19
Jess
“Let’s get drunk.”There’s a smile in his voice that sounds liketeasing.
“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” I thread my fingers through the ends of my hair where it’s still wet from my shower and lean back into the seat, “Coy doesn’t like it when I drink.”Why do I even care what he thinks?I don’t know why, but I do, and it angers me more than the bruising around my neck, or the swelling on myface.
Sean scoffs but then goads, “That’s because he’s a jerk and doesn’t want you to have a good time without him.” He’s not wrong. Not really, and that’s almost enough for me to say screw it, and take him up on hisoffer.
But I don’t know. After the angry way Coy left tonight, there’s a good possibility I’ll be homeless by morning. What good will letting loose now do, if I have to deal with the slap of reality tomorrow? “I’m notsure. . .”
“Come on. I’ll keep you safe. Besides, why should you have to do what he says? He’s not even here.” That’s what sealsit.
“You know what? I will have adrink.”
“How much do you want toforget?”
“Huh?”
“Do you need to relax a little, unwind from a stressful day? For that I say we open a bottle of red. Need to let loose? I’ve got a craft beer in the kegerator.” There’s a smile in his voice and it does its job of chasing the dark thoughts from my mind. Maybe Sean is onto something. Maybe I do need to get drunk. Maybe I deserve to lose control. Tomorrow will come,regardless.
Sean leans forward on his elbows and if it weren’t dark out, I’m certain his stare would take my breath away. “But if this was like the worst kind of day, one you wish never happened, there’s only one drink forthat.”
“Do tell.” I clear my throat. “Because that’s the kind Ineed.”
“Jameson.” He leans back as if he’s just given me the keys to theworld.
“Oh, I don’t think I can handle that.” I shake my head and let loose a chuckle. I don’t drink. Not like that. The most I have is a drink or two with dinner. I wasn’t kidding when I said Coy doesn’t like me todrink.
“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Jess. You’re strong enough for the hard stuff. Come on, let’s go make you adrink.”
He stands and motions for me to come along. I only hesitate a moment before I pop to my feet and follow behind. He’s a man on a mission, and I rather like this no-nonsense, driven side to him. He’s always so easy-going and gives the impression he’s not so goal-oriented, but I know that’s not true. You don’t get to be the bass player in a bestselling rock band without a solid work ethic. Besides, I’ve seen how much he runs. A lazy person would never be socommitted.
He walks through the kitchen all the way to a far cupboard and slides two wine glasses from where they hang upside down from a rack. He fills them with ice from the freezer and sets them on the counter. There’s a grin on his lips as he lifts his gaze, but that easy-going smile only lasts a split second. It’s erased with his stare and that’s when I remember how Ilook.
“Jess!” he shouts. He takes a step closer. “What thefuck?”
My hand goes to my face and I try to turn away. “It’snothing.”
“That’s not nothing. Let me see it. Don’t move.” His hand moves with a gentleness that contradicts his size. His touch doesn’t sting, but the embarrassment of everything that caused this to happen drops my gaze in defeat. If I weren’t wearing this high neck, long-sleeve shirt, he’d be horrified at all the pinkish-purple bruises marking my skinunderneath.
“He do this to you?” The words barely grate through his clenchedjaw.
“I don’t want to talk about him. You promised me a drink.” Avoidance. I’m not ready to look at my life head on. If I do, I think I’llbreak.
“Fuck. Looks like we’re gonna need more ice.” Humor. He defuses my unease, and for that I’m grateful. I watch him take a clean dishtowel and fill the center with ice, balling it up before turning back and meeting my gaze. “This might hurt. Can I?” He waits for my permission and I nod before he presses the makeshift ice pack against my cheek. “Better?”
I nod again and raise my hand to take the towel from him. Our hands brush and in that one connection my body thrums with the awareness of how close we are. How sweet he is. How much I want him to press more than this ice against me. That’s the thought that causes me to step back and out of hisreach.
“Now, the good stuff.” He snaps his fingers, walks across the room, and squats down to open one of the cabinets. He stands up with the biggest bottle of whiskey I’ve ever seen in my life and comes back to fill the twoglasses.
“Wine glasses? Doesn’t that go against whiskey drinkingrules?”
“Well, yeah, but no one will know.” He winks. “Besides, I don’t know about you, but wine glasses make me feel fancy as fuck.” If he’s trying to be funny to put me at ease, it’sworking.
“Fancy, huh?” A giggle escapes my lips and I raise aneyebrow.
“And they hold more.” His tongue darts along his lower lip and he grins before handing me a glass. He raises the other in his opposite hand. “What should we toastto?”
