Page 4 of Volatile Obsessions

? Chandelier - Sia ?

June

Miami, FL

Ah, Jack, my old friend, I thought to myself with a blissfully inebriated smile as I pressed my lips to the bottle and took another long sip. I’d drunk so much already, the welcome burn didn’t even burn anymore. Probably why Scotty-boy, the good ‘ol bartender, passed me the bottle over half hour ago. He’d been pouring tumbler after tumbler while still serving the rest of the Blackbird Ordinary regulars.

But then the motherfucker started slacking, and I wasn’t having it.

I was, however, absolutely okay with serving myself, hence why he found me halfway over the bar from the corner of his eyes when he’d turned his back to distribute a few beers. I would’ve knocked the unamused glare he shot me off his face had he not been such a good friend, and a better client. Scott wasn’t stupid, though, and a quick reminder I had certain rights as the birthday girl, lead him to setting down the bottle in front of me without a glance back. I almost patted his graying head and praised him with a purred ‘good boy’ in tow, but figured a quick smack on the cheek and an additional black baggy would suffice.

“So, any callsfrom the folks?”Vic asked suddenly from his perch on the stool between my inked legs.

I stilled momentarily, eyeing him closely. “Nope,” I answered, popping the P. “You should know this.”

“I know, but it’s your birthday. Don’t you think they miss you?”

“Don’t know, don’t care. If they missed me, they’d have tracked me down a decade ago when I first left Leeds.”

“True.” He nodded awkwardly. “I just can’t believe they haven’t—”

“Can we not talk about this?” I growled, cutting him off. “They’re dead to me, end of story.”

“Okay, okay, my bad. I was just curious is all. So are you gonna share the rest or what?” he questioned, motioning the bottle lodged firmly in my grasp.

“By share, you mean a sip, right?” I retorted.

“No, I mean like, let me kill it,” he clarified.

I scoffed through my nose and raked a hand through my emerald green tresses. “Negative. That last lil’ bit is mine.”

“C’mon, L!” He protested, warm palms slithering up my thighs. “You’ve drank the entire bottle already. Let me have the rest.”

His touch kinda made my skin crawl. I shooed him off and narrowed my eyes. “It’s my birthday, dickhead. I’ll have however much I fucking want. You thirsty? Get your ass up and buy your own drink.”

Vic scowled, dark brows furrowed and all, to which I rolled my eyes. God, he was a pain in my ass. But as my righthand man, he—unfortunately—went almost everywhere with me, mostly because he played multiple roles; business confidant, assistant, security.

He’d like a permanent role in my bed, too, after what spiraled out of control the other night, but that was never gonna happen. The mere thought could throw me into a manic fit of laughter.

Don’t get me wrong, Vic somehow turned out to be a great lay, I guess, but that’s as far as it would ever go for me. I didn’t do relationships. Never had, never would. I’d learned at a very young age that the only person I could truly trust was me, myself, and I.

“You’re a mean ass drunk, you know that,” he added with a snarl.

“And you’re wrong, on two different accounts,” I countered, downing the last bit of whiskey he so desperately wanted.

“How I am wrong? You are mean as fuck.”

“Exactly, but that’s everyday common knowledge. No need to treat it as breaking news.”

“Alright, fine, I’ll give you that, but what else am I supposedly so wrong about?” he quizzed, inching closer as though it were confidential.

So I leaned in closely too, dragging one of my claws under his chin. “I’m not drunk,” I whispered.

Vic threw his head back and howled a full-bellied laugh that prompted those in the near vicinity to look our way. “That’s a load of bullshit. You’re fucked the hell up, Lux.”

“Fucked up, yeah, but not drunk. I’m not a lightweight, Vic. I can handle my liquor.”

“You won’t be saying that once I spark one in the car,” he snickered, the confidence of his statement sending my eyes in another 360 spin.

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