“It’s not even midday on a Wednesday, Konnor.” I touch his knee. A gesture of affection should feel awkward, especially for me. But with him, it feels completely natural.
He opens his mouth, more to say, then shakes his head, scoffing defensively. “Fucking forget about it, Blesk. Just go home.”
“I’m not judging you.”
He grabs his glass, necks its entire contents, then brushes my hand off him. “Seriously, I’m not your fucking responsibility.”
My lungs squeeze. “I care.”This is concern. Not judgement.“It doesn’t feel right leaving you like this.”
“Don’t make this a thing. Just go.”
His words knock me back. He could have spat at me, and it would have startled me less. I jump to my feet and stride towards the front door. He’s a mess, but he’s right. I should leave. Coming here was a mistake.
I barely know him.
What was I thinking?
“Blesk... Wait.”
I hear the coffee table bump and feet hitting the floor, but I don’t stop until I’m gripping the handle and pulling open the door. His hand slaps against the wood over my shoulder, slamming the door shut. I freeze with him nearly pressed to my back. So close. So warm.
My lips part.
“Have I fucked this up?” His voice is rough behind me. His heat radiates through my spine. His hand flexes on the door. The sweet scent of bourbon on his breath surrounds me, and I shiver.
Glass. Bit of water...
No. Brown drink next.
“Stop drinking,” I say, “and I’ll stay.”
“Okay.”
I look up at his thick arm over my shoulder, following the defined curves with my eyes as I turn to face him. Now I’m inches from him, caught between him and his door.
I gaze up at him. Meet his eyes. “What do you mean did I fuck this up? What isthis?”
His brows furrow, his jaw muscles punching as he says, “This,Blesk.”
There is athis.
With Konnor so close, I can’t escape the weight of his presence—how his eyes follow the nervous dart of my tongue across my lower lip, how they seem to bore into me even after I squeeze mine shut against their intensity.
I swallow hard; the sound is loud in my ears. I open my eyes and look up into his. Even through the gloss of intoxication, even with the tiny red tendrils creeping in, they are still the most perfect shade of green. And they’re still unequivocally kind.
Inhaling a long breath, I lift my hand and press my palm to his cheek. He moves into it. We both exhale. He closes his eyes, feeling me, as I stroke my fingertips along his cheekbone, exploring, as if part of me has always longed to.
Finally, his gaze finds me again. “Don’t leave, Blesk. I’m sorry I’m being a dick. I’ll stop drinking right now. Stay.”
I almost smile. “You’re not very corny when you’re drunk, Konnor. It’s rather disappointing.”
Relaxing slightly, he exhales hard through a crooked smile. “I’ll work on that for you, Miss Bellamy.”
CHAPTEREIGHT
blesk
We talk about the book on the coffee table—The Witcher meets Viking—but Konnor deteriorates as the minutes tick by. His eyes grow glassy, his speech slurring even as he switches to water like he promised.
