Page 48 of Without You

“Do the rest,” I hear myself say.

The request is very left field, but he doesn’t even bat an eyelash.

Repeating the motions, I now watch him intently, my eyes never leaving his mouth, or the downward slope of his tongue as it scoops up the salt.

Knowing I’ve been staring for too long, I flick my eyes up to his, and he’s staring right back at me. He’s not looking at me like he’s waiting for an explanation, or like he’s even a little bit surprised. No… he’s looking at me like he’s thinking the exact same thing I am.

He throws down the last shot, and then quickly sucks on the lemon. I don’t wait for an invitation or small talk before I unceremoniously drink my three designated shooters. My head is a mess, and my body is enamored by the idea of Julian’s. The whole concept is foreign to me and the only answer is alcohol.

Lots and lots of alcohol.

Aggressively, I slam the last glass down, and then wipe my hand across my mouth. “I need another three.”

Julian looks around for what I assume to be Ray and then back at me. “Let’s get you water and you can have beer instead of tequila, because if you think I’m the kind of friend that sticks around for vomit, then you’re sorely mistaken.”

Unintentionally his comment is the exact levity I need to stop myself from freaking out. I still need the alcohol, but I can make it through tonight. Despite everything that’s brewing underneath the surface for me, I’m having a good time—we’re having a good time.

We’re getting to know one another in a way I never thought we would; because I never had the desire to know anything about the man, until now.

Okay, I’ll enjoy this, and worry about what it all means tomorrow.

Ray finally returns with two beers and a bottle of water. I raise an eyebrow at Julian. “Trust me, the night’s still young.” He claps me on the back. “When you’ve finished let’s spice this night up a bit and play some pool.”

“I don’t play pool,” I tell him while unscrewing the lid off the plastic bottle.

He looks at me as if I’ve spoken in a foreign language. “What do you mean you don’t play pool?”

“It’s not a big deal.”

“Yes it is, everyone knows how to play pool.”

“Everyone clearly” —I gesture to myself— “can’t play pool.”

“Ray,” Julian calls out obnoxiously. “Ray.”

Rounding the corner, Ray walks toward us with a clear look of concern on his face. “What’s wrong? Why are you screaming?”

“Do you know how to play pool?”

He looks between us. “Are you kidding me right now? You’re screaming like a banshee because you want to know if I can play pool?”

“Well, can you?” Julian asks again.

Rolling his eyes, Ray says, “Of course I can, every respectable person knows how to play pool.”

“Ughh,” I groan, dropping my head into my hands. “I’m losing all my street cred with you two.”

“Who said you had any street cred to begin with?” Julian bites back playfully. “I can’t believe Mr. Big and Broody can’t play pool.”

I feel myself smirk. “So, we’re still stuck on broody?”

“Very much stuck on broody,” he responds, while he runs his gaze up and down my body. I should be concerned by where this is heading, worried by the fallout of all these strange signals—especially for Julian.

He drags his eyes away from me and starts walking toward the pool tables. I settle beside him, matching him step for step.

“Your dad taught Rhett and me,” he casually continues, like he didn’t just look at me like I was his next meal. “So it’s safe to say I assumed he taught you too.”

“Nah,” I say as nonchalantly as possible, the reminder of my past a cold bucket of ice trying to douse any positivity we may have shared. “I didn’t bother. That was you and Rhett’s thing.”

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