Page 95 of The Last Hope
Zimmer is still grinning.
“What?” I snap.
Stork is not making a move up off the ground.
“Should I come back later?” he asks, his gaze pinging from me to Stork and then back to me. “So you two can finish properly.”
My nose flares. “There is nothing to finish. I fell off the hoverboard.” Announcing my failure to ride it seems better than declaring some sort of affection toward Stork. We weren’t aboutto declare any love. We weren’t about to kiss. Nothing was happening. And that wart doesnotneed to think that I like him in any way, shape, or sensual fykking form.
And I don’t.
I don’t.
“If you say so.” Zimmer steps farther into the barracks, and he shares aknowinglook with Stork. After all the nights Zimmer and I have spent in Stork’s barracks, I’ve noticed Zimmer’s and Stork’s carefree demeanors seem to mesh well and they rarely, if ever, butt heads like I butt heads with them.
But they’re not the same. The deceased admirals strapped too many responsibilities onto Stork, and in life, Zimmer carries close to none.
And if Zimmer hadn’t come into the room,nothingwould have happened between Stork and me. I’m sure of that.
My stomach keeps clenching like I’m lying.I’m not lying.
Stork climbs to his feet and abandons the hoverboard on the ground. He walks through puddles from my hair like nothing is amiss, and his sandals track wet footprints on the mosaic tile. “Besidesfallingoff the hoverboard, did you enjoy the ride?”
Yes.The answer sits on my tongue. I know I’ll be thinking back to more than just the feeling of flying through the air. I did, very much, enjoy being pressed up against him. But those words will never leave my lips.
Stork unlatches the cabinet next to the one Zimmer leans casually against.
In my silence, both boys look to me for an answer.
I shrug, unable to give Stork the satisfaction of a proper response, and then I plop on the edge of the bed.
Stork lifts his brows at me. “Cat got your tongue?” He uncorks an opaque black bottle and swigs.
I scowl. “I don’t know what that means.”
He ponders for half a second. “You’re being unusually quiet.”
“I didn’t enjoy the ride,” I say bluntly. My stomach betrays me and twists, but only two boys can feel the lie and it’s not theones I face. “And a million cats must’veeatenyour tongue because you’re quiet on just about everything.” I shoot to my feet and approach him.
I’m not afraid of you.
I hold his enthralled gaze, and I snatch the bottle out of his hands.
He lets me. “It’s strong whiskey.”
“For every sip you take, I take,” I tell him, because a sloshed Stork hasn’t been forthcoming this whole month, so maybe a sober Stork will be.
He tilts his head. “I’ll drink you under the table.”
“Then drink less.”
Stork laughs hard, like I’m jesting.
“I’m serious,” I snap.
“I know, that’s why it’s funny.” He flashes a cocky smile. “You’re not much of a gambler if you’re telling me to lose.”
Ignoring that, I swig from the bottle, the sharp liquor scalding my throat on its vicious descent. I cough a little bit but choke down the whiskey.
