Cas’s eyes look a perfect blue in the white light reflected from outside, as muted as it is with the snow still falling. His eyes are like daggers, pointed at where our fingers overlap on the bottle.
“Maybe,” he says, his voice husky and low. He sits the bottle down to his other side, and when he turns, he’s close, barely a breath away. Even with me laying and him sitting with his legs tucked under him, we might as well be close enough to kiss. “We have a lot to talk about, Bee.”
“I know.” I break eye contact to look out at the snow. “And we have to drink too much to talk about it. When did thathappen?”
“Thirteen years ago.” His hand comes up and traces the stubble across my jaw and my world tries to turn over for a moment, even as I remain flat on my back. It’s not the liquor. The gesture is one for lovers, not drunk friends on the living room floor.
I feel my blood ebb and flow to his touch.
Cas is always the moon, the blood in my veins the tide, and I always move in response to his pull.
“This is new.” His thumb lightly rasps the hair on my face. I have always had a bit of scruff, but this is more and softer than what he’s used to.
“Not really.”
“New to me, then. It’s. . .” His hand glides back on my jaw, thumb brushing by my lips. “It’s fucking sexy is what it is.”
I squeeze my eyes shut and then back open. Anything to try and get my thoughts collected.
“Cas.” That’s just it, I don’t know what to say here. Not when he has that look on his face that I know all too well means he wants to kiss me. Some part of my brain thinks I need caution, but looking at those blue eyes, I can’t think of what I am supposed to be cautious about.
Cas dips his head, thumb still stroking my face.
“No.”
Cas blinks at me with confusion. I don’t know how to explain that a drunken kiss can’t happen. I can’t kiss him and then wonder if he means it.
“I do mean it. I always meant it, Baylor.”
Fuck, I’m more drunk than he is if I said that out loud.
“We’re gonna need clear heads for that. When we can’t blame the alcohol for what may happen,” I say.
A cock-sure smile takes over his face, eyes dancing as they move too quickly from one of mine to another as he tries to focus. “You worried about what might happen?”
I try to snort some sort ofas ifsound, but it comes out more like a whimper.
Cas slides closer. “Fine.” He huffs. “But I’m sleeping this off in your bed.”
“Is that the best idea if. . .”
“Either way,” Cas says, poking me in the chest with his finger. “We have to talk it out.” He holds up a pinky. Shakily, like he might see more than one of them. “Pinky promise no getting out of bed until we talk about everything.”
Fuck, that sounds like a sexy kind of promise. Me and Cas in a bed. Good thing I had so many shots in his little game I doubt I could even get it up. Hell, I bet the floor tilts on the walk to my room.
Plus, his room is upstairs and if Caswell Vaughn drunkenly stumbles down a flight of stairs in a snowstorm, that puts my house as a front-page news item. Obviously, it’s just safer for him to be in my bed as we sleep off our day-drinking.
I clumsily snag his pinky in solidarity. “Alright.”
Chapter 12 – Caswell
Stand Up and Run – Billy Talent
Surelygoingtothebathroom and crawling back in bed doesn’t count as breaking the pinky-swear, right?
“I see how it is,” Baylor mumbles, turning to his back. “Pinky promises don’t matter to rockstars?”
I open my mouth to protest, when I smell mint.
