Page 97 of Dear #47, You're the Worst
The thought shouldn’t thrill me as much as it does.
Ivy appears at my elbow with a tray of shots. “Courtesy of Etienne,” she announces. “He says they’re called ‘Havoc Bombs’ and I’m not allowed to ask what’s in them.”
I take one of the small glasses, which contains something blue and ominous-looking. “This seems like a terrible idea.”
“The best kind,” Wren agrees, grabbing her own shot.
We count down from three and throw them back in unison. The liquid burns going down, but there’s a sweet aftertaste that hits immediately. Whatever’s in these things, it’s strong and fast-acting.
I feel the buzz almost instantly, that warm, loose feeling spreading through my limbs. The room gets a little softer around the edges, and conversation flows more easily. I laugh and have another shot. What the hell, my week was dreadful enough to have earned it.
Hunter steps up beside me. “Are you ready to go?”
I blink because I have been staring at his mouth. “Sorry. Did you say something?”
His brows lift. “Yeah. Twice.”
“Oh. Right. I was… distracted.”
“By what?”
I glance away before he can read too much on my face. “Nothing important.”
He leans closer, his voice low in my ear. “I said I’m beat. Do you mind if we head out?”
I should say no. If I were being proper, I would stay out with my friends and maintain some distance. But I want to go home with him. I want to sit on our couch and talk about nothing important and pretend this is real.
“Yeah, okay.” I turn to say goodbye to the girls. Ivy slides me a little smile that says she knows exactly why I’m leaving early.
“Have fun,” she says with a smirk. I huff, resisting the urge to flip her off.
The walk upstairs is quiet, but it’s a comfortable quiet. Hunter keeps pace with me despite his longer stride. When I stumble slightly as we get in the elevator, his hand automatically goes to my lower back to steady me.
He doesn’t move it right away either.
“Thanks,” I murmur. I am all too aware of the warmth of his palm through my shirt.
“Always.”
Upstairs, he heads straight for the kitchen and returns with two glasses of water. “Drink,” he orders, handing me one.
The way his mouth quirks when I roll my eyes… it’s not his usual scowl. It’s softer. I think that maybe he saves those rare smiles just for me.
“I’m not that drunk,” I say, smiling up at him. The edge of my vision is fuzzy.
“Humor me.”
I drink the water mostly because I like when he takes care of me, even in small ways. It’s not something I’m used to. Patrick never paid attention to things like whether I was hydrated or eating enough or too tired to make the best decisions.
Hunter settles on the couch, patting the cushion beside him. “Come here.”
I should go to my room. Should maintain the boundaries we’ve somehow kept mostly intact for the past few weeks. Instead, I curl up next to him, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating from his body.
“Thanks for coming tonight,” I say. “I know team bonding isn’t really your thing when you’re tired.”
“It’s fine. I came because you were there.”
The honesty in his voice catches me off guard. “What?”
