Текст книги "Lies Unspoken "

Автор книги: Lisa DeJong

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

She laughs, leaving me standing alone.

THE MORNING SUN SEEPS through my curtains a little earlier than I’d like. It was almost three in the morning when Dana finally dropped me off at home. By the time I showered the bar off my skin and relaxed enough to fall asleep, it was well past four.

Rolling over to my side, I notice I only slept four hours. If I’m going to be working at Charlie’s, I might need to replace Mallory’s pastel curtains with something darker, or invest in one of those little masks to cover my eyes.

Before I left last night, I asked Charlie about my schedule, and he said he needed me every Thursday, Friday, and Saturday night. It didn’t sound like much, but Dana divulged that the place is pretty much dead every other night. The tips are good—enough to get me by while I have cheap rent, but maybe I can find another job during the week to get me out of this apartment sooner.

I nestle myself between the pillows and pull the warm down comforter up past my eyes. I don’t have to be to work until seven, and if I don’t get more sleep, I’m going to regret it. Especially if the crowd is anything like last night.

After a few minutes with no success, I throw my arms up. My mind wanders to Blake. Even last night, when I was trying to fall asleep, my mind drifted to him. He’s the epitome of what I don’t need or want in my life right now. He’s too intense and a little rough around the edges.

I won’t allow him to control me. I’m certainly not going to let him pop up at my place of employment and act like he has a say in what I can and can’t do.

Just as my eyelids start to grow heavy, music blares from the other side of the apartment. Head-banging, wood-splitting music ricocheting off the walls. Asshole.

After a couple minutes of trying to ignore it, I gather my wits and throw my comforter off. I yank my door open with such force it hits against the wall with a thud. Without hesitation, I stalk across the living room and push Blake’s bedroom door open, ready to tear him in two.

I’m stopped dead in my tracks before I get the chance. The woman with short blonde hair straddles Blake’s naked body. His eyes are closed tightly, his hands gripping her firm ass, moving her carefully against him. I clench my teeth to keep myself from screaming out as a burning sensation fills my chest then seeps down into my stomach. Seeing him with her shouldn’t bother me, but it does. Feeling defeated and annoyed, I disappear into my bedroom and sink into my warm bed without being noticed.

When I wake up hours later, the house is quiet again. For a while, I lay still, listening to the sound of the wind against my windowpane. A light dusting of flurries falls from the gray sky. It’s one of those days I just want to stay in bed in a pair of sweats and devour a good book, but my stomach growls, putting an end to that idea.

I pull my thick terrycloth robe from the back of the chair and tie it tightly around me to chase away the chill.

After taking a deep breath, I slowly open my door. If Blake’s home, there isn’t any sign of him. His door is closed, and the apartment is silent.

I can’t keep doing this. There’s no way I’m going to be able to live here with him; I feel like a prisoner sequestered to her cell. I don’t want to think about what he’s doing, or what I might walk in on.

I pour myself a bowl of cereal and sit down at the small dining table. This is how it should be, I think, pulling my knees to my chest. Quiet. Peaceful. Comfortable. Alone. My eyes fixate on the snow falling outside as my mind wanders off.

There’s still so much I want to do with my life. Coming here was obviously the first step, but the last thing I want is to get stuck working at Charlie’s for the next few years just to escape my old life. I want to live in a place I love, spending my days doing what I love. No matter what it takes, I’m going to get there.

After finishing my cereal, I grab a pad of paper and pen from the table and scribble House Rules across the top. Blake and I are both adults; we should be able to make this work until I find a better solution. Besides, if I have to find my own place, it’s going to take a while longer before I have enough savings to make it happen.

When I’m done, I have exactly five rules. They sound fair enough, not asking him to do anything I wouldn’t do for him. I set it on the end of the counter and take one more look out the large window in the living room. The light coating of snow on everything makes it look peaceful, and I wish I could take the rest of the day to just explore. I want to find the art scene, to make new friends.

