He turned and offered me the glass of amber liquid, his hand outstretched.
“Oh, um. I’m okay. Thanks,” I said.
He gave me a curious look before leaning over and setting the glass of bourbon on the small glass table next to me, his tan skin under his shirt still damp from sweat. I could still taste its saltiness on my lips.
“I’m just not much of a drinker,” I commented with a shrug.
He cocked his head in confusion, his dark hair falling over his forehead, making me want to brush it away. “But that night at my place…” he said confused.
I thought back to the wine I had to calm my nerves before breaking into his place, and then the bourbon I had drank with him by the window. Both drinks I indulged in to calm my nerves and also to give me the liquid courage I needed, leading to the best sex of my life. They were one-offs, but I usually saved a glass of champagne or wine for special occasions.
“I know. But I had just scaled a building and my nerves were on edge.”
He considered this for a moment.
“From the climb or something else?” he asked looking down at me, his blue eyes darkening slightly.
I felt heat creep to my cheeks. He was far more nerve-wracking than scaling twenty floors on a fire escape. He knew it, too.
He looked down at his drink, but didn’t take a sip.
“Don’t let me stop you.” I nodded to the glass in his hands. “Drinking is just not really my thing. My ex solidified that.”
He searched my eyes questioningly before easing himself on the sofa next to me. He took a long sip of bourbon before saying, “Go on.” He was prodding.
I gave him a weak smile before looking down at my hands that lay in my lap, still holding his jacket closed against the pale of my skin. I thought about Nick and the liquor on his breath every time he gaslit me into thinking I was the problem. I didn’t realize he was doing it until long after he had broken up with me. The debt was allmyfault. The cheating was allmyfault. The problems in our relationship were allmyfault. It was easier to take the blame than argue with someone who was drunk.
“When you date someone who always has a drink in their hands, you sort of develop a resentment toward liquor,” I said softly.
“I can understand that,” said Jeremiah, his voice gentle. I had never heard him talk to me, or anyone, like that before. I felt my walls come down a little. Even the hand that tightly grasped the front of his jacket eased, letting it fall gently open against the curves of my breasts. Jeremiah’s eyes dipped lower before returning to mine.
“So, who was this guy?” he asked, leaning his arm casually over the back of the couch.
“Who? My ex?” I laughed, wondering why he was so interested. We never talked about anything personal.
“Yeah.” He shrugged, before taking another sip of bourbon. “When did he obtain that title?”
“A few months ago. That’s why I’m living in your building now. But it’s only temporary.”
“You two lived together?” He raised his brows in slight surprise. I swore there was a hint of jealousy in the question.
“Yeah,” I muttered. “Until he somehow convincedmeto move out.”
I shouldn’t have told him that. I could tell from the disappointment that flickered in his eyes that I was just adding to the list of things that made me weak.
“But I’m okay,” I said assuredly. “I’m only at my Airbnb temporarily. As soon as I find a place that’s more affordable, I am out of there.”
He just nodded, a knowing look in his eyes.
“What?” I asked, crossing my arms defensively. I was bracing myself for another lecture on how I needed to stand up for myself.
“I was just wondering how you managed to end up in the building in the first place. It’s not exactly cheap.”
“Are you saying I’m not good for it?” I asked, raising a brow.
“No, but I know what your salary is.”
Of course he did. He was my boss. I wondered what else he had dug up in my file when he went looking. I resisted the urge to roll my eyes.
