“I was thinking more along the lines of a nice, smooth bourbon, not pure ethanol.”
Charlie draws her legs under herself and gets comfortable, an amused smile playing around her full, kissable lips.
“It’s only moonshine. I’m not trying to kill you, I promise. Question is,” she taunts, poking her tongue against the inside of her cheek to keep her laughter in check. “Are you tough enough for another?” I’m aware she’s goading me. I know I should do the responsible thing and tell her I’m good. But something about her makes me want to rise to the challenge.
“What the hell. I’m on vacation. Not like I have to be a functioning human being tomorrow.” The second shot goes down smoother than the first. Now that I know what’s coming, I’mprepared and only sputter a little. The burn in my stomach settles into a pleasant heat, and I’m beginning to feel myself relax.
Over the next couple of hours, Tink and I fall into an easy conversation while we trade shots and finish off the six-pack in her fridge. We steer clear of our past relationships, and I listen intently as she lays out her plans for the resort. It sounds like she’s thought things through, and I don’t doubt she’ll have this place fixed up and booked solid by next summer. I tell her more about how I ended up working for the FBI, and entertain her with a couple of anecdotes about some of my more amusing busts. Like the time we took down an arms dealer, and he shot himself in the nuts.
He simply hadn’t been able to resist the mountain of cash stacked on the table beside him, convinced he could make a run for it. In his haste, he forgot to put the safety on, and the gun went off as he was tucking it into the waistband of his jeans.
“Then, all hell breaks loose,” I say, recounting a day in my career that I actually like thinking about. “Everyone draws their guns and we’re yelling at each other, numbnuts is writhing on the floor, howling like a banshee, and one of our rookies passes out cold once he realizes what must’ve happened. Asshole lost both testicles, all because he got greedy.” Charlie laughs so hard she’s holding her sides, almost toppling off the couch, and I can’t help but join in. Her contagious laughter makes me realize how closed off and sadI’ve been. It feels good to let loose and forget about the world for a little while. The copious amounts of alcohol wreaking havoc on my system probably have something to do with the carefree state I find myself in, which is why I don’t decline the next shot she pours us. Or the one after that. And although I know I shouldn’t, I take the liberty to pour the next.
eleven
Charlie
Istare down at the beautiful man sleeping peacefully in my bed and have to admit, he looks damn good there, like he’s exactly where he’s supposed to be. Like he belongs. He’s shirtless, sprawled out on his back. One thick, veiny forearm draped across the upper half of his face, which puts his flawlessly sculpted chest on full display. I try not to drool as I allow myself a moment to take him in while he’s unaware of my blatant perusal. His wide pecs are covered in a light dusting of hair. A narrow happy trail leads to what I can only assume is a small anaconda, judging by the sizable bulge the thin cotton sheet fails to conceal. The man has a set of washboard abs one could do laundry on, and that delicious, sinewy V between his hip bones that all the ladies seem to go crazyover. Cole looks like he’s carved from marble, which makes me feel completely inadequate in comparison.
I’m anything but toned. I’ve always been on the heavier side. My mom used to joke that everything I ate evenly distributed itself between my boobs, hips, and ass, and she was right. I don’t look like the girls you see strutting down the catwalk. I’m curvy, and my thighs rub together when I move, which causes an angry rash to flare up on hot days. Something Sleeping Beauty over here most likely hasn’t experienced a day in his life. I bet not a single thing jiggles on that tight body during his morning runs. I sigh and allow myself one final pass over his delectable form before I step up to the bed. I give his shoulder a firm nudge, and he groans, mumbling something about needing a few more minutes.
“Rise and shine, buttercup,” I sing in a cheery voice that doesn’t match my current mood. I need him to slide his shredded abs out from beneath my covers and walk himself back to his cabin. Even though I managed to choke down a couple of pieces of buttered toast and half a cup of coffee, I’m still dealing with the aftermath of my poor choices, and I need my own bed. I give him another poke, and Cole lowers his arm as he slowly blinks up at me. It takes him a minute to get with the program, and I watch a million emotions cross over his sleep-rumpled features, ranging from confusion all the way to affection, before settling on horror.
I startle when he jerks upright and jumps out of bed like his ass is on fire, taking the bedsheet with him. His frantic gaze darts around the sunlit room, most likely searching for his discarded clothes as he clutches the sheet to his hips. When he spots the carefully folded stack on the armchair in the corner, he makes a lunge for it, almost falling on his face when his foot gets tangled in the fabric.
“Fuck,” he grunts out while he fights to regain his balance. He throws me an accusing look over his shoulder, like I somehow caused him to trip. “Would you mind?” I huff out a laugh when I realize he’s waiting for me to turn my back.
