The glimmer in his gaze is even more apparent, and he chuckles with a head shake. “I never imagined you were a rebellious teenager.”
The lightness of the moment fades as soon as I think back to my problematic high school years. I open my mouth to try to reply with something humorous, but nothing comes, so I bring the glass to my lips and take a small sip. The liquor clings to my tongue, raspy and heady, and a smoky aftertaste is etched in my mouth when I swallow. The men try it as well, and they debate for a moment. Since it’s the first one I’ve tried, I can’t compare it to the others, but I share my thoughts—it’s good, not too rough on the tongue, and the smokiness adds an interesting nuance to the flavor.
“Scotts really make the best whiskies, don’t they?” Eli says, making the amber liquid twirl in his glass.
“Not this again,” Jake groans, falling back onto the couch.
“You little shite,” Killian snarls at Eli. “They make more of it, but it’s not the best. When will that big thick head on you get it?”
Elijah watches with contained hilarity as he continues into a tirade that I can’t focus on because Jake bends over. “He always does this,” he discreetly explains. “And Kill is way too proud to let it slide.”
“How did you guys meet?”
“We were flatmates. Eli had a place in the Bronx, and his mates bailed on him. So he was looking for new ones. I wanted out of the roach motel I’d been in since arriving in the US, Kill was thrown out by his ex, and we ended up shacking together.”
“So you’ve known them for thirteen years?” I ask, hoping I remember it right.
“Good memory, red. Yes, I have.”
I look at the two men before us, wondering what these three have been through together. A lot, it seems, given how close they are. My glass isn’t empty yet, but Jake leans over, pours another one, and extends it toward me. Its color is lighter than the other, but I’ve learned that it doesn’t always mean something.
“Try that one. It’s my favorite so far.”
We switch glasses, and our fingers brush together a little longer than necessary.
Curious to see what good whiskey is to him, I take a small mouthful and let it linger on my tongue before swallowing. It’s raspier than the other one, but I discern more flavors when the pungent taste of alcohol fades away. This one is older and more sophisticated.
Jake’s waiting for my verdict. “It’s good,” I say with a smile. “I prefer it to the other one.”
“Right?” He looks very satisfied that I agree with him, and I find it amusing that my opinion has any weight in his eyes. His friends are still arguing when he interrupts their banter. “We’re getting this one,” he decides, pointing at the bottle I just tried.
“This one’s expensive,” Killian objects.
“We’ll sell it at top shelf price, then.”
Jake tops up his empty glass with it and leans back until his side is against mine. When his hand comes to rest on my leg, just under the hem of my dress, sparks fly up to my center.
I almost forgot what I came here for, enjoying the moment. But as his fingers trace mindless circles on the soft skin of my inner thigh, I’m reminded of why I escaped my colleagues to join him here. I consider swatting his hand away, unused to such displays of intimacy, but it feels too good to deprive myself of it. Also, his friends already know what we’ve been doing and don’t bat an eye at the gesture.
All I can manage is ten minutes. Ten long and insufferable minutes where he caresses me like it’s the most normal thing in the world, conversing with his friends and making me try more amber liquors, his hand barely ever leaving my skin. He makes sure to include me in the conversation, but the brief responses I give are pathetic. I’m on fire by minute one, overwhelmed by shivers and desires, my core growing wetter with every faint graze. Is he even aware of what he’s doing to me?
When Killian and Eli launch themselves into another heated debate about whether there should be ice in whiskey, I lean closer to Jake, bringing my lips to his ear. “Let’s go to your place,” I whisper.
His hand freezes on my leg, his focus shifting to me. It seems he forgot about what I’m here for too, because arousal suddenly strikes him, his pupils dilating until only a thin ring of green is left. I don’t need to say anything more as he rips himself from my side to stand up. When he offers me assistance to do the same, I gladly take his hand.
“You guys are leaving?” Eli asks once I’m up, clearly disappointed.
“We’ve got better ways to spend our evening than entertaining you two bellends,” Jake replies, picking up my jacket. He helps me slip it on and then bends to take his.
“I need to return behind the bar, anyway,” Killian says, standing as well.
Eli looks positively discontent when his eyes dart to all three of us. “So what? I am to spend my Friday evening alone?”
“Your inability to pick up women isn’t our problem,” Jake muses with a stifled smirk.
“You know what I mean.”
“If it can reassure you, I’ll drop Mulli at your place so you won’t be entirely alone.”