Maybe tomorrow when I have a day off.

My phone rings from the bedroom, pulling my attention away. I run across the cool floors, anxious to hear a familiar voice.

I slide my thumb across the screen to answer and lift it to my ear. “Hello.”

“Hey, just thought I’d call and see how your first day in Chicago went.” It’s Mallory.

“Well, besides living with your brother, everything’s fine.”

She sighs. “Is he giving you a hard time? ‘Cause I’ll kick his ass.”

“I think you already know the answer. Can’t he stay somewhere else?”

“That bad, huh?”

“He’s the most stubborn, inconsiderate—”

“I know,” she interrupts. “I’ve had to deal with him for twenty-four years.”

“Why didn’t you just tell me he was living here? I would’ve made other arrangements.” Like maybe stay home for a few more months to save money for a deposit on an apartment and make damn sure I had a good job. It sucked staying in that town, but it wouldn’t have killed me.

“He didn’t move in until just a couple weeks ago . . . after we talked about you using it while I’m out of town. He’s been going through a lot, and I couldn’t tell him no.”

I sit on the edge of my bed, pulling at the belt of my robe with my free hand. “I made some house rules. Hopefully that will help.”

She laughs hysterically at the other end of the phone.

“Shit,” I mutter, falling back onto the mattress.

“Yep.” I hear her tongue click. “Anyway, it’s getting late here. I have class early in the morning, so I’m going to go to bed. I just wanted to check in.”

“Yeah, I need to get ready for work.”

“You got a job! Why didn’t you tell me you found something?” she asks, excitedly.

“It’s not anything to brag about.”

“Well, where is it?”

I hesitate, nibbling on my lower lip. “Charlie’s. It’s just a couple blocks from here.”

There’s a short pause before she says anything else. “I don’t think I’ve ever been there, but be careful walking through that neighborhood alone at night. Maybe you should have Blake pick you up when your shift is over.”

“There’s a girl I work with who doesn’t mind giving me a ride. And as far as never being there before, you’re not missing much.” The cruddy, outdated interior flashes through my mind. The smell. The people. I could live without ever having to go back there.

“Ugh, well hopefully you’ll find another job soon. Go downtown and check with some of the design or architecture firms,” she suggests.

“I will early next week.”

She yawns. “I better let you go before I fall asleep. I’ll call you again in a couple days, okay?”

“All right. Sleep well.”

“Have fun at work,” she says, right before she hangs up.

Noticing the time, I clear my head and get ready for my second night at Charlie’s. God, help me.

There’s only a little more than an hour before closing time. The place was packed for three hours straight, but things are finally slowing down. I’ve made enough tips to pay a month’s worth of student loans, though, so I can’t complain about that.

“My feet are killing me,” Dana says, sliding up next to me at the bar.

I look down at her four-inch heels and roll my eyes. “You should get a pair of chucks.”

“Charlie is going to be pissed if he sees those on your feet.”

“He’ll get over it.”

She smiles. “You’re probably right. He’s not going to fire a hot little piece like you.”

“Great, just what I always wanted. A job that I keep simply based on my looks. Besides, I’m tired and I could care less what I look like.”

Her brows furrow. “Did someone party after work last night?”

“I wish. My nightmare of a roommate brought that blonde home from the bar, and I guess he’s not all that quiet when he screws.” The whole messed up vision crosses through my mind again. If only magic eraser worked for everything.

“Wait, are you jealous?” she asks, her lips pulling into a smile.

Defensiveness rises in my veins. “Hell no. I’m annoyed, Dana. There’s a big difference.” And, maybe I’m a little bit jealous.

She laughs.

I growl. She’s so wrong, or I’m in denial.

Charlie appears at the other end of the bar, staring at us. Besides reading countless drink orders off to him, I’ve barely talked to him all night. “Do you girls need help finding something to do?”

