Текст книги "After We Fell"

Автор книги: Anna Todd

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Текущая страница: 15 (всего у книги 49 страниц)

chapter

forty-five

TESSA

Yikes, it dropped at least ten degrees out here,” Robert says to me as we step out the door. The cold air smacks me, and I wrap my arms around myself trying to stay warm. He looks over at me with a little frown. “I wish I had a jacket to offer you . . . I also wish I could offer to drive you back, but I’ve been drinking.” With a playfully horrified look, he adds, “Guess I’m not very gentlemanly tonight.”

“It’s okay, really,” I say with a smile. “I’m pretty drunk, so I’m warm . . . That makes no sense.” I giggle and follow him down the sidewalk in front of the restaurant. “Although, I should have worn different shoes.”

“We could trade?” he jokes.

I gently push against his shoulder, and he smiles for what has to be the hundredth time tonight. “Your shoes look more comfortable than Hardin’s; his boots are so heavy and he always leaves them by the door, so I . . . never mind.” Embarrassed by what I just started talking about, I shake my head to stop myself.

“I’m more of a sneaker guy,” Robert says, letting me know it’s okay.

“Me, too. Well, not a guy.” Again I laugh. My head is swimming from the wine, and my mouth seems to let out every single thought that crosses my mind, nonsensical and all. “Do you know which way the cabins are?”

He reaches over to steady me as I almost walk into a parking block. “Which cabins? This whole town is full of them.”

“Um, well, there’s a street with a small sign and then like three or four more cabins, then another street?” I try to remember the drive to the restaurant from Ken and Karen’s place, but none of it makes sense.

“That doesn’t give me much to go on”—he chuckles—“but we can walk until we find it?”

“Okay, but if we don’t find it within twenty minutes, I’m going to a hotel.” I groan, dreading the walk and the discussion Hardin and I are sure to have when I arrive. And by “discussion,” I mean full-on, knock-down, drag-out verbal brawl. Especially when he finds out that I’ve been drinking with Robert.

Suddenly I turn to look at him as we walk through the dark. “Do you ever get sick of people telling you what to do all the time?”

“No one really does, but if they did, I would.”

“You’re lucky. I feel like someone’s always telling me what to do, where to go, who to talk to, where to live.” I let out a breath and watch it turn to steam in the cold air. “It’s getting on my nerves.”

“I’m sure it is.”

I look up at the stars for a moment. “I want to do something about it, but I just don’t know what that is.”

“Maybe Seattle will help you.”

“Maybe . . . I want to do something now, though, like run away or cuss someone out.”

“Cuss someone out?” He laughs and halts to bend down to lace his shoe. I stop walking a few feet ahead of him and look around at my surroundings. Now that my mind is racing with all the possibilities of potential reckless behaviors, I can’t stop it.

“Yeah, cuss out someone in particular.”

“You probably should take it slow. I know cussing someone out is pretty wild and all, but maybe start with something a little lighter,” he says. It takes me a moment to comprehend that he’s teasing me, but once I do, I see the humor in it.

“I mean it, though. Right now I just feel like doing something . . . crazy?” I pull my top lip between my teeth, pondering the idea.

“It’s the wine—it’s pretty strong, and you drank a load in a short amount of time.”

We both laugh again and I can’t seem to stop. The only things that bring me back to normalcy are the canteen-style lanterns hanging from a small building nearby.

“That’s our bar,” Robert informs me with a nod toward it.

“It’s so small!” I exclaim.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be huge when it’s the only one in the town. It’s a load of fun. The bartenders dance on the bar and everything.”

“Like Coyote Ugly?”

His smile brightens. “Yes, only these women are all over forty and have a bit more clothing on.”

His smile is infectious, and I know what we’re doing next.

chapter

forty-six

HARDIN

No, I told you one drink. I meant one drink.” I roll my eyes and push the ice around the empty glass with my finger.

“Whatever.” She waves down the bartender and orders two more drinks.

“I said I didn’t—”

“No one said it’s for you,” she says with a condescending look. “Sometimes a girl needs a backup.”

