13. Skylar #2
“Does the worst day of your life have anything to do with… that?” He nods his head, and I follow his line of sight.
Right to the man sitting in the corner. Ripped jeans.
Leather jacket. Legs kicked out like he owns the place.
His fist is wrapped around a full bottle of beer, and damn my perfect eyesight because even from here I can see the condensation dripping down his hand as he slowly slides it up to grip the neck.
I can handle all of those things, though.
What I can’t handle is when my eyes move up to meet his gaze.
It’s searing and deadly, flicking between me and the man behind the bar.
I slowly, not so subtly, turn back around.
“No,” I tell Julian. “It has everything to do with it.”
No sooner do I say it then I feel the air shift behind me. You know how people say it feels like they’re not alone? Like they can feel a presence—a ghost or a predator of some sort in the room. I can attest to the validity of this. The closer he gets, the more I feel him.
“Come on, Sky. It’s time to go,” is all he says. He acts like it’s that simple for me to just bend to his will and do whatever he says.
Yeah, fuck that.
“I’m not ready to leave.”
“Okay.” He folds his hands in his lap like he’s suddenly in kindergarten and the teacher told everyone to show their quiet hands.
“What are you doing?”
“Waiting for you to be ready.”
I cross my arms against my chest. “How did you even find me here?”
“There are only so many bars in this town. It wasn’t rocket science.”
I huff. “We’re not even in our town.” Did he really go to every bar in the county just to find me?
He eyes the empty glass in front of me before his gaze strays to where my purse is hanging haphazardly on my lap before it falls to the floor with a loud slap.
Declan reaches down to pick it up at the same time I do and our heads collide.
“Fuck,” I grit out, rubbing my forehead.
“Okay, time’s up. Let’s go.”
“Or what? Are you gonna go all caveman and drag me out like that time junior year?” I have never seen him so angry as when he found me puking in the grass at a party. It was the first time I ever got drunk.
“Do you want me to drag you out, Skylar?” Suddenly, I hate the sound of my full name on his lips. I want him to call me Sky or even… no, I don’t want that. I can’t want that because that would mean we’re the same people we were before and we are most certainly not.
“I want you to drag yourself back into the depths of hell,” I snap, and he lets out a laugh.
It’s hearty and real, and instantly I’m back in my childhood bedroom.
He’s throwing white cheddar popcorn at me while I do my best impression of Cary Grant trying to convince the people who want to kill him that they’ve got the wrong guy.
Now I’m angry, no, not angry, enraged. Because fuck him for ruining North by Northwest and every other classic movie, and fuck him for having the nerve to laugh like that in front of me when he robbed me of getting to hear it for years. Fuck him for pretending to care.
I’m about to express all of this when Julian comes back. “Can I get you anything else?” He completely ignores Declan, hitting me with that megawatt smile again.
“I’ll have another one of these,” I say, shaking my glass, and attempting a wink, but I’m pretty sure both my eyelids close.
He nods, flipping the bottle in his hand before filling it and shuffling off to a customer flagging him down. The bar is getting more crowded now and there’s another bartender helping to make drinks.
I’m about to lift the whiskey to my lips when warmth spreads across my hand that’s clutched around the cold glass.
I lift it anyway and Declan’s hand goes along with it.
I bring it to my lips, inhaling the molasses and honey, all the subtle notes clinging to the edge of the glass.
Without removing his eyes from mine, Declan extends his pointer finger, tipping the bottom of the glass until the smooth liquid invades my mouth, burning slightly as it slides down my throat.
Heat spreads throughout my body like liquid fire, and I’ve never been more sure that my cheeks are cherry red. The world is spinning, the alcohol doing its job while the man in front of me plays me like a world-class violinist.
I blink up at him, not realizing Julian has returned until the slight clearing of a throat registers in the mush that is currently my brain. I look at Julian, who shifts his gaze to Declan, and Declan finally looks away from me to face him.
“She’s done,” he tells the bartender, eliciting a frown from Julian.
“I think she can—”
“You get all your female customers drunk so you can hit on them or just the pretty ones?”
Declan’s voice is cold, but there’s an edge to it that causes Julian’s eyes to narrow, but he doesn’t skip a beat. “Nah. Just the ones with asshole boyfriends.”
Oh, shit.
Declan laughs. It’s not the popcorn laugh from earlier.
It’s a my-fist-is-about-to-be-connected-to-your-jaw laugh.
The hope-you-have-an after-hours-dentist laugh.
Then it’s gone. Silence. Deafening silence for what feels like days until he leans in, elbows propped on the bar, and looks Julian dead in the eye.
“Serve my wife another drink. I fucking dare you.”
Julian’s head swivels to me. I’m sure there’s judgment in his eyes, but before I can confirm anything, a thud sounds as Declan slaps two hundred-dollar bills on the table.
I think I hear him threatening Julian again, but it’s hard to tell with the blood rushing in my ears as I attempt to stand up from the stool.
All I know is I have to get out of here.
Because if I hear Declan call me his wife in that growly voice one more time, I might melt into an actual puddle, and then when I turn solid again, I might do something I regret.
I should be angry. I should be pissed he’s trying to claim me.
As if he has the right. But damn if his being all possessive doesn’t make my stomach think it suddenly became an Olympic gymnast.
I tell myself that has to be the alcohol talking because he definitely shouldn’t have that effect on me anymore.