3. Skylar #3
“The way he was with you. You guys had this comfort between you. It seemed so effortless.”
She passes the bottle back to me, and I place it down on the cold floor.
If I have another drink, I might be crawling out of here.
She’s talking about Ashton. I sensed there was some questioning on her part in those early days, but it wasn’t my place to talk about it.
I had hoped he would set the record straight sooner rather than later, but they were both so damned stubborn in the beginning.
“We’ve known each other since we were kids, but it was never like that.
I mean, I thought maybe for a split second it might be, but… ”
“You belonged to someone else,” she finishes for me.
“Yeah.”
It’s just one word, but it’s also an admission I haven’t made out loud since that night.
Say you’re mine.
I’m yours. I’ll always be yours.
Shaking the words from my head, I bring the bottle back to my lips, taking a long pull. I guess one more sip won’t hurt.
Allie and I trade the bottle back and forth a few more times until she starts hiccuping and my eyes grow glassy.
“You know, Julian is single,” she rushes out before another hiccup. “If you’re into the whole tattooed, bad-boy thing,” she adds, looking me up and down. “And I have a sneaking suspicion you might be.”
This isn’t the first time she’s tried to set me up with him. “I’m sure he’s great, but I’m way too busy to date right now.”
“Oh, right. I forgot.”
“What?” I lightly push her shoulder. “I am.”
She looks at me, blue eyes wide behind her black-framed glasses.
“Regret’s funny, isn’t it? Sometimes you can’t feel it until it’s too late, and other times…
you feel it while it’s happening, but can’t seem to stop yourself from doing the one thing you know is going to hurt the person you care about. ”
“What do you—”
She waves me off. “I don’t know. I’m drunk. I should find my husband.”
“Of course. I’m so sorry. This is your wedding celebration. You shouldn’t be in here wallowing with me.”
She scoffs, placing her hand flat on the floor to help push herself up to stand. “Hey. Do not apologize. You looked like you needed a drink. What kind of friend would I be if I didn’t get drunk with you in a refrigerator?”
I force a laugh, attempting to push myself up as well, but instead I slip, and my ass lands on the floor with a thud. Allie offers her hand and hoists me up. The world spins a little, but I right myself, letting her guide me back out into the kitchen.
We giggle as we walk past the confused looks of her staff and back into the dining room. We haven’t even crossed the threshold when Ashton rushes over to us. “Where were you? Is everything okay?” he asks, his worried eyes darting between the two of us.
“All good.” Allie winks at me. “Skylar just needed a little pick-me-up.”
Ashton breathes out, placing his hand against her back and whispering into her ear.
She smirks, throwing me another wink as she walks backward toward the kitchen.
Ashton’s eyes follow her every movement as if they’re tethered by an invisible string, but before he starts to follow her, he looks back at me. “You okay, Sky? I know seeing him—”
“I’m okay,” I cut him off before he can get further into something I don’t want to talk about. “I promise. Go be with your wife.”
At the mention of the word, the worry seems to float away and his lips turn up into a grin. “Wife. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to that.”
“You will,” I tell him as I nod to where Allie is waiting, slowly tapping her polished black nail against the doorframe. “But you better go before she shows Julian her secret stash in the walk-in instead of you.”
Ashton’s smile instantly fades. “Like fuck,” he growls, and with that, he’s across the room and pushing Allie into the kitchen as she tries to hold back a laugh.
With the two of them busy and my head still swimming from the alcohol, I take the opportunity to finally sneak out.
I’m almost at the entrance to the restaurant when my phone buzzes. I grab it from my purse, not paying attention as I look down at the screen, and I smack into something hard.
No, not something.
Someone.
I look up into his whiskey-colored eyes, my breath catching in my throat as his gaze slowly slides down to my wrist. I follow the movement, trying to hide it behind my back, but Declan is faster.
His hand shoots out, gently drawing my arm toward him until he’s cradling my cast, his fingers lightly brushing over the material.
His touch is hot, electric, and I can feel it even through the thick casing.
What are you doing?
Let go of me.
You lost the right to touch me years ago.
I try to force the words out of my mouth, but they don’t come.
Instead, I stand there, letting him hold me like this is all perfectly normal. Like this isn’t the first time we’ve acknowledged one another in six years.
Just as I think we’re going to stay locked in this awkward encounter forever, he speaks, his voice low and flooded with anger.
“Who the fuck did that to you?”