“Well, you have fun. I’m going to get Tessa now.” I get up from the bar stool, but she grabs hold of my shirt. Again. “Stop touching me.”

“Dude, stop being a dick. I said I would come; just let me finish these drinks. Do you even know what you’re going to say to her, or are you planning to go all caveman style?”

“No.” I sit back down. I really haven’t thought about what it is I’m going to say. I don’t need to say anything except Let’s fucking go. “What would you say?” I dare to ask.

“Well, first of all”—she pauses to give the bartender two fives and pulls the glasses near her—“Lillian wouldn’t be down at some restaurant with another girl . . . or guy, without me.” She takes a big drink out of one glass and looks at me. “I would have burned that shit to the ground already.”

I really don’t like her tone much. “Yet you tell me to come and have a drink before I go?”

She shrugs. “I didn’t say my way was right. I’m just saying.”

“This is bullshit. You are bullshit. I’m going.”

As I take a couple steps toward the door, the headache-inducing country music playing in the small bar gradually gets louder and louder, and I know what’s coming. I shouldn’t have even come to this shitty bar in the first place. I should’ve gone straight to find Tessa instead. The patrons inside all start cheering, and I turn to see two of the middle-aged bartenders climb onto the bar top.

This is so damn awkward. Entertaining, but still fucking weird.

“You’re going to miss the show!” Riley cackles.

I’m about to say something, but I hear a sound behind me, and once again, I sense what’s coming. As I turn, my mouth dries and my blood begins to boil instantly. Because as I do, Tessa stumbles in through the door of the little roadhouse. With him.

Rather than rushing him like I’d like to do, I step back to the bar and say to the back of Riley’s head, “She’s here, with him. That’s her.”

Riley takes her eyes off the old women on the bar and turns. Her jaw drops. “Holy shit, she’s hot.”

I glare at her. “Stop. Don’t look at her like that.”

“Lillian said she was pretty, but, fuck, look at her big ti—”

“Don’t finish that sentence.” I stare at Tessa. She is fucking hot, I know this, but more importantly she’s drunk and she’s laughing as she navigates through the high-topped tables. She chooses an empty one close to the bathroom and takes a seat.

“I’m going over there,” I tell Riley. I don’t have a fucking clue why I’m telling her anything, but part of me sort of wants to know what she’d do if she were in my shoes. I know Tessa is upset with me for a whole list of shit, and I don’t exactly want to add anything else to it. She doesn’t have any right to be mad at me, anyway—she’s the one hanging out with a random-ass guy from dinner, and now she comes stumbling in here drunk and laughing. With him.

“Why don’t you just wait . . . you know, watch her for a little bit,” Riley suggests.

“What a fucking stupid idea—why would I watch her hang all over that douche bag? She’s mine, and . . .”

Riley looks up at me with curious eyes. “Does she throw a fit when you call her yours?”

“No. She likes it, I think.” At least she once told me she did: “Yours, Hardin, yours,” she moaned into my neck as I shifted my hips, burying myself deeper inside of her.

“Lill gets so pissed off when I say that. She thinks I’m claiming her as property or something,” Riley says next to me, but all I can focus on is Tessa. The way she gathers her long hair in one hand and moves it to one shoulder. My anger is rising, my annoyance is growing, and my focus is blurring. How does she not know that I’m here? I can always tell when she enters a room; it’s like the air changes and my body can literally feel hers coming near. She’s too busy paying attention to him; he’s probably telling her the proper way to pour water into a damn glass.

Still looking at my girl, I say, “Well, Tess is mine, so I don’t care what she thinks about being claimed.”

“Spoken like a true asshole,” Riley says and looks over at Tessa. “You have to compromise, though. If she’s anything like Lillian, she’ll get sick of it and you’ll end up with an ultimatum.”

“What?” I tear my eyes away from Tessa for a moment, and it’s torture.

“Lillian got sick of my shit and left me. She”—she lifts her glass toward Tessa—“will do the same thing if you don’t listen to what she wants sometimes.”

