Page 102 of Under the Ink

But it wasn’t the right time.

“Hey, wait,” he said, gently holding her shoulders.

Grabbing his chin in her hand, she growled, “I want you to fuck me hard right now.”

Oh, god. Any other time. Hell, six months ago, he wouldn’t have asked twice.

But this was Naomi. “Not yet, baby. We need to talk first.”

“Talk?”

The alcohol on her breath was heavy, lingering in the air even after she’d closed her mouth. “Yeah. Let’s sit down, okay?”

The woman all but rolled her eyes—and Sage couldn’t figure it out. But he would persist anyway.

“Fine.” Picking up her backpack off the floor, she unzipped it while following him to the couch—and pulled out a bottle of her favorite brandy.

Thatwas a huge part of the problem.

“Hey…can that wait till after we talk?”

Grimacing, she set the bottle on the coffee table and sat next to him on the couch. “Then start. I’m listening.”

Jesus H. Christ.Was she?He couldn’t be sure anything he’d say right now would get through to her.

But he had to try.

“I know you keep telling me you don’t want to talk—but it’s pretty clear to me that you need to.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I’ve been covering for you and I don’t know how much longer I can do that.”

“Covering for me?” The way her eyebrows jumped up her forehead told Sage she was in total denial.

“Yeah. Be honest with me: how many days have you checked the drums completely drunk?”

“I’m functioning fine.”

“Are you? Are you really? Sippi said you were arguing with him and Jonesy yesterday about something.”

“Yeah. And did they happen to mention they were mansplaining shit to me?”

“They said they were trying to tell you about an issue they’d had on the stage earlier that they were trying to help you avoid.”

“Whatever. They were being total dicks.”

“Fine. I can ask them to not be dicks—but do you think maybe you were taking shit wrong because you were drunk?”

“Look,” she said, going from irritated to angry in a heartbeat, “my drinking doesn’t have anything to do with how I take stuff. In fact, I’d argue that it helps me take things way better.”

“I don’t think so, baby.”

“I fuckingknowso!” she said, standing, each word getting closer to a scream. “My insides are flayed right now, exposed to the sunlight, and I’m trying to cauterize the wounds. And it’s not working!”

Tears began streaming down her face—and Sage knew he wasn’t getting anywhere right now. He’d have to talk to her when she was sober. But he didn’t know when that would be again.

At the moment, though, he was just making things worse. And he didn’t want her to close herself off more than she had been.

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