Paul may not notice the venom, but my pussy sure as hell does.
“Hell yeah!” Ian replies with mock excitement. I’ve never seen his charisma crack like this to anyone but me. A chasm so deep, it echoes, reverberating off the walls. Beautiful and tragic, and like a car crash, and I can’t fucking look away.
Ian grips my hips and pulls me back to the kitchen, only letting go of me when he’s put enough distance between me and Paul. He reaches over me, into a cabinet, for three shot glasses and sets them on the counter. Paul fills them with a heavy hand until they spill over the edges.
“One for you,” Ian says, handing me a shot, his eyes never leaving Paul’s hands.
I take the glass and quickly throw it back before he can intervene, welcoming the burn as it makes its way down my throat. I slam the empty glass onto the counter and hiss an appreciation as the warmth spreads through my chest. Chasing that feeling, I snatch the shot from Ian’s hand,halfway to his lips, and throw itback as well.
Ian lets out a chuckle, a genuine fucking laugh, and I’d hate it if I didn’t like it so damn much. What the actual fuck has gotten into me.
“Hell yeah!” Paul yells, raising his hand as if to wrap it around my shoulders.
Ian steps in front of me, intercepting the unwanted embrace, and wraps his arms around Paul in a tight hug. Paul looks confused but pats Ian on the shoulder before backing off with fear in his eyes and scurrying off into the crowd, still clutching his full shot glass.
Ian doesn’t turn back to me until Paul is all the way across the other side of the room, his face unreadable, but his eyes darken as he looks at me. My breath catches in my throat at the beauty of seeing the man behind the mask of cheap jokes and constant laughter.
“You need to be more careful about who you accept drinks from,” he says, his voice gritty and low as his gaze locks on mine.
I try to focus on his words, but the alcohol hits my bloodstream too fast, and the room topples around me as the liquor settles in my empty stomach.
I sway on my feet; my hands slam onto the counter to keep my balance.
“Good God, you’re more of a lightweight than Mitch,” Ian says, shaking his head.
“Your mom’s a lightweight,” I snicker, laughing at my own dumb joke.
A smile slowly creeps at the corners of his lips until a full smile spreads across his face. It’s easy to blame the alcohol for the weakness in my legs, but there is no mistaking the effect that smile has on me.
Ian Summers is smiling…at me.
“I didn’t think you knew how to laugh,” he mocks.
“Fuck you. I laugh,” I snap at him, but the alcohol softens my edges. “Maybe you aren’t as funny as you think you are.”
“I’m fucking hilarious.” His smile turns to a smirk as he takes a step closer to me.
My eyes dart around the room, searching for Mitch. Instead, I find Paul, who is already back with his friends—whispering and throwing glances my way.
My gaze lingers in Paul’s direction, but my focus drifts as my thoughts muddle about what they could be saying.
“Hey,” Ian says, placing a hand on my hip and giving my body a little shake. I think it’s supposed to reassure me, but the only thing it does is something I’m not willing to unpack right now. “Fuck them,” he snaps. “Stop wasting your energy on small minds. They're never going to change.”
“Why do you do that?” I bark, some of the anger slipping past the alcohol-induced filter, my eyes finding him again. “Why do you try so hard to be so fucking charming all the time? Don’t you ever want to be a prick? Don’t you ever want to call me a bitch and tell me to fuck off?”
Ian’s eyes flicker with curiosity and mischief as he shakes his head. “Don’t you ever get sick of being a cynical little shit all the time? Wouldn’t you rather embrace joy for what it is instead of ripping holes in everything good that comes your way?”
Ian isn’t the first person, by far, to insinuate that I’m the reason for all the bad shit I step in. I scream it at myself every night as I try to fall asleep, but thanks to years of therapy, I know that doesn’t mean it’s true. Just because I have to scrape the shitoff the bottom of my shoes every goddamn day doesn’t mean I stepped in it on purpose.
“Well, fuck me for not walking around like a pretty boy pretending the sun shines out of my ass every second of the day,” I spit.
“You think I’m pretty,” he says, and I roll my eyes so hard it hurts.
“Pretty insufferable,” I retort.
Ian’s smile widens, and I’m hyper-aware of his thumb lightly tracing the curve of my hip bone, making my stomach flutter to a nauseating degree. His eyes scan my face with an odd curiosity that borders on pity, and I can feel something shift in the weight of his stare. My chest explodes with anxiety as he scans me through narrowed eyes.
“Only you can be personally offended by people’s happiness…or is it justmyhappiness that pisses you off?”