It’s amazing how much cooler Lillian is than her girlfriend. “Okay, you don’t know anything about our relationship, so you don’t know what you’re talking about.” I look back at Tessa, who is now sitting alone at the table fiddling with a stray lock of hair and moving her shoulders to the music. After a second, I locate her waiter friend at the end of the bar, and my nerves calm slightly because of the distance between them.

“Look, man,” Riley says. “I don’t have to know the details. I’ve spent the last . . . almost hour with you. I know that you’re a dumb-ass and she’s a needy . . .” When I open my mouth to cuss her out, she just continues: “Lillian is, too, so don’t get all pissy over it. She’s needy, and you know it. But you know what the best part about having a needy girlfriend is?” She gives a wicked smile. “Besides the frequent sex, of course . . .”

“Get to the point.” I roll my eyes and look back to Tessa. Her cheeks are red and her eyes are wide in amusement as she watches the women finishing up their dance on the bar. Any second she’ll see me standing here.

“The best part is that they need us, just not in the way you expect them to need you, though. They need us to be there for them sometimes, too. Lillian was always so caught up in trying to save . . . me or whatever the hell she was doing . . . that her needs weren’t being met. I mean, I didn’t even acknowledge her birthday. I didn’t do shit for her. I thought I was, though, because I was around her and sometimes telling her that I love her, but it wasn’t enough.”

An unwelcome chill travels down my spine. I watch as Riley finishes the rest of her first drink. “But she’s with you now, right?”

“Yeah, but only because I showed her that she can depend on me and that I’m not the same bitch I was when she met me.” She looks over at Tessa, then back to me. “You know that saying all the stupid girls are always posting online? I think it’s like, ‘While you’re making . . . if you don’t’ . . . fuck. I can’t remember, but basically it says treat your girl well or someone else will.”

“I don’t treat her bad.” Not all the time, at least.

She barks out a disbelieving little laugh. “Dude, just own it. Look, I’m no saint. I still don’t treat Lillian the way I should, but I own that shit. You are in some hard-core denial if you’re sitting here thinking you don’t treat her like shit—if you didn’t, she wouldn’t be sitting over there with that douche, who happens to be the exact opposite of you and pretty damn hot.”

I can’t even argue with her; she’s right, for the most part. I don’t treat Tessa like shit all the time, only when she does something to get me going. Like right now.

And earlier.

“She’s looking,” Riley tells me, and my blood runs cold. I turn my head slowly in Tessa’s direction.

Her eyes are focused on mine—blazing—and I swear I see a hint of red in them as she looks at Riley and then back to me. She doesn’t move, she doesn’t even blink. Her stare turns from surprised to primal in an instant, and I’m taken aback by the murderous glare directed our way.

“She’s so pissed.” Riley laughs next to me, and it takes everything in me not to pour her backup drink over her head.

Instead, I mumble, “Shut up,” grab the drink, and walk toward Tessa.

Her douchey waiter is still at the end of the bar by the time I reach her.

“Whoa, I never thought I’d find you here, in a bar, drinking with another girl. Surprise, surprise,” she quips with a sarcastic smile.

“Why are you here?” I ask, stepping closer to her.

She leans away. “Why are you?”

“Tessa,” I warn, and she rolls her eyes.

“Not tonight, Hardin, not happening.” She climbs off of the tall chair and pulls her dress down.

“Don’t walk away from me.” My words come out as a command, but I know they’re really a plea. I reach for her arm, but she pulls away.

“Why not? That’s what you always do to me.” She glares at Riley again. “We’re both here with other people.”

I shake my head. “Fuck, no. That’s Lillian’s girlfriend.”

Her shoulders instantly relax. “Oh.” She looks into my eyes and pulls her bottom lip between her teeth.

“We need to leave now.”

“So go.”

“You and I,” I clarify.

“I’m not going anywhere except somewhere fun, more fun than this place, since you’re here and you’re always stopping my fun. You’re like the fun police.” She smiles at her own stupid joke and continues. “That’s exactly what you are! You’re the fun police. I should really get you a badge made and you can wear it all around—you know, to stop everyone’s fun,” she rambles and bursts into full-on giggles.