“No, Charlie,” Dana says, “We’re just trying to . . . regroup.”

“Whatever. I don’t pay you to regroup. Get out there and check drinks.”

With a collective groan, we disperse to our respective tables. Tonight hasn’t been as bad as last night. No comments that crossed any lines. No touching. If every night were more like this, I might be able to handle it for a few months.

“Hey, baby!” a balding, middle-aged man calls as I maneuver my way between tables. “Can I get another Bud Light? I’ve been empty for over ten minutes.”

“Sorry,” I answer, backing away. “I’ll grab you another.”

I swivel on my back heel to get to the bar, but I run smack dab into a muscular chest instead. “You should really watch where you’re going,” Blake says, grinning down at me.

Crossing my arms over my chest, I say, “If you sat down at a table, we wouldn’t have that problem.”

“Oh, trust me, we’d still have a problem. It might not be this one, but we’d definitely have one.”

“Look, I don’t have time for this shit tonight.” I try to push past him, but he grips my upper arm, halting my progress.

“What section are you working?” His body is so close to mine, the heat from it scorches my skin. I can only imagine what his naked body would feel like against mine. Stop it, Lila!

“There’s two of us; that gives you a fifty percent chance of guessing right. Sit down and find out.” I yank my arm away, but I can still feel the impression of his hand on my skin. “Good luck!” I shout, heading toward the bar.

My night was going so well, but now I’m irritated with a side of extra pissed off. Why can’t he just leave me alone?

“Your hot roommate checking up on you again? Or is he trolling for another woman to take home tonight?” Dana asks when I come up beside her.

“He’s not that hot,” I reply, staring straight ahead. He’s not hot . . . he’s freaking gorgeous.

“Whatever.”

“Can you do me a favor?” I look at her, watching her eyes narrow on me. “Wait on him. I can’t do it.”

She picks up two ice-cold beer bottles and starts walking away. “No can do. Besides, he’s here to see you.”

I clench my teeth, trying to bite back my anger. He can’t keep doing this. He can’t keep coming in here and acting like we’re anything but roommates who barely know each other. He’s not my friend. He’s not my enemy. He’s just a guy . . . an attractive one at that.

Charlie puts the tray full of shots I ordered in front of me, pointing toward the back corner. “There’s a guy sitting all alone in the back, waving his hand. Make sure you get his order after taking these. You girls are going to cost me a lot of business.”

I don’t have to look over my shoulder to know who it is. I’m going to kill Blake. A slow, excruciating death.

“I’ll take care of him,” I say, flashing a smile made purely of fake sugar.

While I deliver the shots to a table full of intoxicated college guys, I don’t let my eyes wander to Blake. He’s watching me . . . I feel it. I decide to play a little game, an attempt to get a one-up on him.

One of the college guys can’t seem to keep his hands to himself. The backs of his fingers graze my bare thigh, and instead of knocking it away, I place my hand on his shoulder and smile.

“Are you guys out celebrating tonight?” I ask. His fingers move upward, brushing against the bottom of my shorts. Inside I cringe, but I don’t let my smile falter.

“Just blowing off some steam,” one of them answers.

Without warning, the guy who’d been touching me pulls his hand away and yanks me onto his lap. I feel his excitement pressed against my ass, and scoot forward to avoid the intrusion. This is just flirting, I tell myself.

“And you picked this place?” I ask.

“This place has the best view in the city. What are you doing after work tonight?” the guy whispers against my hair.

“I’ll probably just go home. It’s going to be pretty late.”

He grins at me, licking his lower lip. My stomach rolls.

Before either one of us can say anything else, a warm hand wraps around my arm, pulling me up. “This one’s going home with me tonight!” Blake growls, trying to shove me behind him.

I do my best to step out of his reach. He’s the Hercules to my Popeye without spinach. “No, I’m not.”

“Yes, you are,” he seethes, glaring back at me.

