Page 19 of Scattered Glitter

I must have zoned out because, before I know it, she’s applying something to my lip that burns like hell, making me jerk back instinctively.

“Oh, come on,” she teases, a playful glint in her eyes asshe tilts her head to the side. “Tough guy can pummel someone into the floor but can’t handle a little antiseptic?”

Despite the sting in my lip, I grin, feeling the heat from where she dabbed the ointment. “Hey, I was trying to impress you with my bravery. But if you keep torturing me like this, I might actually start crying.”

She laughs, her breath brushing against my skin. “Guess I’ll have to be gentle, then.”

I tense when I catch a whiff of her scent, sweet as a fucking candy store, and my mouth waters. “Not too gentle, though.”

Our eyes lock again for a long moment, and I’m about to say fuck it and kiss her when she breaks the spell and sets the ointment down on the edge of the sink, her fingers lingering there for a moment as if lost in thought. Then, with a determined look, she reaches for my right hand, cradling it in hers while her thumb glides over each bump and scrape.

“We should put some ice on these,” she murmurs, concerned. Her gaze flickers to mine again, and there’s a softness that makes my heart beat faster.

I turn our hands so hers is on top, noticing her knuckles are red and swollen. “If anything, we should iceyourknuckles,” I suggest and link our fingers together.

She exhales deeply, her shoulders relaxing a bit, making her look even more exhausted. “All this shit has sobered me up.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry to have killed your vibe,” I tease, chuckling. “Want me to go out and grab a bottle, or do you have something here?” I watch her carefully, noting how her eyes light up at the mention of a drink.

Interesting.

“I have whiskey. Are you going to join me for a glass?” she asks with a hint of vulnerability.

And that brief glimpse is all it takes for me to reconsider my eight years of sobriety from alcohol for a fleeting moment. “I don’t drink. I’m sorry.”

“A bartender that doesn’t drink?”

“Correction. I don’t drinkanymore,” I clarify, and she nods like she gets it.

But she couldn’t understand. I don’t think she could even grasp how much darker my thoughts always got when I was drunk and looking for a fight.

There’s a flicker of something in her eyes as if she wants to press further, but she stops herself. “Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it.” I give her a reassuring smile. “Like you said, I’m a bartender. I can definitely watch you get wasted. It’s kind of my job.”

“Yeah, but you’re off duty now,” she counters, a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.

I should probably tell her I can leave to give her space to unwind. Except,fuck, I can’t. Not when I finally have her all to myself.

“I have a counteroffer.” I reach into my back pocket and pull out a metal case, flipping it open to reveal a neatly rolled blunt. “You down?”

“God, yes,” she breathes out, her smile widening.

We step out of the bathroom and onto her balcony, and I pull the blunt from the case, placing it between my lips. I reach for my lighter, but before I can flick it, Sparkle produces a small, shiny metal case from nowhere. She strikes a match with a quick flick and leans in to light it for me. The flame dances between us, casting a warm glow on her face, and I raise an eyebrow.

Who the hell uses a matchbox?

We both take a few drags, and I watch as her whole posture loosens as she leans back against the balcony railing.

“So, you living alone here?” I ask, exhaling a cloud of smoke and passing the blunt back to her.

“Soon,” she replies, shrugging casually and taking a long drag. Then she blows out a thick stream of smoke that drifts lazily into the night. “Oh, wait, if you count the stray cat that comes and goes as she pleases, I guess I have a roommate.”

I glance over the balcony’s edge, peering into the darkness below, and then back at her, a skeptical look on my face. “You’re on the second floor. How does a cat get up here?”

“I have no fucking clue.” She chuckles, the sound bubbling up and spilling out, growing louder until it bursts into a full, unrestrained laugh.

I laugh with her but decide it’s probably better to hog the joint for a while. The way her laughter spills out, too loose, too unguarded, tells me she’s had enough. I don’t want her out of it completely. Not tonight. Not when it’s the first time I have her to myself. I want her real thoughts and reactions. Not just the haze she hides behind.

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