Christ, she’s fucking wasted.

“How much did you drink?” I yell over the music. I thought it was going to die down, but apparently the elderly dancers have been goaded into an encore.

She shrugs. “I don’t know. A few, and this one, too.” She takes the cup from my hand before I can stop her, sets it on the table, and hoists herself back onto the chair.

“Don’t drink that. You’re obviously smashed.”

“What’s that sound?” She puts her hand to her ear. “Is that the siren of the fun police I hear? Wah, wah, wah.” For a second she pouts like a child, then laughs. “Go away if you’re going to be a fun-sucker.” Tessa lifts the glass to her mouth and takes three large gulps. She’s swallowed half the drink in seconds.

“You’re going to get sick,” I say.

“Blah, blah, blah,” she mocks, tilting her head back and forth with each word. She looks past me, and a small smirk plays on her lips. “You know Robert, right?”

I look to my side to find the asshole is standing next to me with a drink in each hand.

“Nice to see you again,” Robert says, then half smiles. His eyes are bloodshot. He’s drunk, too.

Did he take advantage of her? Did he kiss her?

I take a deep breath. His father is the sheriff. His father is the sheriff. His father is the sheriff.

His father is the fucking sheriff of this shithole of a town.

I look back at Tessa and say over my shoulder, “Go away.”

Tessa rolls her eyes. I forgot how ballsy she becomes when she has liquor in her veins. “Don’t go,” she says, challenging me, and he sits down at the table. “Don’t you have company to entertain?” she taunts.

“No, I don’t. Let’s go home.” I’m barely controlling my temper. If this were any other night, Robert’s face would be imprinted on the table by now.

“That cabin isn’t home; we’re hours from home.” She finishes off the drink she stole from me. Then she gives me a look that somehow manages to mix loathing, drunk-flippancy, and indifference. “Actually, as of Monday, I don’t have a home anyway, thanks to you.”

chapter

forty-seven

TESSA

Hardin’s nostrils flare as he tries to control his temper. I glance over at Robert, who looks slightly uncomfortable, though not in the least bit intimidated by Hardin.

“If you’re purposely trying to make me angry, it’s working,” Hardin says.

“I’m not, I just don’t want to go.” And right as the music cuts off, I practically yell, “I want to drink and be young and have fun!”

Everyone turns to me. I’m not sure what to do with all the attention, so I awkwardly wave my hand in the air. Someone gives a hoot of approval, and half the bar raises their glasses in salute and then goes back to talking. The music resumes, and Robert laughs. Hardin glowers.

“You’ve obviously had enough to drink,” he says, eyeing the now half-empty glass that Robert brought to me.

“News flash, Hardin: I’m an adult,” I remark in a childish tone.

“Dammit, Tessa.”

“Maybe I should go . . .” Robert stands.

“Obviously,” Hardin replies at the same time that I say “No.”

But then, looking around us, I let out a sigh. As much as I was enjoying my evening with Robert, I know that Hardin will stand here the entire time making rude remarks, threats, whatever he has to do to make him leave. It’s better if he does go.

“I’m sorry. I’ll go and you can stay,” I tell Robert.

He shakes his head with understanding. “No, no—don’t worry about it. I had a long day, anyway.” He’s so calm and easygoing about everything. It’s really refreshing.

“I’ll walk you out,” I tell him. I’m not sure if I’ll ever see him again, and he’s been so kind to me tonight.

“No, you won’t,” Hardin chimes in, but I ignore him and follow Robert toward the door of the small bar. When I look back at the table, Hardin is leaning against it with his eyes closed. I hope he’s taking deep breaths in and out, because I’m in no mood for his crap tonight.

Once we get outside, I turn to Robert. “I really am sorry. I didn’t know he was here. I was just trying to have a fun night.”

Robert smiles and slouches a little to better meet my eyes. “Remember when I said to stop to apologizing for everything?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small pad and pen. “I’m not expecting anything, but if someday you’re bored and alone in Seattle, give me a call. Or not. It’s up to you if you want to or not.” He writes something down, then hands it to me.

