"Drink this," I say, pressing the glass into her hands. "All of it."
She looks up at me with glassy eyes but takes the glass obediently. I watch as she drains it in several long gulps, water trickling down her chin. The fact that The Boss is following instructions without argument tells me exactly how drunk Liv really is.
"Good girl," I say, taking the empty glass from her. "I'll be right back."
I return to the bathroom, refill the glass, and dig through the medicine cabinet until I find a bottle of aspirin. Back in the bedroom, I shake two pills into my palm and hold them out to her along with the water.
"Take these too. Trust me, you'll thank me in the morning."
Again, she complies without protest, swallowing the pills and draining half the water.
"How are you feeling?" I ask, settling the water glass on the nightstand within easy reach.
She frowns, as if the question requires serious consideration. "I'm okay," she says finally. "Why do you even ask me that?"
"Because you've had a little bit too much to drink." That's putting it mildly. Liv has had more than she can handle, though I wisely keep that to myself.
She waves a hand. "I'm fine. Just... celebrating. It's Emma's wedding." She tries to stand up, wobbles slightly, then regains her balance with obvious effort. "I need to... bathroom."
"Of course. Take your time."
She makes her way to the bathroom, one hand trailing along the wall for support. The door closes and then I hear her brush her teeth.
While she's occupied, I undress down to my underwear and slip into bed. It's not much cooler than it was yesterday, but I'm tired and have no doubt I'll be able to sleep tonight.
Lying is exhausting. That's one thing I'll definitely avoid in the future. I've never been much of a liar—the occasional white lie to spare someone's feelings, sure, but nothing on this scale. It requires a constant mental effort to keep track of what I've said, to whom, and when. It’s hard, particularly when I see how much Bill and Moira genuinely care about their daughter's happiness.
The bathroom door opens, and I glance toward it expecting to see Liv in the silly T-shirt she wore last night. Instead, she emerges wearing only her black lace lingerie.
My mouth goes dry.
She moves toward the bed with a heated expression. Her dark hair falls in waves around her shoulders, and the soft lamplight catches the curves of her body—the swell of her breasts above the lace, the dip of her waist, the long line of her legs.
Christ. She's absolutely stunning.
She stops at the edge of the bed, looking down at me with eyes that are a little more focused now. My body responds immediately, arousal rushing south as she reaches behind her back to undo the clasp of her bra.
"Is this what you want, Sailor? Huh?" she asks, her voice low and sultry.
The bra falls away, dropping to the floor, and I have to close my eyes for a moment to maintain any semblance of control. When I open them again, she's crawling onto the bed, moving toward me with predatory grace.
If she were sober, I wouldn't hesitate. I'd already have my hands on her, would have rolled her beneath me and kissed her until we were both breathless before fucking her senseless. I'm only human, after all, and Olivia Barnes is the kind of beautifulthat makes smart people do stupid things. I'd be lying if I said I hadn't fantasized about exactly this scenario more than once since we met.
But she's not sober, and that changes everything.
She straddles my hips and is about to lean forward to kiss me when I catch her wrists gently but firmly, stopping her movement.
"Whoa, hold on," I whisper.
Confusion flickers across her face. "What are you doing?" She tries to tug her hands free, but I maintain my grip. "Don't you want me?"
The question almost makes me laugh. Want her? Of course I want her. I want her so badly I'm dripping wet just from looking at her, my pulse hammering in my throat like I've been running sprints. But not like this.
"You're drunk, Liv," I say as gently as I can.
"No, I'm not." She shakes her head, then immediately seems to regret the motion as she sways slightly. When she focuses on me again, there's something brittle in her expression. "Okay. Message loud and clear. You don't want me. Just like Andy."
I frown, completely blindsided by the reference. "Who's Andy?"
