11
SYLAS
Friday, December 13
Once we’re donewith our first pitcher, it gets replaced with another—the liquid green this time.
“‘The Grinch,’” the server calls it.
“I have to tell you something.” Anna scoots closer to me, and her bare thigh brushes against mine. My breath gets caught when she props her hand on it and her nails dig in like she’s trying to steady herself. “Don’t judge me, and you can’t laugh.”
Inhaling sharply, I draw my attention from her hand to her face. Her lips are partially red from the drink, her whiskey eyes are glossed and faintly dazed, and her face is a pretty array of colors thanks to the lights in this place.
My lips lazily rise. “Tell me.” I lean in, breathing her in. “I promise I won’t judge or laugh.”
She draws in closer, fingers curling in and out, faintly scratching my thigh. “I’m a little—no, maybe alotbuzzed and I really shouldn’t drink any more, but I don’t want to stop.”
I can’t help laughing.
Anna attempts a glare, but she looks too happy for it to have the intended effect. “You said you wouldn’t laugh.”
My head feels light, face feels warm, and body pulses with bliss, everything around me moving slowly but erratic. “I know. I think I’m buzzed, too.”
“There was a lot of tequila in that last one.” She licks her lips as if she were trying to taste the drink.
I nod, eyes lasered in on her tongue and how she drags it back and forth. “Too…much.”
“But I still want more.” She picks up the pitcher and pours green liquid into her cup. “Is that okay with you, or are you ready to go?”
This is when I’m supposed to cut us off and take her home. We’ve already eaten and I got to spend time with her, but I don’t want the night to end.
I slide my glass next to hers. “It’s more than okay with me. Plus, they’ve already brought this over. We shouldn’t waste it.”
“No, we shouldn’t, should we?” She fills my cup, almost spilling some of the liquid as she does. When she sets the pitcher down, she raises her glass and waits for me to do the same.
I do, and ask, “What are we toasting to now?”
She spins in her chair, her crossed legs resting against the inside of my knee. I swallow thickly, thinking of this moment and not the memory of what she felt like when I made her come.
“Everything.” She beams.
I’m not sure she notices but she’s rubbing her leg against mine. And if she does, she’s doing nothing to stop.
“To everything.” I’m sure I’m mirroring the same dopey, elated look she’s wearing.
We clink our cups against each other and drink. “Vodka.” She hums in delight. “This is good.”
“Really good.” I take a long drink, welcoming the alcohol as it rushes through my veins and numbs the pulsing until I feel likeI’m floating. I stretch my arm over the back of her chair. I don’t mean to, but my fingers graze her back. “Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Her eyes descend to my lips briefly before they lift. “I like them there.”
“Yeah?” The word sounds rough to my own ears.
“Yeah.” Her body softens as I circle the pads of my fingers along her soft skin. “Tell me about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?”
I continue gliding my fingers along her shoulder blade, reveling in the way goose bumps break out and she shudders. “I don’t know…your accent? Your mom is Brazilian, your dad British. Were you born in the UK?”
