Page 107 of Drive
“Why are you alone?”
“I’m not alone,” I whispered. “I mean, he’s in Chicago.”
“Okay.” Reid’s jaw pulsed. “You’re with that guy?”
“Yes. Nate. We’re together.Now.I didn’t lie to you about that. I’m not like that.”
He slowly nodded. “I know.”
“But you can’t say the same, can you?” I wanted to pull my tongue out. I didn’t know why I was bringing up old hurts. It wasn’t going to fix anything. “Forget I asked,” I said before I brushed past him and damn near hit my knees. That scent of him brought it all back, the smiles he gave to only me, the taste of him, the warmth that only he could give. I was, freezing, aching, and dying for just one burn from his fingertips. I felt my sensibilities start to flee and was grappling for them. And then the panic set in.
“You should go,” I said as I snatched a glass from my cabinet and stuck it under my faucet, putting the counter between us. I was at a safe distance. He watched me as I took a long sip.
“Want some?”
“No thanks.”
“Something stronger, maybe, so, you know, you can call me after you leave here and tell me why you were on my porch in the first place.”
“Because you’re making it so easy to talk to you now?” Another smirk.
“Stop,” I said, my heart inching itself away, trying to make a leap around the corner.
“Stop smiling?”
“Yes. Vodka or whiskey?”
“Neither.”
“Egg-fucking-nog?” I asked, exasperated.
He full on laughed as I wilted inside.
“I’ve missed you,” he whispered, “so fucking much.” He rounded the counter, and I put my hand up.
“Well, awesome, send me a postcard from California.”
Another laugh only made me more furious. Fire burned around my throat and I started to itch. I unzipped my robe, trying to ward off the unbearable heat.
I downed another glass of water and felt the sweat gather on my forehead. Ripping at the robe, I pulled it up and over my head and threw it on the floor, leaving me in boy shorts and a tank top.
“You need to go.”
“Not before I say what I came to say,” he said as he cruised my body, pausing at all of his favorite stops.
“Okay then, we’re drinking.”
“Nothing for me,” he said sternly. I popped the top off the vodka in my freezer, and he batted it out of my hand. The bottle bounced into my sink.
“Don’t drink that,” he snapped.
“Why?”
“Just don’t.”
“Cutting down?”
“Yeah, I am, and you’re a lousy drunk,” he said as he closed the space between us. “I’ve been fucking up a lot, especially when it comes to you.”
