32. 32
Whiskey Glasses - Morgan Wallen
“ A lright, someone needs to cut Harrison off before he orders another round of J?gerbombs and starts quoting Fast & Furious .”
Bradley doesn’t even look up. He’s too busy stirring his gin and tonic, shaking his head with a smile.
“He already did,” Xavier mutters. “We’re officially in the Dom Toretto era of the night.”
Across the booth, Harrison slams his empty glass down with dramatic flair. “You don’t understand, mate. It’s not just about cars. It’s about family .”
Sebastian Daniels snorts beside me. “God help us all.”
He’s one of Bradley’s workmates, an officer from Wattle Creek Police Station.
We’ve met a few times over the years. He’s a decent guy.
Smart mouth. He’s the kind of bloke who notices everything but doesn’t bother saying half of it unless it’s funny.
He reminds me a lot of my brother. There are a few other uniforms here, too.
I gotta admit, being surrounded by fifty thousand cops? Yeah, I feel real safe.
I’m joking. There are only four of them. But still.
Sebastian takes a sip of his beer, shaking his head. “I swear, if I don’t find a better babysitter—or hell, a live-in nanny—I’m screwed. Between shifts and overtime, I’m one bad week away from screwing up this whole single dad thing.”
My brother suggestion comes instantly. “You should ask Olivia. Isn’t she in and out of jobs? Might be good for her.”
Bradley straightens, flicking a glare towards Harrison. “Find someone else.”
Sebastian blinks. “So, is that a no?”
“Absolutely , ” Bradley mutters, turning back to his drink.
I smirk at their exchange. This was supposed to be Bradley’s bucks night. Except it’s not. The wedding’s still months away, but Harrison said we “needed a reason” to get out. Apparently, this was it. Some weird, pre-bucks trial run.
Not that there are many options in Wattle Creek to begin with.
We started at The Loose Lasso, which, in true small-town fashion, is equal parts pub and retirement club. After Harrison got into a debate about pool rules with some sixty-year-old named Mick, we stumbled down to The Rusty Pint, the only other bar in town, if you could even call it that.
Shortly after, someone called an Uber, which is how we ended up here, at a place called Vinette, a rooftop bar in Clifftop Haven with overpriced cocktails and staff who look allergic to dust.
Bradley’s nursing his third drink. Xavier’s halfway through telling some story about a goat and a police cruiser. Harrison’s already abandoned us to get another round.
And me?
I’m staring into my scotch, thinking about Zoe.
Thinking about that call. The sound of her wet arousal through the phone, her breath catching when I told her what I’d do to her if we were together.
Those little noises she made—fuck—they’ve been on repeat in my head.
I’ve had three women approach me tonight.
All flirty. All persistent. The last one even touched my arm when she laughed.
Six months ago, I would’ve leaned in. Said something smooth.
Maybe walked out with a number I had no intention of using.
But not tonight.
Not when my head is already full of her voice. Her eyes. Her fucking mouth.
I keep hearing that soft whimper she made when she came apart on my tongue. The way her fingers dug into my shoulders. The taste of her. The way she looked at me after—eyes wide, chest heaving. And now she’s in my bloodstream.
“Mate, what’s with the face?” Sebastian kicks my foot under the table. “You look like someone just told you the V8 Supercars got cancelled.”
“Just thinking.”
“That’s your just thinking face?”
Xavier leans across the table. “You’ve been quiet all night. Not even glancing at the girls. Who is she?”
I glare at him, and he adds, “Better yet, is it someone we know?”
Bradley looks up, too. “Oh, fuck.”
“There’s no one.”
Harrison returns to the booth. “Did I miss something? Are we grilling Michael now?”
Xavier grins. “We’re trying to figure out who’s turned our emotionally dead mate into a reformed man.”
“Bullshit,” Harrison scoffs, collapsing beside me. “Mikey boy doesn’t do feelings.”
He’s not wrong. I don’t.
Well, I didn’t.
But Zoe’s changed something. I don’t know when it happened.
Somewhere between the panic attack and the silence on the back of my bike.
Between her avoiding me and the way she kissed me when she finally stopped fighting it.
She’s a fucking contradiction. Tough as nails, but something in her eyes always looks ready to run.
And yeah, maybe I get that.
I shrug. “I’ve just had other shit on my mind.”
Bradley lifts a brow. “Like what? Spark plugs? Or are we finally admitting you’ve got it bad?”
I brush it off, shifting my weight and looking out over the balcony. “Would you look at that view?”
They groan in unison. The rooftop bar’s perched on a cliffside, overlooking Clifftop Haven’s glittering coastline.
The ocean stretches endlessly, waves catching moonlight in soft silver streaks.
Fairy lights line the glass balustrade, flickering above groups of well-dressed people sipping cocktails and pretending they’re not freezing in this breeze.
A waitress in heels delivers drinks to a table of women with long hair and longer legs. Sebastian spots them immediately. “Alright, lads,” he says, eyes gleaming. “Ten bucks says I can get at least one of them to laugh in under five minutes.”
“You could,” Bradley deadpans, “but it’d be at you, not with you.”
Sebastian raises his glass. “You doubt me too much, Mitchell.”
A laugh rumbles from my chest at the same time my phone buzzes.
Zoe: Isla has forcibly instructed me to tell you to make sure Xavier is on his best behaviour.
Zoe: I don’t know why she can’t just text him that herself.
A grin tugs at my mouth. Of course, she can’t. It gave her an excuse to message me .
Smart move, Isla.
Me: He’s too whipped to misbehave. If he so much as looks in another woman’s direction, he’ll start apologising to the sky.
Zoe: Lol. So, are you… having fun?
Me: Without you? Not a chance.
Zoe: Oh, shut up.
Me: Just being honest, Freckles.
Zoe: Sure. Be safe.
Two words. That’s it. But it’s the first time she’s said anything that sounds like she cares. And shit, it gets to me. Xavier notices my smile and groans. “Jesus. He’s smiling now. We’ve lost him.”
Bradley knocks back the rest of his drink. “Honestly? Good. About bloody time.”
Harrison raises his glass. “To the downfall of Michael Price.”
I roll my eyes and sip my whisky. But the thing is—
They’re not wrong. I don’t want anyone else. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not after the way she looked at me in the dark and let me in—just a little. I’ve had the distractions. The hookups. The distance. Now?
I want her. All of her. And for the first time in a long time… that actually scares the shit out of me. Harrison pushes another shot into my hand, then another. I don’t refuse either. Because this woman has me feeling lighter than I’ve felt in years. Cloud nine.
And climbing.