“Fuck off, Blake. Or better yet, find someone to fuck and leave me alone.” I use anger to loosen my arm from his grip and walk back to the bar. If Charlie saw all that, he’s going to kill me. Luckily, he looks preoccupied with a couple of guys at the other end of the bar.

I feel Blake watching me but don’t look back. It might give him some satisfaction, and I don’t want to give him anything of the sort. I grab another round of drinks, taking my time to set each glass on the table with ease, knowing Blake’s tracking my every move. He can suffer; I doubt he really came here for a drink anyway.

On my way to his table, I stop to wipe off a few that are now empty and push in chairs. Charlie’s probably watching me, wondering what the hell I’m doing, but I highly doubt he’d fire me over this. I’ve mastered this job in a matter of days.

I saunter up to the small table Blake occupies all by himself. It’s a sad sight really—an attractive guy sitting alone in a shit hole like this. “What would you like to drink tonight, sir?” I ask.

“Sit,” he says simply.

“I’m working.”

His brows knit together as his eyes scan the room. “There are three fucking tables. Now sit.”

I cross my arms over my chest like the defiant only child I am. “You’re going to get me fired.”

“That old prick won’t fire you. Trust me . . . you could walk out of here right now and you’d still have a job tomorrow.”

Looking over my shoulder, I spot Dana leaning against the bar, watching us intently. She nods, mouthing, “I got this.”

As I turn back around, I see the smirk on Blake’s face. He saw the whole exchange and knows I’m all his. I’m really starting to hate this guy.

“Fine,” I say, sliding in across from him. “Did you need me to sit to take your order?”

“It didn’t look like you were having any problems sitting a few minutes ago. You better watch yourself, Lila.”

“Maybe I like him,” I tease, pulling my bottom lip between my teeth.

“You’re not that stupid.” He stares at me, eyes smoldering.

“Or, maybe I am, and you just haven’t figured it out yet. What’s your deal anyway? Nothing better to do than follow me around?” I ask, leaning in.

He shrugs. “My sister would kill me if anything happened to you, and believe it or not, she’s the only person I give one fuck about besides my parents.”

“By the way,” he adds, pulling the list I left on the counter from his pocket, “this is bullshit.”

“You came here to talk about the house rules?” I ask, feeling even more annoyed.

“These aren’t house rules. It’s pure fucking bullshit.”

Regular Blake is good-looking, but there’s something a little extra special about pissed off Blake. Naughty Lila wants to pull him into a closet and shut him up with her body, but Nice Lila would never allow it.

I rest my elbows on the table, leaning forward even more. “I don’t think so. No loud music before noon seems pretty reasonable.”

He laughs, leaning in. “Is it the music that bothers you or the sex?”

My face flushes. Good thing the lighting sucks in here. “Music,” I answer, swallowing hard. The sex bothered me. It bothered me a lot because it made me feel stupid jealousy that I probably shouldn’t.

“And what’s this shit about being quiet in the kitchen? I can’t fry an egg without a pan, Lemon Drop.”

“Did you just call me Lemon Drop?”

His eyes twinkle, even under the dull bar lights. “I’m pretty sure that’s what I just said. Answer the question.”

“I’m a light sleeper.” Our faces are inches apart, but I’m not backing away. It would be an admission of defeat.

“Then get some earplugs.”

“It would be a lot cheaper for you to be quiet.”

For a matter of seconds, we just stare at each other—a simple battle of wills. It’s a variation on one of those stupid staring contests I used to have as a kid. Eventually, one of us will blink, and it’s not going to be me.

He finally leans back, dropping an arm over the back of his chair. “See the garbage can next to the door?” I don’t have to look. I know where every stupid garbage can is in this place. “That’s where this list is going on my way out.”

“How mature of you,” I say, trying not to show my frustration. He doesn’t deserve to know how much he gets under my skin. I stand up and push in my chair, anxious to get as far away from Blake as I can.

