad sign that I don’t even feel the burn of them going down.
“Alex…” I hear a growl from my right. Looking over, Duncan is scowling at me, his eyebrows nearly touching.
“What?” I ask genuinely confused.
“You might wanna slow down or someone’s gonna have to hold your hair back at the end of the night.”
I wave him off. “I’ll be fine.”
“I’m going to grab us some drinks,” Brendan says and shoots Duncan a knowing look.
“Wait, I’ll come with you. I… I could use some more ice in my gin,” Emma blatantly lies, and they walk off together. Wow, she’s really bad at this.
I sigh. “They’re not coming back, are they?”
“Not for a while. Nope.”
“Figures.” I take another healthy sip of my drink ignoring Duncan’s frown.
“Look, I wanted to talk to you about what happened in the car.” Great, now he’s going to apologize for the kiss. Nothing like hearing someone regrets kissing you. I wish I didn’t care, but deep down I do. I’m just not ready to acknowledge it yet.
“No need, we’ll just forget it ever happened.” I wave him off and drain half my glass without even realizing it. Deciding I might as well go for broke, I continue, “Maybe we can start over, be friends?” I give him a sloppy smile, the alcohol coursing through my system making me not care one bit.
Duncan stares at me before he looks away while running a hand through his hair. I’m not sure what he’s thinking, whether he’s actually considering my offer of being friends or if he is deciding to pursue this further.
“Sure, Alex. We can try to be friends. Or, let me clarify, you can try to be my friend; I haven’t changed my mind and will prove to you that you can trust me. If you need to give us the label of friends to be more comfortable, that’s fine with me.”
A thrill runs through my body at his words. And I hate myself for it. Yet, I can’t deny that my body and parts of my mind are excited he’s not giving up on me. These conflicting feelings are making me crazy. Why can’t my body just be on board with the whole no-man-ever decree I made to myself months ago? Why is it now, when I’m finally in a good place and able to start over, that my body goes against everything I promised myself and reacts this way toward Duncan?
Out of options, I mutter a “Fine” before I drain my drink. I’ll probably come to regret this in the morning, but I decide that getting drunk is my best course of action to deal with this situation. Childish? Meh, maybe. Embracing my old love “avoidance”? Definitely. But in this moment, I’m so overwhelmed with my feelings and his presence in a situation I wasn’t prepared for, I don’t know how to deal. I might be twenty-six years old, but that doesn’t make me infallible.
I should have remembered something though. Mixing alcohol and heightened emotions is a recipe for disaster.
I really should have remembered.
I ignore my better judgment; instead I point to my empty glass and turn to walk to the bar. Duncan is quick to catch up with me, not that I expected him not to follow me or make a comment. What did startle me though is the arm he slings around my shoulders. But I decide to go with it and treat it as the friendly action he does not intend it to be.
Denial everyone, works in a pinch for every situation.
“Are you sure you want more alcohol? Maybe you should have a water or something.”
Startled by his use of the Philadelphia pronunciation of “water,” which sounds more like “wooder,” I start to giggle. Fucking giggle. I’ve never heard him have a distinguishable accent, not like the southern accent everyone knows or the Bostonian, so hearing him use the one word most often associated with Philly makes me giggle for some reason.
Maybe I’m drunker than I thought. Not that that’s going to stop me from ordering another drink.
“What’s so funny?” he questions with raised eyebrows.
“You said ‘woooder.’” I over-pronounce the word in a way only someone influenced by alcohol to the point where they lose any type of filter or measure of embarrassment does, and I burst into giggles again. I drunkenly keep going, “It’s such a cute way of saying water.”
“Cute?” he questions when we make it to the bar and wait to be served. His look stops the giggles. I can’t tell if he’s offended or not by this, so I keep going. “Well, maybe not…” I shy away from his intense blue eyes, looking at the bar top, and mutter, “Maybe it’s just cute because you said it.” I was hoping he wouldn’t hear this over the music, but he must have supersonic hearing or something because after I say it, he burst out laughing and pulls me deeper into his side.
“I see alcohol makes you honest—or more honest about your feelings—I’ll have to remember this.” His face breaks into a blinding smile, robbing me temporarily of the ability to think past the fact of how damn hot he is.
“Hey, kitten. You ready for another one?” The flirty bartender stands in front of us, smirking at me. I feel Duncan tense at my side at his use of “kitten,” hinting at a nonexistent intimacy.
“You two know each other?” Duncan growls while staring the bartender down. I’m way past the point where I’m able to decipher his tone of voice as the two shots of tequila finally kick in. I decide to ignore the question. “Yes, please. I’ll have another gin and tonic, but make it a double.” Might as well go for broke here. “Not sure if Caveman here wants anything.”
This causes him to snicker and Duncan to tighten his grip. “I’ll have a Yuengling Lager and make that a single for her.”
