Page 83 of Touchdown, Tennessee
“And I distract you anyway.”
He had me pinned with his gaze.
“Listen. I thought you might need my help here at the bar tonight. If you don’t, then I’m leaving.”
“But if you stay, I’ll give you something.”
“Something for the article?”
His expression softened, almost into sadness.
“Not for the article. Fuck, Gilman, you think it’s all just about that? There’s a whole lot of other things I want to give you.”
“You’re drunk.”
“Yes. And I want to ask you out on a date.”
The walls in me weren’t being built with bricks anymore.
The moment I heard him say that, the walls turned to iron.
With spikes.
And giant fucking padlocks on the gates.
Heat crept up on the back of my neck.
I turned away, reaching for the pool table and pushing at the balls with my hand.
“Quit messing with the billiards. I was still playing that game,” he said.
“No you weren’t. You were too busy saying stupid shit.”
“It’s the truth.”
“We aren’t going to date, Peachel.”
“Give me one good reason why not.”
Anger ripped through me, but I pushed it down.
Back under the walls.
Showing no emotion.
For once, it was strange that him being drunkwasn’twhat was upsetting me.
The weird thing about Peachel was that I didn’t get bad vibes from him when he was drunk.
After growing up in bad situations with my mom, drunk people usually stuck in my side like an infected thorn.
Drunk people were loud. Demanding. Incoherent.
Being drunk brought out people’s most repressed traits, but Peachel?
When he was drunk, he only got more affectionate.
He got a little looser.
