“I’m sorry I’m being a dick. I had fun at the match,” he says after a moment.
“No, you didn’t,” I laugh as I grab his arm and walk by his side. “But the night is still young. Let’s find a pub to get drunk in.”
“Now, that sounds like a plan,” he replies with enthusiasm, throwing his arm over my shoulder.
* * *
Declan and I find a pub with a lively band playing and a free table in the corner. Within the first hour, we’re both two shots and two pints in, and I’m rightfully pissed.
I don’t normally drink, mostly because I don’t feel comfortable around people the way I do with Declan. With him, I can be as drunk and sloppy and silly as I want, and he doesn’t judge me for it.
Declan has a higher alcohol tolerance than I do, so he stays mostly right-minded while I can feel just how belligerent I’ve become.
“Slow down there, Shakespeare,” he says as I wave the bartender down for another round.
“What do you meanslow down?” I ask with a slur in my voice. “We’re celebrating!”
“You’ll be celebrating with your head in the loo again,” he replies with a snigger. “And you’re gonna have a massive hangover tomorrow.”
“I don’t care,” I mutter.
What I don’t say—because I have a thread of inhibition left—is that I’m also drinking tonight because I can’t stop thinking about how we left things last year.
That kiss.
Thatblow job.
I can’t bring it up if I’m sober, but I’m dying to know what exactly this makes us. Can we pick up where we left off? Is his offer still on the table? Are there more things he’s willing to help me check off my list? Does he even want that?
The sober part of me knows that nothing has really changed for Declan. It was purely physical, and he did it because he was my best friend. He’ll never look at me as anything more, but that hopeful part of my brain is clinging on for dear life.
“All right, out with it,” Declan says as the bartender drops another round of drinks in front of us.
“Out with what?” I ask.
“I want to know if you’ve been putting those new skills of yours to any use since I saw you last,” he says before lifting the beer to his lips.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I reply smugly with a smirk on my face.
“Horse shite. You can’t fool me, Colin Shelby,” he says.
“I’m not fooling you,” I reply with a laugh.
“Are you telling me that mouth of yours has gone completely unused in the last year?”
My cheeks heat as blood rushes to the surface.
That mouth, he said.
My mouth.
He speaks about it so intimately. So filthily. God, I’d do anything to let him use it again.
“I beg your pardon,” I reply flirtatiously. “As a matter of fact, this mouth has gone completely unused since I saw you last.”
“Well, that’s a fucking waste,” he says before taking another shot.
I bite my bottom lip, watching as his throat moves with the swallow of the alcohol. This entire conversation is so incredibly sexy and enticing, but I’m still not entirely sure that it’s not just all in my head.
