Page 180 of The Long Way Home

Magnolia looks over at him, eyes gone soft around the edges again.

“Oh.” She nods. “Because you’re saying the ratio of alcohol to mixer is disproportionate? How witty.”

She gives him a tight smile.

I watch their exchange, and don’t even really mean to do it, it just happens — I lean over, grab her glass, ignore all the eyes that are on me and take a mouthful of my ex-girlfriend’s drink.

Cough a tiny bit.

Fuck.

I thought Jo was probably being a bit of a dick, but it’s pretty much straight.

Parks is watching me. Watches me take a drink. Watches me react to it even though I don’t say a word. Neither does she.

She reaches across the table, takes the glass from my hand — our fingers touch just a beat longer than they should — and then she takes a long drink, not breaking eye contact with me once.

And I know what she’s saying without her saying it. Doesn’t need to speak to be heard, she’s saying it loud enough: This is your fault.

That’s what her eyes tell me as she sinks it in one go and then flags down the server.

“Another, please.”

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