Accepting Reese’s weight, Brantley held him as they both came down.
“No doubt about it,” Reese rasped, “that was one hell of a way to start the year.”
“Damn straight.” He banded his arms tightly around Reese. “New Year’s resolution: get fucked within an inch of my life every single day.”
Reese lifted his head, grinned widely. “Perhaps we should see how many days in a row we can make that happen.”
“I’m game if you are.”
*
He was drunk.
No, amend that.
He was fucking wasted.
Worst part about it, Baz knew he was, yet he was using it to justify his actions. Hence the reason he was here with this woman he did not know.
“Hence,” he muttered. “Hence. Hints. Sss. Hensss-uh. Hen. Sa. Such a stupid fuckin’ word. ”
Blondie returned from the kitchen with the glass of water he requested, her eyes hooded, a smile on her kiss-swollen mouth. “Did you say something?”
Baz shook his head, forced a smile, and downed the entire contents of the glass. When he was finished, Blondie—she’d told him her name, he knew that, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember it—was at his side again, her thigh up against his, her hand gliding closer and closer to his traitorous cock.
“What should we do now?” she asked, her voice breathless, likely what she considered seductive, but sounded more like innocence and hope.
She answered her own question with, “I can think of a few things.”
God. What the fuck was he doing here?
Because he didn’t want to talk, Baz pulled her closer so he didn’t have to look her in the eye as he indulged in something he didn’t necessarily want.
The kissing went on for what felt like an eternity; all the while Baz enjoyed the euphoric feeling that overwhelmed him. It had nothing to do with this woman or her lips but rather the blessed absence of his feelings for JJ. The alcohol was doing its job, suspending him in a lovely state of … nothingness. And the blonde was helping things along by being all soft and sweet and making those little whimpers that told him she was definitely into this.
“I think I’ll slip into something more comfortable,” Blondie said when she pulled away the next time.
Baz found his owncomfortableby flopping onto his back and tucking a throw pillow beneath his head as he smiled up at her. At least he hoped it was a smile. He couldn’t really feel his lips anymore. The whiskey had taken care of that, too.
“Don’t go anywhere,” she said sweetly, fluttering her eyelashes, something he’d noticed she did often.
When he tried to reply but no words would come out, Baz settled for shaking his head, not bothering to lift it from the cushion.
Once her footsteps had receded in the next room, he glanced around, took in Blondie’s apartment.
Frowning, he turned and lifted his head, noticing for the first time all the twinkly lights on the ceiling and walls. For a minute, he thought his eyes were affected by the whiskey, too, but then he realized those were really little lights she’d used to decorate. Fairy lights, he thought they were called.
How the hell he knew that, Baz wasn’t sure. Nor did he want to know. The only thing he knew for a fact was that JJ would laugh her ass off if she came home to find someone had put up little twinkly lights all over her house.
Nope. Nuh-uh. He was not gonna think about JJ anymore.
And clearly Blondie was a big fan of purple, too, since the only other thing he could see besides the twinkling shit was purple shit. Every-fucking-where. Jars and vases filled with purples stones, different shades, different sizes. Trinkets and frames. Rugs. Blankets. Flowers. Pillows. Pillows with flowers. It was like an explosion of … the purple people eater.
Yep, even his thoughts were drunk.
What the fuck was he doing?
Twisting his head, he peered toward the bedroom door as cold washed over him. Baz did not want to be here. He shouldn’t be here. He should be home in his bed. Alone.
