“Three more!” I shouted to the bartender. He immediately poured the tequila, setting the glasses in front of me. I took one instantly, coughing from how intense it felt running down the back of my throat. “Fuck—” I raised the second one to Forsythe. “Here, have a shot.”
“I think it’s time you head back home.” My stomach dropped at his words.
He wants me to leave?
“Maybe I don’t want to leave,” I snapped, drinking the shot. “Maybe I want to stay righthere.” I smacked the bartop.
He didn’t react, just stared at me with those green eyes of his. “You should go home, Lucille.” His words hurt more than they should.
Priscilla rolled her eyes. “Jesus. Take a hint already,” she grumbled, sipping her cocktail.
“Fine.” I took the last shot and threw a wad of cash down onto the bar. “I don’t need this shit anyways.” He grabbed my arm to stop me, but I tried to shove him off. “You keep your fucking hands to yourself, old man,” I growled.
He stood and yanked me real close. “Don’t go acting like a fool over something stupid.”
Something stupid?
My face burned as I glared up at him. “The only fool here is you.” I stood on the tips of my toes and nearly stumbled over as I whispered to him. “You seem so desperately hungry,” I growled. “So why don’t you quit worrying about me and just sit your ass down to enjoy your little blue-eyed treat.” I ripped my arm from his grasp and nearly fell over.
Priscilla laughed at my mild disorientation. “You’re such a mess, Lucille,” she teased.
I shot her, then Forsythe, a heated look. “I don’t need this. And I don’t needyou.” I spun around and aimed for the front door of the bar.
“Lucille,” he shouted after me. I raised my hand high and flipped him off before bolting through the front door.
Fuck you, Forsythe. Enjoy your blue-eyed skank.
My feet scrambled as I stomped my way through the dirt, searching my pocket for my keys. “Fuck—where are they?” It took me a few seconds to find them and bring them to my face. My vision was slightly blurred, making it hard to determine which key I needed to unlock my brother’s truck. “I should’ve just taken my car,” I snarled. “At least then I wouldn’t be fumbling with this shit.” I dropped the keys. “Ahh fuck! Of course. Of course!” I kicked at the dirt with my platform shoe.
“What the hell was that?” I turned to see Forsythe, wearing his hat with his jacket tossed over his shoulder. He was stomping right towards me. “Lucille.”
Ah shit.
I bent down and snatched the keys, quickly trying to find the right one. “Come on,” I groaned.
“Lucille.” He picked up his pace. “What’re you—” I found the right key and unlocked the driver’s side door of the truck.“Lucille!” He rushed to me, grabbing my arm before I could slip into the driver’s seat. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I tried to wriggle free, but his hold was too firm. “Leave me alone! Ugh! Why aren’t you inside with Priscilla?” He tightened his grip and whipped me around, nearly slamming my back against the truck. My heart raced as I stared up at him towering over me. He had this wild look in his eyes, and it both enticed and scared me. Forsythe tossed his jacket inside the truck and placed his arm above me, leaning against the truck.
What is happening right now?
“You weren’t about to drive home after all those shots now, were you?” I didn’t respond. “Lucille.” The way he whispered my name sounded like a possessive purr. His gaze burned into my skin, and I felt as if my veins were filled with liquid fire. “Get in the truck.” He pushed off the side of the truck and stepped back.
I tried to slither past to the driver’s side. “I’ll be fine—” He snatched me up and tossed me over his shoulder. “What the—put me down!” I kicked my legs, but he ignored me, trekking around the truck. “Forsythe!” He opened the passenger door and tossed my ass inside.
“You of all people should know better than to drive drunk,” he hissed. “Put your damn seatbelt on.” He slammed the car door shut and walked back to the driver’s side and hopped inside.
I refused to listen to him, crossing my arms with a loud groan. “I don’t want your help.”
He slammed the door shut and turned the engine over. “I don’t give a fuck what you want right now, Lucille.” He reversed back and put the truck into drive. “I’m taking you home.” He drove the truck onto the road as I pouted in my seat.
The drive was silent and neither of us spoke. Forsythe eventually whipped out a cigarette and smoked with his elbow resting on the rolled down window. My eyes shot in hisdirection, taking a quick, tempting glance. The way he handled the stick shift, sitting there smoking?—
Fuck, this tequila has me all mixed up.
I rubbed my eyes and gently slapped my cheeks, trying to stay focused on being mad at him.
“I’m sorry, Lucille.” He sounded hurt, like his words were tainted with regret. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