“I meant what I said about being your ride!” he yells behind me.

I keep walking, tired of him—the way he looks at me, the crap he says. It’s a good thing I already asked Dana for a ride. He can wait around here all he wants, but as soon as my shift ends, I’m sneaking out back with her.

AFTER ONLY TWO DAYS OF WORK, it already feels like my days off are well deserved. I spend the day at the Museum of Contemporary Art, and then head off to the store for some much needed groceries. Dinner, wine, and a good book sound like the best medicine after a difficult week. Besides, a snowstorm is blowing in, and I’ll be lucky if I get out for the next few days.

It’s a little after seven when I finally get back to my apartment with a full bag of groceries in hand. Seeing that it’s quiet and completely dark, I breathe a sigh of relief. Almost twenty-four hours, no work, no Blake—it’s almost as if I’ve landed in the life I was supposed to live.

My stomach growls as I unpack everything, leaving the ingredients for homemade pizza on the counter. It’s something my mom makes all the time on cold winter nights, and I could use a slice of home right now.

I plug my iPod into the docking station and blare Boyce Avenue throughout the apartment while I chop peppers, mushrooms, and onions. While waiting for the sauce to simmer, I pour myself a glass of red wine, bring it to my nose, then let the first sip coat my tongue. This day was exactly what I needed, I think, as I relax against the counter. It’s these little things in life we should never take for granted.

As I swallow down the last sip from my wine glass, the lock clicks and the door to the apartment swings open. Blake appears in the same clothes he had on last night. No jacket, just his signature gray stocking hat. His dark eyes find me right away.

“Found another ride home last night, did you?” he asks as he sets a brown paper bag on the counter and stands over the stove, inhaling the tomato and garlic aroma.

Last night, after I snuck out back with Dana, I was sure he’d come barging through our apartment door and cause a scene. He didn’t.

“Dana gave me a ride,” I answer, pressing the fresh pizza dough into a round stone.

“I was going to give you a ride.” He uses the wooden spoon to swirl the sauce around. His shoulders are tense, and he sounds tired. Exhausted actually.

“Dana offered. I accepted.”

He sighs, running his long, thick fingers through his hair. “Why are you so stubborn?”

I still can’t figure out why he feels this need to wiggle his way into my life, to protect me. Maybe Mallory had something to do with this. Whatever it is, I don’t need it.

“Can you just drop it?” I ask. “If you were so worried about how I was getting home, you should have followed up sooner.”

“I made sure you made it home okay,” he replies in a low voice.

“How did you do that?”

He shrugs. “I followed you.”

“That’s not creepy.”

“Some day you’ll thank me,” he answers.

Maybe he’s right.

“Can I have that please?” I ask, holding my hand out for the spoon.

He just stares at me, eyes locking for longer than I’d like—longer than I can bear. His Adam’s apple dips as he places the spoon in my hands. “What are you making?”

“Veggie pizza. It’s my mom’s recipe.” I train my eyes on the pan, watching the sauce simmer. Anything to keep from looking at him.

“Smells amazing. I don’t remember the last time I had a home-cooked meal . . . besides eggs, of course.”

I stir, trying to make myself look busy.

He stares, increasing my discomfort.

I don’t know him well enough to make easy conversation. I keep my hands and eyes occupied, until I remember he didn’t walk in empty handed.

“What’s in the brown bag?” I ask, pointing to where he’d set it on the counter. When my eyes find him again, I notice he hasn’t moved. He’s been standing right behind me, just far enough back that we’re not touching. He’d been staring . . . I can tell by how long it’s taking him to react to my question.

“Tequila.”

“Do we have limes?”

A sexy grin spreads across his face. “Bottom drawer of the fridge.”

Glancing out the window, I see huge snowflakes falling across the light from the street lamp. Blake wouldn’t be my first choice to spend a snowy night with, but it doesn’t look like either of us will be going anywhere.

“If you share your tequila, I’ll share my pizza.”

