Page 59 of Things I Wish I Said
“Uh, what do you think you’re doing?” I ask, circling my fingers around her wrist.
“Drinking our beer.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Aw, come on, man!” Cameron shouts across from us. “Let the poor girl have a drink and stop being such a fucking buzzkill.”
I jerk my head toward him, jaw clenched. “Stay out of it,” I snap, but he just rolls his eyes and laughs.
“We have to drink it, Grayson, or we lose,” Ry says like it’s the worst thing in the world.
“So? We’ll fucking forfeit, then.”
“Hell no!” She chokes out. “Give me that.” She grips the beer, wrenching her hand back as some of it sloshes over the rim of the cup and onto her arm. With a smile, she drops her head and licks it off, her tongue sliding over her skin, causing my blood to heat, before she brings the cup to her lips and tips it back. And I’m standing here, too fucking turned on to stop her.
With a grimace, she slams it back on the table while Cameron and Trent cheer, and I work on controlling my breathing.
“One down, one to go.”
“Do not,” I warn as she picks up the second cup. “I swear to God, Ry . . .” I grab her arm, and her gaze dips to my hand. She licks her lips, sending my pulse skittering.
Angry, defiant Ry might be the sexiest fucking thing I’ve ever seen.
“Remember what happened the last time you did that?” she taunts. Clearly, she noticed how affected I was by her little arm-licking trick moments before.
I drop my hand like it’s on fire, which elicits a throaty laugh from her.
“This isn’t good for you,” I hiss so no one else can hear.
Hell, this isn’t good for me!my head warns.
“I’ve been doing every single thing everyone tells me is good for me for the last six months, down to the right kind of food to eat and nontoxic beauty products to use, yet they shoot poison in my veins and call it good for me. Explain how that makes sense.”
When I can’t, she sighs.
“I’m tired,” she says, and I can see it, the weariness in her expression, the shadows beneath her eyes masked by her makeup.
Her earlier words come back to me . . .“I’m tired of being the sick girl.”
“Fine.” I groan, hate that I’m giving in. “But not enough to get shitfaced, you hear me?”
“Okay, Dad,” she teases, and I roll my eyes as she drinks the beer down, then slams the cup on the table while my friends cheer.
Somehow, by the skin of our teeth, we get through the rest of the game with her only drinking one more cup of beer, but when we get to the third game, something shifts. Maybe it’s myfrustration at being unable to control the situation—control her—or maybe she’s starting to feel a little buzzed, but we start losing. Bad.
We barely manage to sink one cup, while Cameron and Trent make shot after shot.
I watch, biting my tongue as Ryleigh downs four more cups and I mentally count the number of beers she’s had in total, and decide it’s the equivalent of three full beers in short succession. With her size and tolerance, she’s not only buzzing but on her way to being drunk, if she isn’t already.
When Cameron scores another shot, she reaches for the cup, but I knock it out of her hand. “Hey!” she protests as it soaks into the grass. “I need to drink that.”
“Like hell you do. You’re done, Sinclair. Done!” I roar.
“Come on, man. We’re just having a little fun. She’s fine,” Trent says, waving a hand in her direction.
“Yeah. At least let her finish the game,” Cameron calls out.
“I am finishing the game,” Ryleigh insists, crossing her arms over her chest in a move of defiance that pushes her tits up.
