Leering, he hands me the glass back. “Is there some reason that you think I’m going to cut you off when you’re soused, if you tell me I’m bloody hot?”
Maybe because we’re still on shaky ground and I shouldn’t be allowed to keep talking when I don’t have control?
“Yeah, well, you haven’t seen what else happens when I drink too much, either,” I grumble. I take another sip, past the point of having any sense. “But if you’re inclined to ply me with more, who am I to decline?”
His grin gets wider, and he apparates the bottle from the bar, pouring more into my glass. “Drink, be merry, and shit.”
“Merry’s a good word,” I muse, falling back onto the pillows and sipping some more. “Have a seat, mate.”
Dropping on the other side, he stretches out and sits his drink on his tummy. “You know, I might be bloody hot when I’m evil, but you’re hot when you’re soused.”
I grin like a loon—I can’t help it. “Yeah? Few would know. I don’t get drunk in front of many people. I can’t keep control of things if I do. I always have to keep control of things to make sure I’m okay.” Frowning, I push away the memories and whisper, “Bitch says I get kind of silly, but I don’t believe a word of it.”
He chuckles and clinks our glasses. “Thanks for the honor then, Sampson.”
I wag my finger at him, pouting a little. “You and that name. I’m telling you, if you take scissors to my hair, I’ll... I’d... well, I can’t think of what I’ll do, but it will be grandiose and vengeful.”
“You call me Simba, you big prat!”
Grinning tipsily, I nod. “I do.”
“I might be a lion and a king, but every time you do, I think of that lunchable who voiced him in the bloody cartoon!”
I snort and giggle. I can’t help it. “He’s about as scary as a bunny rabbit.”
“Those scissors are looking better and better. I could style you up like that git Mayhem or one of the other rotters.” Laughing to himself, he pours another slosh for both of us.
Sniffing in indignation, I sip my drink. “That idiot’s hair looks fantastic, you know. My woman did it for him when he came to the house. I’m not at all pleased that she touched the prick, but she’s got an eye. If you did to mine, though, I’d have to find the purple she used on Caesar last and give you a gnome ’do in your sleep. The color would bring out your sparkling eyes.”
He leans over and gives me a drunken grin. “It’s not the hair that does it for me, baby. I’d look fucking hot no matter what. You want to threaten a Big Bad? Do better than that.”
I should definitely stop this, but my brain is refusing to move.
My lips curve up, and I lean in. “You would. But I think switching your clothes for a rack of... just about anything else would do it.” I nudge him with my shoulder, giggling again at the picture.
His eyes widen, and he almost tips over. “My—My..” He looks like he’s going to heave, and I laugh all over again.
“Fuck, the look on your face!” I smack my thigh, hooting.
“That’s what I get for thinking about kissing you, you randy stoat!” Huffing, he crosses his arms over his chest.
“You poked me! I couldn’t let it lie!”
His chin drops and he smirks, tongue touching his teeth as he growls. “I wasn’t poking you, mate. You’d know if I were. As I recall, the last time we fucked, there was no mistaking it.”
My eyes flash, and I scramble to push back the hunger that his look is igniting. “Ain’t that the bloody truth.”
Pulling back, he stacks his hands behind his head. “Where are we on us? I’d like to have an answer tonight. I hate putting things off, even when it feels like a good idea.”
I finish the scotch and set the glass aside, done playing. “Last I heard, you were planning on kissing me, and I was planning on letting you.”
“No, you sod, before that, about us being tog—oh.” He grins and tosses his empty glass, crawling towards me. I think he’s ready to jump me, but his hand reaches out to touch my cheek.
I lean into it, looking into his eyes with my bleary ones. This is the moment where I leap, and it’s probably not what I should do. History says not to trust it, but I’ve never been good at listening to my brain when my stupid heart’s involved.
“What’ll it be, Sampson? Are we a couple of old fools, ready to try it so we can have some goodness for a change? Maybe try to heal a little with the help of our women? Work and play as a family?”
Reaching up, I run my fingers through his hair, murmuring, “I think we are. I mean, I hope we are.”