Without hesitation, he says, “Sounds like we have a deal. Do you need any help? My end of the bargain is already met.”

I wave him off. “I got it.”

“I’m going to jump in the shower,” he says. He holds my waist, gently moving me aside to place the tequila in the fridge. His hands apply the perfect amount of pressure. I shiver, imagining what else they could do. Then, without another word, he disappears behind his bedroom door.

I pour myself another glass of red, taking small sips as I place the sauce, veggies, and fresh mozzarella over the homemade dough. I slide the stone in the oven, my mouth watering at the mere thought of having the reminder of home against my taste buds.

Blake walks out of his room in a pair of navy lounge pants that hang low on his hips and a tight white T-shirt right as I’m about to pull the pizza from the oven. The mere sight of him causes me to hesitate. I can’t remember the last time someone affected me like this.

“Is it ready?” he asks, sliding up behind me. His body doesn’t touch mine, but I still feel the heat as I breathe in his scent.

I shake all thoughts of him and his allure from my mind. “I was just about to take the pizza out of the oven.”

“Do you need help?”

“Umm, you could take out some plates and silverware.”

He steps away from me, allowing me to relax. I turn the oven off and carefully take the pizza stone out. It looks amazing, crust perfectly browned, cheese bubbling . . . exactly how Mom makes it.

“Do you want me to cut it?”

I shake my head, handing him a cup of fresh grated cheese and crushed red pepper flakes. “Set these on the table, I’ll be right over.”

“The only place I’m going to let you have any control around here is in the kitchen.” He winks, then walks away from me. I’m not exactly sure what he meant by that; there’s not one aspect of my life I’m going to let him control.

I cut the pizza, placing two perfect slices on each plate, and carry them over to the table. His eyes widen like it’s nothing he’s ever seen before. “Is this all you can make?” he asks, sprinkling some Parmesan over his.

I take my first bite, the hot sauce burning the roof of my mouth. “I have lots of tricks up my sleeve,” I reply, wiping the corners of my mouth.

The sexy smirk returns as he fixes his gaze on me. “I’ll bet you do.”

“So do you have any plans after dinner?” I ask, almost hoping for a night to myself.

“I don’t think so. They’re calling for at least a foot of snow overnight. I’m thinking about watching a movie or something.”

I groan. “I hate TV.”

“How about a game? I know one in particular that could be interesting.”

“And if I say no?”

“We could talk about your rules. I didn’t quite get through all of them last night.” He takes a big bite of pizza, but his eyes never leave me.

“I’m serious about the rules.”

His head tilts to one side. “And I’m serious about not following them.”

I feel my face heating up. I didn’t ask him for too much, or at least I didn’t think I did. “We better just let the rules be then.”

“Finish your pizza, and then I’ll explain the game. Since we’re going to be roommates for the foreseeable future, Lemon Drop, we should probably get to know each other better.”

For the next ten minutes, we quietly devour our pizza. Even without words, it’s nice to have someone to sit with. There’s no arguing at least.

When we’re done, he picks up our plates and rinses them off while I disappear inside my bedroom to change into a pair of black jogging pants and a matching hoodie. I tie my long red hair up into a bun and step back out into the living room, noticing the supper mess has been completely cleaned up.

Blake’s in the kitchen, slicing limes and bobbing his head to the rhythm of some heavy rock song. When he spots me, his eyes scan my body, head to toe. “I like that look much better than your Charlie’s uniform.”

“No you don’t,” I say, rolling my eyes at him.

His eyebrows knit in.

Sighing, I plop myself down on one end of the couch, pulling my knees up in front of me. “Let’s get this game started, or I’m going to go read a book.”

He comes around the counter with two shot glasses, a bowl of sliced limes, and a full bottle of tequila in hand. “Did they not have shitty bars, books, and cheap rent in Nebraska?”