I gasp, instantly annoyed. Under normal circumstances (read: me being less drunk), I’d have realized he’s just trying to look out for me, but alas, drunk me didn’t. “Don’t you dare make it a single,” I yell at the bartender, causing him to chuckle. “And you,” I rant while turning to Duncan, inadvertently bringing me even closer to his body. “Don’t tell me what I can and can’t drink.” I point at him and narrow my eyes, trying to emphasize my point. “I’m a grown-ass woman able to make her own decisions and deal with the consequences. I don’t need some Neanderthal thinking he can swoop in and play hero, telling me what to do.” The words might have had more of an effect if half of them weren’t slurred.
“All right, gorgeous. But don’t tell me I didn’t warn you. I look forward to telling you ‘I told you so’ tomorrow.” Humor lights his eyes, and for a minute I get lost in their depths and the emotions behind them.
My mom always used to say you can see a person’s soul when you look into their eyes. I’m not sure if this is true or not, but in this moment, I feel like I can not only see his soul but also feel it. It’s like it calls to me on some deep-rooted level I can’t explain and I can’t resist its pull. I lean closer into his body without realizing it, lost in his eyes. His arm moves from around my shoulders to my waist and pulls me closer until I’m pretty much plastered against his body from hip to chest.
My breath hitches at the contact, and I imagine what it would be like to kiss him. Really kiss him. Not the short hard kiss he gave me earlier today, but a no-holds-barred, passionate, leads-to-better-things kiss. Full of promises, a dance of taking and giving like no other.
“Here you go, a double gin and tonic and a Yuengling.” The bartender drops the drinks in front of us, startling me out of my fantasy. I quickly look away from Duncan’s lips and grab my drink. I real
ly hope he didn’t notice me staring.
I’m about to grab some money from my purse when I see Duncan hand over a twenty. “I can pay for my own drink, you know,” I say, but there is no heat behind my words.
His eyes sparkle with amusement. Why he’d be amused who the hell knows. I wasn’t being funny. He lifts the hand from my waist and starts to play with some of the hair I pulled away from my neck and over my shoulder. He seems to be doing this in an absentminded manner without even noticing it.
“I know you can, gorgeous. That’s not the point and you know it. You just like to keep making a point of being independent, strong, and not needing anyone. And while all of this is true, there is nothing wrong with leaning on others, asking for help, or reaching for the hand offered to you. But ultimately, you’re with me, and you don’t pay when you’re with me. Period.” He shoots me another smile, this one so sexy I might need a new pair of panties. “You might as well get used to this.”
Then he grabs my hand and turns around to walk back to the table—a table I see Emma and Brendan standing at laughing. I’m glad to see she’s having a good night, despite my little hissy fit.
When we walk up, both of them look at my hand in Duncan’s and smirk. Ugh, bloody fantastic. I try to tug my hand loose, not wanting either of them to get the wrong idea, but he won’t let go. Instead he tugs me closer.
I huff and mutter, “You’re annoying.”
He in turn leans down to whisper in my ear, “And you love it.” And I do. I’ve never enjoyed PDA before him, but I like him touching me, holding my hand, having his arm around me, him playing with my hair. I like it more than I should; more than is good for either one of us.
“You over your snit?” Emma asks as soon as we walk up to the table.
I narrow my eyes at her but let her off the hook. “Yeah, I am. Only because I would have done the same thing in your shoes. Just remember, payback’s a bitch.”
“Well, here’s to a great night with new friends.” I don’t miss the emphasis Brendan puts on friends nor the smirk he shoots my way.
This is going to be a long night.
I take a healthy sip of my drink when one of my favorite songs, “Pretty Girls,” comes on. I can’t help but want to dance when I hear this song. “Let’s dance,” I shout excitedly. I reach over to grab Emma’s hand and tug her toward the dance floor, not caring if she wants to dance or not.
I take another sip of my gin; a drink I now notice is rather strong. And for a second, I wonder if maybe I should slow down. But the thought is too fleeting for me to grab hold of, and soon enough Emma and I are dancing, singing, and just generally having a blast while making absolute fools out of ourselves.
One song changes to the next, and I keep moving to whatever music is on. I have always been able to let go when I’m dancing. I have no talent, not by a long shot, but I love it. I’m able to forget everything while I move to the rhythm and listen to the lyrics. I lose track of time and my surroundings completely. Which is why I’m startled when some stranger comes up behind me and grabs hold of my hips.
For a second, I think its Duncan. That is until I hear, “You’re one hot piece, aren’t you,” in a voice that’s definitely not Duncan’s rough timbre that reminds me of my dad’s favorite whiskey. Rough, but with a smooth finish.
I try to move out of his grip only to have him tighten it. There is nothing that angers me more than men, or women, touching me uninvited and then not letting me go when I clearly want them to. “Listen, you little fucker, let go of me. I have no interest in anything you might have to offer.”
“Ah, come on, don’t be a tease. You clearly wanted it, the way you moved. So fucking sexy.” And that’s what pushes me over the edge. Out of the corner of my eye I notice Duncan move in our direction, but I don’t need help with this idiot.
When I push my ass into his groin, he thinks I’m actually into his pathetic attempt at a pickup, and he loosens his grip, giving me just enough room to turn around and grab ahold of his dick and squeeze. He let’s go rather quickly at this. This move never lets me down—this or kicking them in the balls. Works like a charm and they never see it coming.
