Page 28 of Stick Handled

The city sprawls beneath us, lights glittering like fallen stars. The bar is sleek and perfectly curated, a space that usually serves for celebrations, not whatever this is—some twisted game I started but can’t seem to stop playing.

Her footsteps are hesitant behind me, the sound barely audible.

I shouldn’t have brought her here. I should have left her at Rowan’s doorstep the second she opened it. Instead, I’m dragging her deeper into this mess. But the way she looks at me, with those wide, green eyes, full of uncertainty and a curiosity that stirs something deep inside me, won’t let me stay away.

I head straight to the bar, grabbing a bottle of whiskey and pouring it into a glass. Without even asking, I make a light fruity cocktail for her. I know she’s not the type to handle much alcohol. She just needs enough to loosen her up and make her feel less tense.

I walk over and hand her the drink, watching her reaction closely. She’s still wearing her sleeping set, but this one is longer, and she’s managed to put a small cream cardigan over it on her way out the door.

Her fingers brush against mine as she takes the glass, innocent but enough to send a spark. She brings the drink to her lips, pausing just before she takes a sip, her eyes darting to mine.

She surprises me when she lowers the glass and asks, “Why did you invite me to drink with you?”

Straight to the point.

“Why not?” My grip tightens around my whiskey glass.

Because I’m a fucking idiot who’s begging for your brother’s boot up my ass.

Her gaze drops for a second before she sits on the outdoor couch and tucks her legs close to her chest, drink still in hand.

“You probably have a thousand better things to do than hang out with me,” she says quietly. “If Rowan asked you to keep an eye on me while he’s out… or I don’t know… babysit me or something, you don’t have to. I can just go back. I won’t tell him.”

What?Her words surprise me, sinking deeper than I’m comfortable with. Babysit?

Is that what she thinks this is?That she’s some kind of burden I’ve been tasked with?

That gnawing feeling twists in my gut. I don’t like that she sees herself that way. I hate it. I’m risking my best friend’s wrath because everything seems worth it if I can just spend a minute in her presence.

But I can’t dive into that mess right now. She’ll deflect if I try to dig too deep, so instead, I slide my smirk into place, keeping it casual.

“How about this,” I say instead. “We’re going to play a drinking game,” I announce, leaning against the bar with a coolness I don’t feel. Her words are still burning in my head.

“A drinking game? Her eyes widen slightly.

“Haven’t you played some in college?” I ask, walking around the bar.

“Not really. I told you, I don’t drink much,” she says as she, ironically, takes another sip.

I take the time to turn on the surround system, soft music instantly enveloping us.

I pour five shots of whiskey for myself and five watered-down vodka ones for her with a small pump of strawberry syrup. I’m not here to get her drunk. Just enough to loosen her up and make her relax a little.

“What are the rules?” she asks warily.

“We ask each other questions,” I explain, my voice dripping with amusement. “If you don’t want to answer, you take a shot. If you do answer, I have to take one. Simple.”

She hesitates but eventually nods, her curiosity piquing despite her reservations.

“Go ahead,” I urge her, walking back to where she’s sitting with a tray of shots. I set them down on the table and take a seat right next to her. I turn on the fire pit and sink back into the cushion. “Ask me anything.”

“What’s your favorite thing to do at home?” she asks me, her fingers wrapped around her glass.

Sex.But I can’t say that without her drifting further away. WhatdoI like to do at home? Besides the fucking, I also… swim, cook, read sometimes, work. Then, it occurred to me that I have no idea.Hadno idea before she came back. Now, my favorite thing is watching her through the window, butthatI most certainly can’t tell her.

“I like to spend time with myself. Whatever it is.” The lie tastes funny on my tongue, and I wash it down with a shot of whiskey.

“But… you answered. You don’t have to drink,” She looks at me, confused.

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