Page 12 of Our Darkest Summer
I didn’t.
I could always blame it on the alcohol, couldn’t I? For now, I just wanted this moment to be a problem for tomorrow.
“Would you like to dance?”
Kinsley blinked, and I did too, trying to figure out where the hell the question came from. Most likely from some kind of temporary brain damage.
“We are not on the dance floor.” Her voice was flat, unimpressed, as she pointedly gazed over the empty hallway.
I leaned in, hovering over her. “Even better.”I don’t want to share you.
Fuck.
What the hell was wrong with me tonight? I should have been finding answers, but here I was, cornering the one person I swore to stay away from.
“You hate dancing,” she reminded me, straightening her back and raising her chin higher as if she wanted to remind me of who I was talking to.
But I knew exactly who she was.Sage.
“Not with you.” Her eyes rounded, and even I was surprised. Not by my words, but because I said them out loud. Yet, I couldn’t stop. “Never with you, Sage.”
She broke eye contact.
Was I still on the line of blaming it all on the alcohol I didn’t even drank? At least not nearly as much as I wanted to believe.
“Don’t call me that.” Her voice turned cold, and my jaw clenched.
I was close to crossing that invisible line I drew between the two of us. A small part, the good part, of my brain was shouting at me to stop, but I leaned closer anyway.
“Ahh, but I like it. Such a fitting little name.”
In classic philosophy,Sagewas someone wise, someone with good judgment.
And Kinsley was all that.
Except, right now, her judgment was failing her too, because she wasn’t stopping me, either. Not really. “Stop playing, Thomas.” She gritted the words out, her voice hard, but her lips formed my name in a way that sent blood surging to places it shouldn’t have.
And her eyes—meadows and hot chocolate.
Fuck.
“How much did you have to drink?”
My brows rose. “I would say slightly more than you,” I lied. I had only one whiskey before I came after her. Even that, I shouldn’t have drank, but seeing her dancing…gaslighting myself into being drunk meant I could let go of my responsibilities for a few hours at least. I could do what I really wanted to. But it didn’t mean I would really get myself drunk when I had to look after both her and Connor. “I can smell the vodka on you from here.” I took a deep breath, inhaling her sweet scent, my eyes never leaving hers.
Her cheeks flushed even more. Her being drunk at least ensured that I wouldn’t break my promise. And maybe even that she would forget about this. About me.
Her gaze flickered down my face, barely a fraction of a second, but I saw it. She looked concerned.
“I’m not really drunk if that’s what you’re worried about.”
“Yes, you are. And I’m not worried.” She tried to slip out from under my arm.
“I’m not drunk, Sage.” I blinked away the haze, and reality settled over me, in an instant.
Was this really all it took for me to break what I could carry on for months before? One drink and us being here alone?
“All right,” she bit the inside of her cheek. “I believe you.” Yet her eyes kept analyzing me with suspicion.
