Page 69 of Free to Live
“And you were such an angel for your folks, I’m sure?” I reply drolly.
“A paragon. Never a harsh word,” he says just as I take a drink.
Fortunately, I don’t spit at him as Em would. I manage—just barely—to aim for the glass. Joe lifts his own and drowns it down in a single guzzle. “Finish up, I’ll make the next round.”
I shake my head in astonishment. We’ve about crushed the large bottle of Belvedere I pulled from my liquor cabinet earlier between us. Scattered across my counter are also the remains of Genoa’s leftover lasagna, salsa, chips, and a tub of cannoli filling I managed to lift out of the fridge at Amaryllis Events from a cake Cori made the other day. “We’re going to be sick as hell tomorrow,” I declare, tossing back the rest of my drink before placing the empty glass down with a clink. I vaguely hear Joe shaking up more of the briny goodness that has my mind on a comfortable loop where pain can’t intercede. It’s a night where I’m choosing to forget that old wounds and new are causing me to bleed.
Tonight, the only thing coming from my pores is vodka.
Joe’s already filling my glass before I can tell him I’m ready for my next drink. “If I forget to say this…”
“Say what?”
“Thank you.” He reaches over and cups the side of my face. Leaning forward, he presses his forehead against mine. “Later I’ll have to face it, but tonight I couldn’t.”
My hands slide to his wrist. I blink a few times, trying to get him into focus. Why have I never noticed his eyes were this blue before?
“They’ve always been this color,” comes his amused reply.
I frown. “You’re not supposed to be answering my thoughts. Those are private.”
“They’re not private when they come out of your mouth.”
“Oh.” I pout.
“Besides, it’s not like I told you that your hair reminds me of dancing flames or anything embarrassing like that,” he says casually. “That’s when we’d really need to be concerned.”
“True,” I concede. “Except…”
“What?” His eyebrows draw down into that cute V I see all the time now in my dreams. I reach out to touch it.
“You kind of just did,” I whisper.
“Oh.” We’re so close, there’s no way I can’t notice his lashes are a thick fringe. I can see them brush against his cheeks as they dart down. My lips part of their own accord.
“Don’t let this be a mistake,” we both whisper simultaneously. And even though I know it is, I can’t draw my head back to break our physical connection.
Tonight, Joe’s been reminded of his own mortality, lost a team member who was a close friend, and is likely reliving the death of his fiancée. He’s come to me for comfort, not for confusion. Besides which, we still have so much unresolved between us. I have to keep him in the right place.
But when his fingers slide along my jaw and pull me closer to his descending lips, I’m helpless to do anything. Instead, I whisper, “Don’t let this change us.”
Right before his lips brush mine, he murmurs, “It won’t.”
I know it already has.
Then every thought is driven out of my head as he settles his lips more firmly on mine.
His mouth causes my brain to empty in a way the Belvedere couldn’t since I heard the news of the fire. My arms slide from his wrists up to his shoulders to find purchase in a world that’s suddenly upside-down. I dizzily try to remind myself,He’s only your friend. But as our tongues dance along one another, slowly chasing the other, I’m more confused than ever.
We break apart, our breath intermingling with one another, and I’m about to take a step back to give us a moment to regain our bearing when he hauls me against his chest and slams his mouth down on mine.
And I’m lost.
My hands thread themselves into his thick black hair. I can feel one of his tangled in mine, the other banded around my waist to hold me against his body. If I’m feasting against his mouth than he is starving against mine. We’re devouring each other the same way we’ve been consuming alcohol all night.
For Joe, it’s to dull the pain. For me, it’s to calm the fears.
We’re taking back life the only way we can.
