Page 50 of Fool Me Once

“She shouldn’t be here. She should have just stayed with me back at the room, like I offered,” I say to Saylor, frustrated by this entire night.

I know Gemma; being the people pleaser that she is, she plastered on a brave face, buried her feelings down deep, and insisted we come out tonight because she thought Saylor and I actually gave a fuck about it.

“I know,” she agrees. “Trust me, I told her we’d stay in,but she wasn’t having it.” She eyes her best friend over. “Maybe being around people will help.” She looks up at me, raising a brow. “People who aren’t you.”

“Now is not the time for fucking jokes,” I grumble at her. “She needs help. She needs fucking therapy or something. I don’t know. But she can’t just get over the past on her own.”

My sister’s expression falls, and she pats my hand. “I know, trust me. I’ve brought it up to her before, but she isn’t ready. And I don’t want to push it and make her feel like she’s crazy or something. She spent the last few years being told she was the problem and that she was fucked up in the head, and I’m not going to add on to that trauma by pushing her before she’s ready.” She side-eyes Gemma, her shoulders sinking. “You have no idea what horrors that girl has been through. Neither do I—she’s only told me basic things. It’s going to take time, Smith. We have to let her heal on her own schedule.”

“She’s, like … a different person,” I say, and it fucking hurts my throat to even mutter the words.

She smiles sadly, shaking her head. “No, she’s not. She’s still the same Gemma we’ve known most of our lives, I promise. She just needs some help remembering that herself.”

Ryder, who doesn’t typically take the time to read the room before busting in, chooses this moment to step in, throwing his arm around me.

“You’re finally here,” he drawls, clearly drunk. “Oh, hey, Sail-On. Happy to see me?”

“No,” my sister snarls. “We were having an important conversation. Take your dumbass somewhere else.”

I’m so fucking confused from this encounter, but before I can even think or give a shit about it, I catch Gemma taking shots at the bar. She tips one up to her lips and throws it back before smashing the glass down onto the bar and moving on to another one. When I see a third shot getting pushed her way, I rush toward her.

Less than an hour ago, she looked like she had a panic attack in the room. Now, she’s getting hammered.

I get to the seat next to hers just as she brings the third shot of clear liquid to her lips. She gives me a questioning look, raising an eyebrow.

As her plump lips wait anxiously for the next shot, I can’t stop myself from remembering how good those same lips used to feel while wrappedaround my cock. My dick twitches, and I know I’ll be fucking my hand to thoughts of her when we get back to our room.

“Can I help you?” she says, bringing the glass a few inches lower. “Do you want one?”

I lean closer to her ear, breathing in her sweet scent. “You’re masking your shit, Gem. It’s not going to work,” I mutter. “You can’t drown out the past by getting fucked up.”

“I’m not,” she snaps, pulling away from me. Bringing the shot glass to her lips, she keeps her eyes on me as she tips it back and lets the liquid slide down her throat.

I have a job to do right now, and that’s to protect her. And yet, with the image of her throat working to swallow down the liquor and her eyes glaring into mine, my cock is taking up all my blood flow, making it hard for me to even think rationally.

She slams the glass down onto the wooden bar, but as she raises her hand for another, I take her hand in mine, lacing our fingers together.

“There are photographers everywhere, Firefly. Better play the part,” I murmur, leaning a little closer to her. “There’s one behind you right now.”

She seems a little nervous suddenly, but it’s also clear the alcohol is going to her brain quickly because her face is getting redder by the second and her balance seems off.

“Kiss me,” I utter, wanting to kiss this girl before she’s so drunk that she needs to be tucked into a bed—alone. “Give the tabloids something to talk about. Maybe that fuckstick ex will realize you’re never coming home.” My eyes float to her lips as they part slightly.

“Are you doing it for the tabloids or because you just want to kiss me, Sawyer?”

“Maybe both,” I say honestly, catching her off guard.

“We shouldn’t,” she whispers. “That’d be taking it too far.”

“So? Do it anyway,” I dare her, lifting my eyes back to hers.

I don’t know if it’s the shots or fear that our plan won’t work or if she’s as hungry for me as I am for her, but when her lips land on mine, my entire fucking body feels like it’s on fire. Within seconds, I’m cupping her cheeks, bringing her face closer to mine.

A soft moan escapes her throat, and even though it’s probably too far, I slip the tip of my tongue into her mouth, earning me another moan.

Suddenly, she pulls away from me. “Too far.” She readjusts herself in her seat, sitting up straighter. “That’s … too far.”

It’s too far because she fucking enjoyed it that much, I know, but I don’t call her out. Instead, I slide my hand onto her knee and kiss her forehead.

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