“Oh, my God. Please, let go, you crazy bitch,” he wheezes out.
I squeeze harder at this. Like calling me a bitch is going to help his case here. Some people truly are idiots. I don’t notice both Duncan and Brendan have made it to my side by now.
“Do you want to try that again?” I say, proud I’m not slurring, even though I’m definitely drunk. “You know, without the bitch tacked onto it at the end, but maybe with some more begging.”
“Okay, okay. I’m sorry, it won’t happen again. Please, let me go.” He’s holding himself still like a statute; like that’ll help if I really wanted to make it hurt.
This is when I feel a hand on my shoulder and Duncan whisper in my ear, “Let him go, babe. I think he got the point.”
I sigh but let him go. As soon as I remove my hands, the man turns around and runs for the door. But not before I hear him mutter, “Crazy motherfucking cunt,” in my direction. I have half a mind to go after him and teach him some manners. His parents clearly failed in raising him right.
I turn toward the others and their faces vary from shock (Emma), to amusement (Brendan), to anger (Duncan). After what just happened I’m not in the mood to hear what any of them have to say. I’m done taking shit lying down, and I’m not going to listen to anyone give me shit for it. I’ve fought too hard to get to a place to be able to stand up for myself again.
“Who wants another drink?” I look at each of them for a second, not giving them nearly enough time to give me a response before I continue, “No one? Just me then.” I turn and move toward the bar again.
Surprisingly, I make it there without anyone stopping me. Most men now give me a wide berth. I guess they’ve seen what happened. Just as well.
The bartender who’s been serving me all night is waiting for me. “Well, kitten, I gotta say, that was quite impressive. I’ve seen a lot in this place, but that was a first. You’re going to be the talk of the town for a while.” He laughs causing me to smile despite my mood.
“You know, you’ve been calling me kitten all night and yet, I have no clue what your name is,” I prompt him.
“It’s Noah.” He winks. “And I take it you’re here for another round?”
“Yes, same old for me, but give me another shot of tequila with it.” Hearing this, his eyebrows shoot up his forehead.
“You sure about that?” He suddenly looks concerned. I don’t know why he would be—me drinking more means more money for him at the end of the night.
“Yep, I’m sure,” I say and smile my most flirtatious smile at him. I haven’t used it in a while so who knows if it’s working or not.
“Fine. At least I know the guy starring daggers at me for serving you more alcohol will take care of you after this.” I watch him make my drinks. Maybe I misjudged him, and he’s actually a nice guy and not some manwhore only looking to get into a girl’s pants. Wouldn’t be the first time.
“Thanks, Noah.”
“Here you go,” he says and puts my drink and shot in front of me. Before I can dig for my money, a body hits mine from behind and a hand reaches over to pay him. A very nice hand attached to a nice and muscly forearm. I shake these thoughts off before I start fantasizing of licking said forearm on my way to his chest.
Leaning my head back against his chest, I turn it enough so I can see part of his face and whisper a thank you. Tilting his chin down, he smiles at me and kisses my nose. Causing me to have a full body shiver, which of course he can feel, considering I’m leaning against him.
In order to distract myself from the effect he has on my body, I grab the tequila before I chase it with gin. Not the best thing I’ve ever tasted but it works.
I can hear and feel Duncan heave a sigh behind me. I guess he’s resigned himself to be unable to keep me from drinking. Turning in his arms, I have to grip his wais
t with my free hand, as I suddenly feel dizzy. Shit, maybe that last shot was a bad idea.
“I think it’s about time for you to go home, gorgeous,” he says while holding me steady.
“No, I wanna dance. With you. I bet you’re a good dancer,” I mutter, probably not making sense. “I need to test something.”
“Test something?”
By now my filter is completely obliterated by all the alcohol I consumed. I stumble into him while I continue, “Well, you see, they say you can judge a man’s skill in the bedroom—”
Chapter Ten
I whimper at the pain behind my eyes. The feeling of someone hammering an icepick into my brain clues me in on my hangover. Son of a bitch.
I try to remember how much I drank last night when I realize I can’t remember much of anything.
“Oh, my God,” I grumble and slowly open my eyes. Looking around the room, I notice I made it home at least. I just have no idea how. Did I walk? What the hell happened last night? At least I can feel I’m wearing a shirt. And panties, thank God, I’m still wearing panties.
I remember Duncan and his brother showing up. His brother, who’s my landlord. What are the bloody chances? I remember dancing with Emma, having a blast. And then the jerk who tried to feel me up. Yep, definitely remember that one.
Oh shit, the tequila and gin I had after said episode. Pretty sure that’s what kicked me over the edge I was standing on, pushing me from happily drunk to bloody wasted. Everything after me shooting that last shot is hazy. I remember Duncan kissing my nose—a memory which causes my heart to start beating faster in my chest—and me wanting to dance with him.
I can only imagine what drunk me said last night. It could be anything. I lose all sense of self-preservation or filter when I’m smashed to the point of blacking out. And I can’t believe I did this to myself. I’m twenty-six for fuck’s sake! You’d think I know better by now. But obviously not. I didn’t even drink myself into oblivion after the accident when—