“Nothing I didn’t see last night. If you’re serious about that career change, you should consider joining a male dance show because you, sir, have got some serious moves.” I say this jokingly, but all amusement fades when I catch the flicker of raw anguish twisting his features. Confused by his sudden hostility, I turn around to give him privacy. When the rustling behind me stops, I peek over my shoulder and watch him expel a shaky breath. He runs a trembling hand through his disheveled hair and simply stands there, looking lost and devastated.
“Are you okay?” I ask, taking in the slumped set of his shoulders and his red-rimmed eyes. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s on the verge of tears. Cole snaps into action and crosses the room, notsparing me a glance as he pushes past me and heads straight for the front door.
He doesn’t waste time pulling on his well-worn combat boots, not bothering to lace them up before he opens the door. Scooby runs circles around him, and Cole spares him a few seconds to give him an affectionate scratch behind the ears. Finally, he looks at me. We stand in tense silence, as he tries to keep his chin from wobbling, and I ask myself what the hell is happening. I didn’t drink as much as Cole last night. Having experienced the effects of Mo’s moonshine before, I know my limits.
Cole, on the other hand, kept pouring himself shot after shot, long after he started slurring his words. By the time I cautioned him to slow down, he was already too far gone. I couldn’t possibly send him out into the night in his condition, so I offered him the couch. He graciously declined, saying something along the lines of having slept in one too many shitty places and not settling for anything less than a soft mattress. Then he began to strip, stumbled toward my room, fell face first onto the bed, and passed out in three seconds flat. Resigning myself to a night of tossing and turning on my lumpy sofa, I covered him with a sheet and turned in myself.
I fell asleep without issue, but when I woke around 8:30 this morning, with an aching head and an even achier back, I decided enough is enough. My hospitality only extends so far, and it wastime for my overnight guest to leave. Now that he’s up and looking at me like I kicked his favorite puppy, I’m not so sure I made the right choice. Maybe I should’ve given him a few more hours to sleep it off. There’s a good chance he’s still intoxicated.
“I’m sorry,” he croaks out, guilt and desolation stamped all over his handsome features, and for the life of me, I can’t figure out what he could possibly have to feel guilty about. Is he embarrassed about overindulging last night? About passing out in my bed and forcing me to sleep on the couch?
“It’s okay,” I reply, keeping my tone soft and sympathetic because he looks like that’s what he needs.
“It’s not okay. None of this is okay. Fuck,” he rasps, wiping a hand over the length of his face before sucking in a harsh breath. “Listen, it’s not you. It’s me. I shouldn’t have…” He breaks off, voice cracking with emotion, and I’m caught between wanting to shake him to get him off whatever pity-train he seems to be stuck on, or wrap him up in a comforting hug. He looks utterly destroyed, with his bloodshot eyes, unruly hair, and crestfallen expression.
“Cole, I don’t know what the hell is going on right now, but you didn’t do anything wrong. We both had a little too much to drinkand…”
“That’s no excuse,” he snaps, eyes glittering with self-loathing. “I should never have accepted your invitation. I had a good idea where this…” He waves a hand at the space between us as his Adam’s apple bobs on a hard swallow. “I knew where this was leading, and I shouldn’t have been drinking as much as I did. I know better, but something about you makes me want to throw caution to the wind. You make me want to forget about all the shit I’ve been through. You make me want to stop punishing myself, be selfish, and take something for myself for once. But it’s not fair to you,” he pants, spiraling under the weight of whatever scenario he’s spun up in his mind. “I’m too fucked up to be with anyone, and you’re too fucking good for me, Charlie. I don’t deserve your kindness or your understanding. I shouldn’t have gone there with you last night, and I’m so fucking sorry I didn’t have better control of myself.”
“Cole, you didn’t…”
“I have to go.” And before I have a chance to set him straight, he rushes out of my apartment and leaves me standing with a gaping mouth and a slew of unanswered questions.
twelve
Cole
I’m such a piece of shit. I can’t believe I got so drunk I slept with Charlie. I knew we had chemistry. I was aware of my growing attraction to her, and I let my guard down anyway. How in the hell am I going to finish out my stay now that I’ve crossed that line? I messed up. I took something good and special and turned it into something cheap. That fragile bond between two kindred spirits who were just learning to trust each other, tarnished because I got shitfaced and couldn’t keep my dick in my pants.
I feel sick. And not just because I’m once again nursing the mother of all hangovers, which is a whole other problem. I’m drinking too much. Relying on liquor to take the edge off, and I know I have to stop while I still can. Addiction runs in my family.After my dad died, my mom couldn’t cope and started drinking to mask her pain. When she ran out of booze at home, she’d go out, hitting up seedy bars around our neighborhood. She’d stay out all night, come home when the sun was already up, and crawl into bed to sleep the rest of the day away.
