Page 66 of Wicked Little Game
“You know, you could have proper matching jewelry with me, Sam,” I say, shaking my wrist with the two bracelets in front of his face. “No need to cut off your blood circulationwith that thing.”
I struggle to get it over his huge hands and just when I think about cutting it off, I succeed.
“Don’t start with the goddamn bracelets again.”
He sighs and nudges my foot with his before taking another big sip.
“I won’t. Like how they look on me anyway.” I try to yank the bottle out of his hand, but he’s quick to hold it out of my reach.
I don’t feel the alcohol at all, I think as I try to get up.
“Where are you going?”
“I want a snack,” I say as I walk towards the door. As soon as I reach the stairs, I realize I do in fact feel the alcohol.
“Careful,” he yells back out to me and I make it down to the kitchen and back up with no accidents.
“Vitamins, thank God,” Samuel says when he sees me coming back with a bowl of grapes, snatching it away from me while I try to climb back into the bed.
The bottle is less full than I remember it, and it’s obvious that he’s handling his liquor way better than I do.
He throws a grape up and catches it with his mouth and in my drunken eagerness, I’m sure that I can do the same. My hand-mouth coordination is unfortunately nothing more than a joke, so instead of catching the grape with my mouth, it lands on my forehead before it tumbles down into my cleavage.
Not my desired result, but it could have been worse.
Samuel laughs next to me, holding a grape in front of my mouth. “Here, dipshit. With your track record, you shouldn’t try that again. Wouldn’t want you to choke on a goddamn grape.”
“You know what else I could choke on?”
“Shh,” he snorts, shoving more grapes my way.
Soon, the bowl is empty, and we get back to drinking.
I’m pretty sure some poet said that the best ideas comewhen drunk, so when Samuel dozes off next to me and I finish ordering a few new dresses on my phone, a marvelous one hits me.
Carefully, I adjust his arm so that it looks like he has me in a headlock, his massive biceps right in front of my face. Biteable, but I try hard to hold myself back. I am sure that I’m taking the best pictures ever, twisting and turning his arm while I try to get the perfect angle.
“You monster,” he groans as he wakes up. “Taking advantage of a defenseless person, that's like, a criminal offense in at least ten states.”
“Just wanted some pictures,” I chuckle, nuzzling against his arm.
“Then at least do it properly.”
He grabs me with ease, pulling me onto his lap. Barely awake and still stronger than any man I’ve ever met.
His lips brush against mine while I try to take pictures that are definitely going to be blurry, and we probably won’t even be on them with the way I’m holding my phone.
I don’t know if it’s the whiskey, the whole day we spent together, or the way he’s holding me, but I can’t swallow the lump in my throat.
“Please don’t leave,” I whisper against his lips. “I need you too much.”
He lets go of me, shoving me slightly back so that he can look at me.
“You’re just drunk.”
I shake my head, but he grabs my face and forces me to nod.
“Don’t be a sappy drunk or you’ll get a one-way ticket back to your own room,” he says before he pulls me closer, his head resting on top of mine. I grumble, and every time I try to speak up, he presses me closer to his chest to muffle my voice.
