Page 12 of Beyond the Bright Lights

“I know. Selfish, right?” I open my arms wide as if telling her this is me, all of me, here and now being vulnerable as fuck. “Fine. I’m selfish, but you know helping me will also benefit the movie.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told.”

“Fuck off.”

“Lana,” I close my distance to her with purpose, and she’s so fucking defiant, she doesn’t budge at my fast movement. She even lets me cup her face. She feels so good, so soft, so irresistible. My eyes dip to her lips and she licks them. I want to lick them too. I want to lick every inch of her body. I don’t make a move. Not yet. Instead, I lock eyes with her. “What do you have to lose? Because I will lose everything. Everything.”

She studies my face again, my eyes, searching for something. Honesty? Pain? Desperation? I am most certainly desperate.

She reaches up and latches on to my wrists, pulling my hands away and letting go. I immediately miss the feel of her.

“You listen here, Mylan Andrews,” she begins, poking a finger in my chest. I stagger back and she steps forward, prodding me with that vicious, red-painted nail until we’re on the move, me walking backwards. “You come into my bar the day after getting out of rehab, asking me to help you when you can’t help yourself?”

“I—”

“You drank.”

“Only a few—”

“You’re an alcoholic.”

“Functional alcoholic, really.”

“Functional?” she says, her voice an octave higher. “Are you kidding me?”

“No?”

“How many times have you been in rehab?”

“Well, three, but—”

“Why should I believe that this time will be different?”

The backs of my legs hit a picnic table. Lana is still poking me with her angry little finger being all demanding and controlling and it’s hot as fuck. I bite back a groan and try not to think about my cock hardening with every adorably accented word that pours from her luscious mouth.

“It will be different this time,” I breathe. “I promise.”

“Your promises mean nothing to me,” Lana says, and I wince at the harsh words.

“You have no reason to trust me. I understand that.”

“Do you?”

“Lana.”

“Stop saying my name like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re a friend asking for a favor. You’re not my friend.”

I clamp my mouth shut. She’s too furious. I could beg for my life, and she’d leave me to bleed out and die. She’s not going to cave. Not at this point.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m sure I’ll figure it out.”

She blinks. Blinks some more. Then she breathes as if she’d been holding it in this entire time. She takes a step back and now I can breathe too. Lowering my head in shame, in disappointment, in defeat, I walk around Lana back to the bar.

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