Chapter 10 #2
“That’s what friends do, don’t they?” His leg brushes up against mine, and again my brain sends a signal to my lower half to move. I don’t.
“It’s nothing interesting. It’s actually really stupid.” I spin my bottle on the tabletop, scowling a little at the reminder.
“I’m all ears. You have me all night, for as long as you want.”
I’ve never smiled this big. What is he doing to me?
I sit back, finally adding space between us. “Don’t feel bad for me, okay?”
He raises his right hand. “No pity. Got it.”
Huffing a breath, I rehash my family drama.
“My parents have always wanted me to be a lawyer, and for a while I wanted that too. But I’ve also always liked cooking and baking, but I never really thought anything of it.
Mainly because my parents said it was a stupid dream.
That it would lead to an ‘unreliable job.’” I hold my hands up to make air quotes, using the break to consider my next words.
“I listened because they immigrated to this country for a better life and wanted my sister and me to have that, too. Who was I to argue with that? But…I don’t know…
somewhere along the way, I found a bigger love for food and started coming up with my own recipes.
Anyway, after a lot of back-and-forth, I decided to scratch becoming a lawyer and attempt culinary school.
I spoke to my parents, hoping they’d hear me out, but they didn’t.
They said they weren’t going to watch me throw my life away.
So, I had to pick between law or culinary.
I picked the latter and now they’ve cut me off. ”
I take a pull of my beer, relishing the bitter tang over the taste of the words that left my mouth.
A muscle on his jaw works, but he says nothing.
“Hey.” I wave my hand in front of his face. “No feeling bad for me. I knew what would happen. It is what it is.”
My stomach sinks at the thought that this will be my first Christmas without them. I could still go see my other family members, but it’d be weird, and I don’t want to ruin the holidays for everyone else.
Sylas looks like he wants to speak, but he just blinks and offers me a lopsided grin. A worker comes by and sets a large pitcher on the table with two cups.
We finish off our bottles, and he picks up the pitcher, filling the cups almost to the brim.
“What’s in this?” I peer at the red liquid then inhale. My brows arch at the strong scent of tequila.
“I don’t know. It’s called a ‘Christmas Miracle.’”
I snort and clink my glass against his. “Cheers to that.”
His face brightens, and right as he’s about to take a sip, he pulls his glass away. “And for parental issues. I love that for us.”
I take a small sip and recoil, squeezing my eyes shut as the liquid burns and settles in my stomach. “Holy shit.”
His eyes flutter, shoulders going taut. “Jesus, someone’s heavy-handed.” Despite that, he still proceeds to take another long drink.
“It’s your turn to share your parental issues with me.” I laugh a little, taking small sips of my drink until I’m able to tolerate it.
He slouches back and drags his fingers through his hair.
“Don’t tell me you’re regretting it? Come on.” I poke his side, in awe of how hard it is. “I told you. Now you have to tell me.”
“It’s really nothing.”
I give him a deadpan look. “I’m not going to judge.” I poke him again. Wow, he’s firm all over. “It must be bad if you had to lie to them and tell them I’m your girlfriend.”
Sylas goes stiff then exhales a ragged breath. “I’m sorry about that.” He takes a drink, followed by another. “My parents are…domineering.” He drags his tongue along his teeth. “The girl I told you about, at the auction…”
“The blonde?”
He nods. “Florence. They really want us to happen.”
“Is this a keeping-it-in-the-circle kind of thing?” I say to lighten the mood.
His lips jerk up a smidge. “Something like that.”
“The whole we hate you look makes sense now,” I quip.
“I’m sorry. Again. They’re—”
I wave a hand. “It’s okay. I’m not offended. I work at Clover’s”—it’s the kind of expensive, by-reservation-only restaurant celebrities dine at—“and I’m a housekeeper. I’ve seen and heard it all. I’m really fine, but are you okay?”
He looked like he was struggling for air, like he was close to a panic attack. I hated knowing he was feeling that way and his parents were to blame.
I would know; my parents bring out the worst in me.
“Oh me? Yeah, I’m good.” He grins, all boyish and ambivalent. “They stress me out a bit, but I’m used to it. I was mostly worked up because, you know, I’m not smoking anymore, so the change is different.”
While I believe the nicotine withdrawal might’ve been the reason behind the way he acted, I know it’s not the sole reason.
“I’m sorry.” The words are out and my hand is on his forearm before I can stop myself.
“Hey, no pity. Remember?” Sylas pierces me with a look. He’s trying to make himself look serious, but he just looks adorable and sad. “They’re not terrible. They just care a lot.”
So much that he was anxious? He can’t seriously believe that’s okay.
He must be able to read my thoughts—or I’m sporting the expression he was earlier—because he says, “It’s stupid. Forget I said anything. But thanks for helping me out.”
“It’s not stupid, and don’t worry about it. I won’t even be mad if you tell them you broke up with me.” I muse on that thought for a moment. “You weren’t kidding. Cheers to parental issues.” I clink my glass against his. “Our parents are shit.”
He smiles down at me, and the light reflecting off the disco ball bathes him in a sparkly kaleidoscope of colors. “Cheers to that.”