Page 5 of Love is Blind
Ignoring her, she lifts the glass.
“Bottoms up, buddy,” she croons before pursing her lips around the straw. She takes a long pull, but the alcohol doesn’t quite make it down her throat because she spits it directly in my face.
She may be blind, but the girl clearly has zero fucks and one hell of an aim.
That’s gotta be some sort of talent.
“Birdie!” Emmy chastises, quickly reaching for a rag. “I’m so sorry, Ghost.”
“Don’t Birdie me,” she hollers. “What the fuck is that? A Shirley Temple?”
Licking my lips, I take the rag from Emmy but keep my eyes pinned to Birdie.
“Tastes like fruit punch to me,” I deadpan, swiping the rag over my beard.
I’m way too fucking straight for all of this.
“Fucking fruit punch, Em. Really?”
“It wouldn’t hurt to sober you up,” Emmy argues. “Give your liver a rest.”
“My liver didn’t ask for a rest, it asked for your best vodka,” she spats.
Not sure how I got in the middle of this shit, I turn to Emmy. I’m about to tell her to give Birdie whatever the fuck she wants—the whole goddamn bar—when a hand claps around my shoulder. Hardening my features, I slowly turn around and meet Maverick’s amused gaze.
Ah fuck.
“Sorry to interrupt…” His voice trails as he glances over my shoulder. I follow his eyes only to find Birdie leaning over the bar, her hands outstretched in search of something—what, I don’t know, but she looks like she might crawl on top of the thing and help herself to the tap. I shake my head, roughly dragging my fingers through my hair and turn my attention back to Maverick.
“You got a little something on your beard,” he teases.
Of course he witnessed the whole debacle. Hell, it was probably the highlight of his fucking week.
“Fruit punch,” I supply, gritting my teeth.
“Right.” He smirks. “Well, don’t go too heavy on that.”
Laugh it up, Mav.
“Did you want something?” I growl.
He laughs and claps my shoulder again, shaking his head.
“Just came to tell you we’re heading out.” He looks back at Birdie again, his grin widening even more. “New friend of yours?” he asks, his eyes sliding back to me.
“No,” I clip.
He laughs.
“Right.” That stupid smirk is still firmly planted on his face.
“You said you were leaving.”
“I’ll keep my phone on too,” he says, giving Birdie another glance. “You know, just in case you decide to live a little.”
Biting the inside of my cheek, I glare at him. The man gets a dose of happiness and thinks the whole world should follow suit. He gives Emmy a nod and then turns around. I watch him walk toward his family, his shoulders shaking with laughter every step of the way. Tossing the rag on top of the bar, I bring my eyes back to Emmy.
“How ‘bout that refill?”