“Okay.” I don’t want to make any promises that I can’t keep, so I just smile and tuck the small paper into the top of my dress. “Sorry!” I squeak when I realize that I basically just fondled myself in front of him.

“Stop saying sorry!” He laughs. “And especially not for that!” He looks at the entrance to the bar, then out at the dark, dark night. “Well, I better go. It was nice to meet you; maybe we’ll see one another again?”

I nod and smile as he walks down the sidewalk.

“It’s cold out here,” Hardin’s voice says behind me, scaring the shit out of me.

I huff and walk past him back into the bar. The table that I was sitting at is now taken by a bald man and his supersized mug of beer. I grab my purse off the stool next to him, and he just gives me a dead-eyed look. Or rather, gives my breasts one.

Hardin is behind me. Again. “Let’s just go, please.”

I step over to the bar area. “Can I just get two feet of space? I don’t even want to be around you right now. You said some pretty hateful things to me,” I remind him.

“You know I didn’t mean them,” he answers, defending himself, attempting to make eye contact with me. I’m not falling for it.

“That doesn’t mean you can say them.” I look over at the girl—Lillian’s girlfriend—who’s watching Hardin and me from the bar. “I don’t want to talk about it right now. I was having a nice night, and you aren’t ruining it.”

Hardin steps in between us. “So you don’t want me here?” His eyes flash with hurt, and something in their green depths makes me backtrack.

“I’m not saying that, but if you’re going to tell me that you don’t love me or how you use me for sex again, then you need to go. Or I will.” I’m trying my hardest to keep my bubbly, giggly attitude instead of sinking down and letting the pain and frustration take over.

“You are the one who started all this shit when you came here with him—drunk, might I add . . .” he begins.

I sigh. “Here we go.” Hardin is the king of double standards. His latest one is walking toward us now.

“Jesus, would you two shut up. We’re in a public place.” The beautiful girl that Hardin was sitting with interrupts us.

“Not now,” Hardin snaps at her.

“Come on, Hardin’s obsession. Let’s take a seat at the bar,” she says, ignoring him.

Sitting at a table toward the back of the bar and having a drink brought to me is one thing; sitting at the bar top and ordering my own is another. “I’m not old enough,” I inform her.

“Oh, please. With that dress on, you’ll get a drink.” She stares at my chest, and I pull the front up slightly.

“If I get kicked out, it’s your fault,” I tell her, and she tips her head back in laughter.

“I’ll bail you out of jail.” She winks, and Hardin stiffens next to me. He watches her with warning in his eyes, and I can’t help but laugh. He tried to make me jealous with Lillian all night, and now he’s jealous of Lillian’s girlfriend winking at me.

All of this juvenile back-and-forth—he’s jealous, I’m jealous, the old lady at the bar is jealous, everyone is jealous—it’s annoying. Slightly entertaining, especially now, but still annoying.

“My name is Riley, by the way.” She takes a seat at the end of the bar. “I’m sure your rude-ass boyfriend isn’t planning on introducing us.”

I glance back at Hardin, expecting him to cuss her out, but he only rolls his eyes, which is pretty restrained for him. He tries to sit at the stool between us, but I grab the back, then place my hand on his arm to help myself get up onto it. I know I shouldn’t be touching him, but I want to sit here and enjoy my last night of this minivacation-turned-disaster. Hardin has scared away my new friend, and Landon is probably already asleep by now. I don’t have any other options except sitting alone in the room back at the cabin. This seems better.

“What can I get you?” a copper-haired bartender in a jean jacket asks me.

“We’ll have three shots of Jack. Chill them first,” Riley answers for me.

The woman scans my face for a few seconds, and my heart begins to race. “Coming up,” she says finally, and pulls three shot glasses from under the bar and places them in front of us.

“I wasn’t going to drink. I only had one before you came,” Hardin leans over and says into my ear.

“Drink what you want; I am,” I say without looking at him. Still, I silently pray that he doesn’t get too drunk. I never know how he’ll act.

“I can see that,” he says by way of scolding me.

I look at him with scorn, but end up staring at his mouth instead. Sometimes I just sit and stare at the slow movements of his lips when he talks; it’s one of my favorite things to do.

