“Callie, that dude was a sketchy loser. You can do better.” He reaches out and pushes my hair off my cheek.
“Do you think I’m hot, Tommy?” I ask him bluntly in slurred speech.
He looks embarrassed by the question and his young cheeks flush again, but he answers just as bluntly. “Fuck, yeah.”
“Well, I want to be kissed and no one has kissed me,” I say and make a sexy little pouty face that, even drunk, I know turns men on.
Donahue shifts in his seat. “That bartender dude kissed you.”
I shake my head. “Not really. I was holding his lemon for his shot in between my teeth so our lips touched, but that’s not a kiss.”
Tommy shifts again and blushes more deeply and smiles at me. “Callie, you’re drunk.”
“Of course I’m drunk,” I reply and give him a smile as I lean forward and put my hand on his knee. “But even drunk girls deserve to be kissed.”
I stand up, turn and drop myself down onto his lap. He winces and I shift to make sure I’m not putting pressure on his injured knee. I wrap my arms around his neck and stare at him. He bites his lower lip and takes a deep breath, holding it for a long minute as an internal debate rages within him.
But then Tommy stands suddenly and I’m thrown off his lap onto my own legs, which start to wobble. Tommy steadies me and calls out. “Devin! Over here!”
He’s storming toward us, his light hair messy, his jaw set tightly and his eyes clouded with anger.Please let this be a drunken hallucination, I pray fruitlessly. He grabs my coat off the barstool a few feet away and then he’s right in front of me—so close I can feel the heat radiating off his beautiful, perfect, sexy body. He doesn’t look at me; he looks over my shoulder at his teammate.
“Thanks, Tommy,” he says gruffly and grabs my arm. “You should be at home recovering from surgery, not out drinking.”
Before Tommy can respond, Devin wraps his long fingers tightly around my wrist and pulls me out of the bar.
Outside, the air has gotten cold and the wind is blowing like a storm might be coming. Hard. Devin still hasn’t let go of my wrist and he’s dragging me toward a cab double-parked at the curb.
I want to scream at him to let me go or to go away but I don’t say anything. I’m drunk. I’m weak. And the feel of his hand, even wrapped harshly around my wrist, is amazing. I missed his skin, his touch, his face, his…
“Get in the fucking car,” he demands gruffly as he throws open the passenger door.
I do as I’m told and he slides in beside me and slams his door. As the driver pulls into traffic, Devin glares at me. “Did you kiss him?”
“Who?”
“Donahue. That douche pouring liquor down your throat. Anyone. Are you fucking someone else already, Callie?” Devin’s voice is low and venomous.
“Are you back together with Ashleigh yet?”
“You were all over Donahue when I got there. My fucking teammate!” Devin is yelling at me now. Loudly. Really loudly. My head hurts.
The driver’s eyes flare in the rearview mirror, and he turns a corner too quickly and my stomach lurches.
“Were you really going to FUCK my teammate?”
“I feel sick.”
“So do I,” he snaps back and the driver turns another corner a little too quickly. My hand goes to my mouth and I try to focus on anything but the drunken nausea growing in my gut. “You don’t want a relationship? Fine. But stay the fuck away from my teammates,” Devin yells.
“Pull over,” I tell the driver.
“Don’t,” Devin barks at him.
“PULL OVER!” I yell and he finally does.
I throw open the door and stumble out and manage to make it to a garbage can near a bus stop before my stomach lurches and I bring up the last four hours of alcohol. Oh my God, I wish I were dead. I think I may be at any moment now. At least I feel like I’m dying.
The wind is still blowing and freezing rain has started falling in thick, heavy drops. I’m getting very wet, very fast. My stomach starts lurching again and I feel Devin’s hands on my neck pulling my hair away from my face and the mess I’m making. When my stomach finally stops once and for all, Devin is still there, crouched beside me, one hand holding my hair and his other rubbing my back.
