“Why?” Shit-faced Jessie loves asking stupid questions. It’s kind of his thing.
“’Cause I find them very attractive.”
Shit-faced Jessie feels a deep pull of arousal and a strong spike of excitement. He has a thing for doing stupid shit as well as asking stupid questions. I use all my concentration to attempt to bring Sober Me back to the helm.
“Did anyone ever tell you you don’t have to say every single thing you think out loud?” It sounds almost like something Sober Me would say.
“Lots of people have tried. It’s not an accident I’m like this. I don’t want to hide who I am or how I feel. I want to be like this.”
“Youwantto be soft? You want to have your emotions splayed all over your face, and when that’s not enough you want to go around telling everyone how you feel all the time?”
“Yep.”
“Seems fucking stupid to me.”
“Spending your life scared shitless of admitting how you feel and getting hurt regardless doesn’t seem all that bright to me either.”
Hmm.
He has me there.
I manage to put Shit-faced Jessie on mute, but only because of the intense effort it takes to pour myself another shot of vodka. I manage, but the effort isn’t pretty and sees a good amount splashed onto the bar next to the glass.
“Are you just going to sit here and drink all afternoon?” he asks mildly.
“Are you just going to sit there and judge me all afternoon?”
“I’m considering it, yeah.”
There’s something very different about Luke right now. He looks the same. Easy smile. Sunkissed skin, eyes the color of faded blue jeans, soft lips and a slight hint of a cleft on his chin. I only noticed the cleft a few days ago and since then I’ve found it harder and harder to think of anything other than pressing my thumb into that little groove on his face when I’m around him. His words are different, though. They’re nowhere near as sweet as they usually are. They’re witty and sharp. They give me a terrible feeling. A terrible, sinking feeling that maybe, just maybe, I’m sparring with someone in my own weight class. Not an equal exactly, but a competitor, nonetheless.
The thought of that should scare the shit out of me, but fortunately Shit-faced Jessie has taken the wheel and he doesn’t scare easy. Case in point, the garage door opens, sending minor tremors through the house as the motor cranks the roller door up. I smile dumbly and say, “Our folks are home.”
“Go to the guest house.” He picks up the shot I poured and throws it back, grimacing as he swallows.
“Whatcha do that for?” I slur.
“So if they ask, I can honestly tell them both of us were drinking.”
Oh shit
What if he’s not just a competitor? What if he’s something way worse?
A worthy adversary
Yes, I do have a bit of a headache today. Why do you ask?
I’d love nothing more than to stay in bed and nurse my hangover, but while I was having ‘an early night’ last night, Luke made plans for both of us to go for a run with my dad this morning.
“Come on, let’s get going,” calls Luke from the hallway. His voice is too loud and more grating than usual.
“Don’t want to,” I groan, burying my head in my pillow.
He opens my bedroom door and peers in. He has a firm, no-nonsense look on his face that annoys me immediately. “Come on, you have to. Your dad waspumpedwhen I told him we’d both come with him. You’ll enjoy it once you’re up.”
“I fucking won’t,” I mumble. “Don’t want to run. Would rather be stung on the balls by an Australian box jellyfish.”
No-nonsense gives way to amusement, it creases fine lines around his mouth, though I can tell he’s trying to suppress the smile.