Perhaps noticing I’ve softened somewhat, he asks, “Are you upset with me still?”

“Yes, very.”

“Then why are you acting like you aren’t?” His lips move even slower. I really need to find out the name of that wine. It was really good.

“I already told you, I want to have fun,” I repeat. “Are you mad at me?”

“I always am,” he replies.

I laugh a little. “Isn’t that the truth.”

“What did you say?”

“Nothing.” I smile innocently and watch him rub the back of his neck with his hand, pinching the top of his shoulders between his thumb and forefinger.

A shot of brown liquor is placed in front of me seconds later, and Riley raises her shot glass to Hardin and me. “Here’s to dysfunctional, borderline-psychotic relationships.” She smirks and tilts her head back to take her shot.

Hardin followers her lead.

I take a deep breath before welcoming the cool burn of whiskey down my throat.

“ONE MORE!” Riley cheers, sliding another shot in front of me.

“I dunno if I can,” I slur. “I’ve never b-been this drunk, never never.”

The whiskey has officially taken over my mind, set up camp, and doesn’t appear to be leaving anytime soon. Hardin is up to five shots, I lost count of mine after three, and I’m pretty sure Riley should be heaving on the floor from alcohol poisoning by now.

“I feel like this whiskey tastes good,” I remark, dipping my tongue into the chilled shot.

Next to me, Hardin laughs, and I lean into his shoulder and put my hand on his thigh. His eyes immediately follow my hand, and I quickly pull it away. I shouldn’t be acting like nothing happened earlier—I know I shouldn’t, but it’s easier said than done. Especially when I can barely think straight and Hardin looks so good in his white button-down shirt. I’ll deal with our problems tomorrow.

“See, all you needed was a little whiskey to loosen up.” Riley slams her empty shot glass on the bar top, and I giggle.

“What?” she barks.

“You and Hardin are the same.” I cover my mouth to conceal my obnoxious giggles.

“No we aren’t,” Hardin says, speaking at that slower pace he resorts to when he’s intoxicated. So does Riley.

“Yes—you are! It’s like a mirror.” I laugh. “Does Lillian know you’re here?” I swing my head to the side and ask her.

“Nope. She’s asleep for now.” She licks her lips. “But I fully intend on waking her up when I return.”

The music starts to increase in volume again, and I watch the copper-haired woman climb onto the bar for probably the fourth time tonight.

“Again?” Hardin scrunches his nose, and I laugh.

“I think it’s funny.” I think everything is funny right now.

“I think it’s lame, and it interrupts me every thirty minutes,” he gripes.

“You should go up there.” Riley nudges me.

“Up where?”

“The bar, you should dance on the bar.”

I shake my head and laugh. And blush. “No way!”

“Come on—you’ve been whining about being young and having fun, or whatever the hell you were going on and on about. Now’s your chance. Dance on the bar.”

“I can’t dance.” It’s true. I’ve only danced, excluding slow dancing, once, and that was at the nightclub in Seattle.

“No one will notice—they’re all even more wasted than you.” She raises a brow, challenging me.

“No fucking way,” Hardin says.

Through my drunken haze I remember one thing: I’m sure as hell done letting him tell me what I can and can’t do.

Without a word, I reach down and unfasten the horribly uncomfortable straps around my ankles and let my high heels drop to the floor.

Hardin’s eyes are wide as I climb on top of the stool, then onto the bar. “What are you doing?” He stands and looks behind us as the few patrons left in the bar begin to cheer. “Tess . . .”

The song gets louder, and the woman who has been serving us drinks smiles wickedly at me and takes my hand. “Do you know any line dances, honey?” she yells

I shake my head, suddenly unsure of myself.

“I’ll teach you!” she yells.

What the hell was I thinking? I just wanted to prove a point to Hardin, and look where it got me—on top of a bar getting ready to attempt a dance . . . of some kind. I’m not even sure what a line dance is, exactly. If I’d known I was going to be up here, I would have planned it out better and paid more attention to the women when they were dancing earlier.