Chapter Ten #2
Alcohol warms my limbs, my body easing into a relaxed state which is unaffected by the tension in the room.
Perhaps the tension has washed away entirely, along with the sensations in my fingers.
The cards slip and tumble across the table, an unladylike snort escaping me.
It’s even worse to hear it reflected back through my phone’s mic, like something that belongs in a farmyard.
Rhys comes to my rescue, collecting and taking ownership of them.
I’m not even playing anymore, simply watching cards being passed back and forth, truths coming out much easier now.
“I hate that you joined the basketball team,” Clay glares at Rhys over my head, trapping me between them.
I hiccup and slide further down until my head leans against the chair.
“You couldn’t let me have one thing, one outlet without you stepping in to ruin it.
And for that alone, I’m going to beat you beyond repair one day.
I’m going to break all of your bones and bruise your flesh so bad, not even your tattoos will be recognizable. ”
Woah, some of us are angry drunks. My eyes widen, not sure of where to look. But when my eyes do stray to Rhys’s face, I find him biting his lip ring and rubbing his dick through his jeans.
“Keep going, Big Boy. All this fighting-talk is making me super hard.” That snort comes from me again and I cover my mouth with my hand.
I really need to stop doing that. The game is forgotten at this point, both Rhys and I too far gone to care while Clay remains sitting ramrod straight.
I sigh, wondering what it would take to remove the burdens he carries.
To help cut him loose, even if just for a little while.
Reaching out a hand, I place it on Clay’s forearm to offer up a truth for free.
“I’ve missed you,” I admit in barely more than a whisper.
He doesn’t respond, but something flickers in his pitch black eyes.
A flash of light so brief, I might be able to convince myself I made it up.
It’s a pretty little dream though, to think my Clay is still in there somewhere. If he was ever mine to start with.
Rhys takes a coin from his pocket, gaining both of our attention to watch him flip it high in the air.
He reckons he can flip a heads every time, some party trick apparently.
I smile lazily, wrapped in the warm, clumsy blanket of inebriation.
The coin spirals through the air, taking my gaze on a journey I can’t quite keep up with.
Each time Rhys flicks it high, his catch becomes less effective until I’m sure he’s seeing double. I know I am.
“You’re both so…stupid,” I murmur to myself.
The conversation I intended to have out loud continues in my head.
A string of moans about all of the energy they waste on hating each other when they could aim it literally anywhere else.
Like starting a magic act with Rhys’ impressive coin trick.
Several scenarios pass over my glazed eyes, most with Rhys in a smart jacket and wand, Clay dressed as a white rabbit complete with tall, fluffy ears.
Laughter is bubbling from me in a constant stream as the door opens at our backs.
“Master Waversea. You have a phone call,” the security guard raises a cell phone in our direction.
“It’s your father. Your tab has been cut off for the night.
” Rhys’ eyes blow wide, the pin being pulled from his grenade.
I stand too quickly, a rush of dizziness threatening to take my heels out from beneath me, but I manage to place a hand on Rhys’ heaving chest before he lifts the phone to his ear.
“Don’t lose your temper. Just listen to what he has to say, and we can continue this back in your room.
” I force a weak smile, lifting my rosé bottle.
It might not have been a perfect night, but this is the first time Rhys and Clay have willingly been in a room together.
I want it to last just a little longer. Except Rhys can’t resist showing off when he has the upper hand.
“Our room,” Rhys grabs my ass and hauls me into him, his cocky glare antagonizing Clayton. A sweep of cold air hits my back as Clay exits, the reprieve we’d found thoroughly broken. I rush after him, shoving the bottle into the security guard’s hand as I pass.
I’m by no means graceful as I follow Clay’s large frame through the casino, oblivious to the shrill of slot machines and amused patrons around me.
My phone is back on the poker table, overhearing trickles of Rhys’ conversation with his father.
The disjointed sound is jarring against my surroundings, closely pressed bodies trying to prevent me from passing.
I’m not as wide and forceful as Clayton, carving a path through the lobby.
Pushing against a robust gold handle, I step out into the night, a crescent moon hanging overhead in the midnight sky.
Clay pauses when he notices I’ve burst into the street, my dress doing little to bar me from the icy chill.
I shiver, longing to step into Clay’s arms. Aching to earn his trust back so he doesn’t feel like a stranger once again.
Jerking his chin to indicate I should go back inside, Clay begins to walk away, and I storm after him.
“That’s it?!” I call, unaware of how loud I’m speaking.
“After all of the ground we’ve covered tonight, you’re going to walk away?
” He turns slowly, his features falling into shadow.
The unevenness of his blond waves are unnatural to me, peeling away from the gel he tried to smooth it down with.
Clay visually searches for my phone or a mini microphone, and when he comes up empty, he pulls his own from his pocket.
‘What do you want from me?’ Clay types on his notes and turns the screen to face me. I wince at the sudden bright light, my head starting to throb. I step closer, lowering his phone from view. My heels put me at a six-inch advantage, but Clay still towers over me.
“I’m trying to be patient, Clay. I know you’ve been hurt, but I had no part in it. I just want…I want…” Clay’s head tilts, his face illuminated from the casino’s light leaking through the glass door.
“What?” he mouths.
“You.” Closing the rest of the gap, I press my body against his.
Bolstered by too much rosé and too little food, my mouth lands on his.
He tries to resist, to step away on instinct, but I won’t let him.
We’re too far adrift for words to pull us back to shore.
He needs to taste my apology, to feel my need for him to stay close.
The savior I never asked for, but can no longer be without.
Finally, after an eternity of awkwardness, Clay’s lips respond to mine.
My hands fist his shirt, our mouths uniting in a heated struggle to portray emotion.
Unlike the raw power Rhys’ kisses provide, Clay’s lips are soft and tender.
He doesn’t rush, he savors. He doesn’t fight for control, but willingly lets me have it.
I slip my tongue into his mouth, urging his to dance with mine.
Butterflies fill my stomach as his large hands take residence on my nape and lower back.
His muscles squeeze around me like a cocoon of safety.
My fuzzy mind runs away with me, tapdancing on cloud nine somewhere in the distance, but words echo within my damaged ears. This feels like home. This is home. Safe, reliable home.
All too soon, Clayton pulls away, although not far enough to release me.
I rest my head against his shoulder, breathing in the woodsy scent I had begun to forget, despite how hard I tried to cling onto it.
His stubble scratches my temple as we stand rooted in place, as if the moment we break apart, everything will be shattered again.
“Please come back to Waversea.” I beg, winding my arms around his waist, talking into his chest. “Not for me. Do it for yourself. You started something, you have to see it through. Jeremy wanted this for you.” I know the moment I’ve gone too far when Clay’s chest tenses, his arms going stiff.
Dammit. Clamping my lips shut, we remain still for at least another full minute, not ready to let go.
At least, I know I’m not. As soon as I step away, I have the distinct feeling I may never see Clay again.
There’s only so many times I can lose him, lose the hope of what we could have been.
His hand trails the length of my sleeve, running a smooth path to my wrist. This is it.
This is where he pries me away and leaves me standing in the street.
I want to be strong enough to accept the inevitable, to hold my head high and say, ‘his loss’.
But instead, I cling tighter to his body.
Gently curling his hand around my jaw, Clay forces me to look upwards, his mouth right in front of my eyes.
“I’ll think about it.”