Page 3 of Ward Willing
Barely.
“I’m only fun under certain conditions,” I tell her honestly. Between taking care of everyone, my job, and writing, I don’t have very muchfunthese days.
“Conditions… such as?”
Don’t even think about it. This is dangerous territory, Liam.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I grumble.
“Tell me,” she begs.
Maddening. She isso fuckingmaddening.
“Knowledge is earned.”
She pouts for a second, which makes my lip twitch. Then she reaches out to signal to the bartender, but I grab her wrist, a charged shock passing between us again.
“You’re done for tonight. It’s time for dinner, anyway.” Her mouth drops open as I let go of her hand.
“One more shot,” she pleads, eyes widening.
“No.”
“Please? Come on. It’s your birthday, and we should celebrate.” With one stern look from me, she holds her hands up and walks away. “Okay, fine. You win. But I’ll wear you down soon,” she adds. Something flashes in her expression when she says that, but I ignore it.
After making our way to the adjoining restaurant, my hand on Zoe’s lower back the entire time, we settle in at our table. A tray of shots appears only moments later.
You’ve got to be kidding.
“Well, now you have no choice,” Zoe says slowly from next to me, reaching for two shots.
My nostrils flare as I take the one offered to me, because why the fuck not? You only turn thirty-nine once.
Giving her a dark, pointed look, I quickly take another shot, and she does the same thing.
Testing me.
Every goddamn minute of this trip.
The server comes back with more tequila shots, and against my better judgement, we each do two more.
Fuck.
I manage half a taco before the tequila shots and beers have fully hit me, and I slide into a sort of euphoric, tipsy, relaxed state. Before I can protest, Zoe stands up.
“I’m going to dance.”
My reflexes are more slow than normal, so it takes me a few seconds to react. Before I know it, I see Zoe dancing on the dance floor at the front of the restaurant. And because I’m not thinking clearly, I let my eyes track every one of Zoe’s movements. Tamping down my protectiveness, I stay put, but my eyes follow her. She raises her arms above her head and sways her hips to the music. Her dark red dress is a bit too tight and revealing, with a large slit that runs up her left thigh, and every time she moves, it inches up slightly.
Despite telling myself not to look, I do.
Only for a second.
She’s no longer the gangly teenager hugging her knees to her chest at her parents’ funeral. In place of her braces is a large smile with perfect teeth. In place of her long hair is sleek, shoulder-length, dark brown waves. Where she used to be too thin, she’s filled out. Her eyes have more soul to them now. She’s wiser now, and she doesn’t seem eighteen. There’s life and death and grief behind her amber irises. A weighted knowledge of the complexities of life that no teenager should know yet. Instead of hiding in a shell, like she used to do, she stands with confidence. She knows what she wants. She’s intelligent and responsible—usually—and I’m in awe of her every damn day.
I frown when I see a man approach her, placing his hands on either side of her waist. I expect her to brush him off considering he’s twice her age, but she doesn’t. Instead, she closes her eyes and runs a hand through her hair, her bangs sticking to her forehead from exertion. Kicking off her heels she twists around, wrapping her arms around the stranger’s neck, pressing her body against his as they move to the music together, abdomens seemingly glued together. His hands roam lower, gripping her ass unabashedly, and it only takes one hesitant push of her hand on his chest for me to charge forward.
I stumble over my feet, grimacing when I realize I’mreallyfucking drunk, but it’s more than that; perhaps it’s the combination of the beer and tequila. It takes me a few seconds to stabilize myself, but then I wrap my hand around Zoe’s bare arm and tug her away from the man who won’t stop leering at her.
