Page 56

I glanced down at the bottle of whiskey loosely clutched in her left hand, three quarters of it gone.

Fuck.

I stepped toward her. “Whitney.”

She ignored me. Even drunk, she was keeping up with her game.

My lips twitched, and I went and stood in front of the TV, blocking it from her view. What I really wanted to do was cover her body with mine and force her to look at me. Force her to snarl at me to get off her, to fight me. Fuck, I wanted that so badly.

Instead, I just blocked her only source of entertainment, relief sweeping through me when those wrathful blue eyes burned into mine. My entire body reacted, flooding with an electric heat, like someone had touched me with a live wire.

She made a swiping motion with her hand, directing me to move.

“I need your help,” I said, lying through my teeth.

She narrowed her eyes at me. “With what.” Her words were slow, slightly slurred. It wasn’t a question, it was an irritated statement that told me to fuck off without saying as much.

I lifted my leg, planted my bare foot on the bed, and hiked up my sweatpants to my knee, revealing the shallow wound covered in gauze. “I need you to help me change this.”

Her gaze flickered to my calf, the tiniest shred of concern flashing through her eyes before it disappeared. She knew I was full of shit, and yet, to my surprise, she unfolded her legs, hopped off the bed, and trudged into the bathroom without a word. She left the whiskey bottle propped against the pillow.

Just when I thought she might actually change the dressing on my wound, she emerged from the bathroom, threw the first aid kit onto the bed, and said, “You’ve got two hands, don’t you?” She lifted her brow at me, daring me to say otherwise.

Those were the first words she’d spoken to me in days, and I wanted to grab her up and kiss her mean little mouth.

My lips curved up. “I do.” I lowered my gaze to her hands, small and delicate. “But I like your hands better.”

She grunted, then grabbed up the whiskey bottle, spun the cap off, and chugged a good bit of it. “Court.” Her voice was thick as she spoke. She fumbled with the cap, trying to put it back on and failing. When it fell to the floor, she glared at it, then set the bottle on the nightstand.

“Yeah?” I prompted, stepping closer to her.

She appraised me with glassy eyes, trailing them down my body, lingering on my groin. Blood rushed to my cock, and I started to thicken under her stare.

“You seem fine. You don’t need my help,” she concluded, staring at my erection.

“Mm. Agree to disagree,” I said. I needed a shower, and so did she. A cold one. I stepped closer to her, slipped a finger beneath her chin, and tilted her head back. “Why are you drinking, Whitney?” I reached around her and plucked up the nearly-empty bottle, brought it to my lips, and finished off the rest of it so she couldn’t have any more.

She scowled up at me, then focused her eyes on my lips as I set the empty bottle on the nightstand. She scrunched her nose, then leaned forward and buried her face in my chest, inhaling loudly. And, like she didn’t have the strength to move away, she stayed leaning against me, her face in my chest.

God, if only she wanted to do these things when she was sober.

“You smell good,” she murmured, snaking her arms around my waist.

I tipped my head back and squeezed my eyes shut. This was fucking painful, having what I wanted right fucking here and knowing it was only because of the goddamn whiskey.

“I stink,” I countered, leaning down and hoisting her up against me. She made a small sound in her throat and put her hands on my shoulders, regarding me with those big blue eyes. “Come help me.”

I carried her into the bathroom with me, shut the door behind us, and kept holding onto her with one arm as I turned on the shower, setting it to cold.

When I put her on her feet again, she swayed and quickly fisted my shirt to steady herself. “Why are we in the bathroom?” Her words were more slurred now, that last shot of whiskey kicking in. I’d make her drink a shit ton of water after this.

“Because we’re filthy.”

She nodded like it made sense. When I dragged the hem of her sweatshirt up, something in her seemed to snap awake, and she grabbed my hands, looking up at me with frightened eyes.

“No.”

“No?”