I’m back to wanting to kill him. “They sure did, but there were also a bunch of things I wanted to leave in Nebraska.”

“I get it. You’re running from your past.”

“The game, Blake. Let’s get to the game.”

He arranges everything on the wooden coffee table, settling in on the other end of the couch. Then, he glares at me until I can’t even look at him anymore. Maybe I’m afraid that I might see too much in him . . . or maybe it’s that he might see too much in me. Before he says anything, he grabs my knees and pulls me closer. Not on top of him or right next to him but still too close.

“Have you ever played truth or dare?” he asks.

“When I was like thirteen.”

He smiles. “This one is a little different . . . there won’t be any dares.”

“What’s the point?” I ask, scrunching my nose. “Besides, aren’t we a little old for this?”

“Maybe, but I just want to get to know you better. Is that so hard to believe?” He watches me carefully, and when I don’t respond, he fills both shot glasses and slides one to my side of the table. “Here are the rules. We take turns asking questions. If you don’t want to answer, you have to take a shot.”

“I’ll play, but I get to go first.”

“I figured that,” he says, resting his feet on the coffee table. “Let’s hear it.”

“How old are you?”

“I see you’re starting with the good stuff.” He smirks, tilting his head to get a better look at me. “Twenty-seven. My turn.”

“Great,” I mumble.

“Oh, come on, Lemon Drop, this is going to be good.” He licks his lower lip. “Where’s the riskiest place you’ve ever had sex?”

This one I actually have to contemplate. I’ve only been with Derek, and I wouldn’t necessarily say our sex life was exciting. I mean, he’s all I’ve ever known, but we didn’t join the mile high club or sneak off into a closet or bathroom stall. No elevator or balcony sex. It was all extremely vanilla with an occasional drip of chocolate syrup—as in Derek literally licking it from my breasts. Maybe I should just throw the shot back, but it’s a stupid question to waste a drink on.

“Umm, I’d probably have to say in a tent.” Undoubtedly, my cheeks have a cherry red tint to them. One look at him, and I can tell he wants to laugh. He’s good at holding it in. “My turn.”

I give it a little thought—trying to decide what it is I want to know most—in case he decides this game isn’t so fun after another question or two.

“Where do you disappear to . . . when you don’t come home all night?”

The expression on his face hardens. I know when he does leave, he’s never in the best of moods, but he comes back acting like everything’s okay. I’m curious. “I’ll take a shot.”

He pulls a half slice of lime between his teeth, bites, and then throws the tequila back. He winces—the aftershock of his first drink.

“My turn,” he says, eyes narrowing in on me. “What are you running from?”

I swallow hard, unable to free the lump in my throat. “Who said I was running?

“There’s a reason you’re here. Answer the question or drink.”

“Well, I actually like tequila so I’ll drink.”

I squeeze the lime between my teeth and throw the liquid back, feeling the burn in my throat. With the wine I already had, I’ll be a goner after a couple of these.

Blake reaches up, swiping the lime juice from my mouth. I focus back on him, watching as he sucks the pad of his thumb to get a taste of his own. I swallow, trying to get a grip on myself. I want to know more, but I don’t want to tell him more. “Looks like we’re back to you. What do you do for a living?”

He shrugs. “I’m taking a break right now, but before that, I painted murals, mostly in large commercial buildings, hotels . . . that sort of thing.”

“What do you live off of?” The question just rolls from my tongue. It’s none of my business, but that doesn’t mean I’m not curious.

“That’s more than one question. I’ll answer it, but you have to take a shot if you’re going to break the rules,” he remarks, pointing to the bottle of tequila.

When he first proposed this game, I didn’t consider it a game at all, but now I see the whole point is deciding which question is worth a shot. It’s teetering between opening myself up and getting flat ass drunk. In the end, I want to know more so I throw the shot back.

He continues, “It’s something called a savings account. I have enough of it to last me a while.”

I nod, deciding that probably wasn’t worth a drink.