18. Liam
18
LIAM
I t’s a Friday evening and my first night off in forever when I come home and find Whitney in the kitchen with a bottle of tequila in front of her. She’s got her head resting on her arms, and Adele is blasting from the speakers.
“Hey,” I say, crossing the room towards her. “You know it’s only six o’clock?”
She lifts her head. “And?”
I shrug, dropping my shoulder bag on the floor and sitting in the stool beside her. “Nothing. Just wondering why you’re getting pissed this early in the day.”
She rolls her eyes. “I’ve had two shots.”
I bump her shoulder. “Adele and tequila shots? I may be an idiot, but even I can tell that’s a bad sign. Plus, you’ve got raccoon eyes.”
I point to her makeup, and she wipes under her eyes with a sigh. “Can you not be mean to me tonight? Okay? I just can’t handle it. Not tonight.” She sighs, laying her head back onto the counter.
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I wasn’t trying to be… mean. I was just kidding.” I guess I thought since Vegas and our recent evenings together, we’d reached a sort of understanding. I thought she’d forgiven me. Does she still think I’m an arsehole?
“Ugh. Ignore me,” she says. “I am kind of drunk.”
“Do you want to… talk about it?” I stand and cross the kitchen to the cabinet, grabbing another shot glass and setting it next to hers on the counter.
“No. Yes. Maybe.” She groans and lifts her head again, and I pour us both a shot of tequila. “Basically, I had a crap conversation with my mother, which may be the only conversation we have this year since she’s dust in the wind at this point.”
“I’m sorry.”
She raises her eyebrows at me, then smirks. “Alright, don’t be too nice or I’ll think something weird is going on.”
Fuck, she looks good two drinks deep. Her eyes aren’t quite glazed over, but there’s a sort of haziness there. If I didn’t know any better, I’d think she was flirting with me.
“I’m always nice,” I reply with a smirk.
She laughs. “When have you ever been nice?”
“I took you to dinner and a show. I play Scrabble with you.” I raise my shot glass, waiting for her. “And I don’t let you drink alone.”
She bites her lip, and fuck me she looks sexy.
She lifts her glass to meet mine, then stops. “Wait! Get the limes. I’ll get the salt. Let’s do this right.”
I slice up a lime, and we prepare our shots properly, pouring salt onto the back of our hands. Then she links our arms, lifts our glasses, and winks at me.
“To fucking it up.” She smirks.
“Hear-hear.”
The liquid burns going down. I pour us both another shot and slice up the lime, glancing at Whitney’s drooping form. She looks like Eeyore finding out that Pooh Bear isn’t coming home for Christmas this year.
Wow, what a pair we are.
I slap my hands against the counter, jolting her. “Listen, let’s not mope about here. Why don’t we go out?”
She lifts her head, narrowing her eyes at me. “Where?”
I shrug. “I dunno. A club or something. Anything’s better than drinking ‘round here like a couple of bums. You look like someone killed your puppy.”
She rolls her eyes. “Let me text Abbi. Maybe she’s around.”
I pour her a glass of water and hand it to her while she texts Abbi. Her phone rings as soon as she sends the text, and she answers. Immediately, I hear screeching on the other line.
“Okay. Abbi, stop yelling, I can hear you fine.” She pauses. “Alright, just text me the name.” She hangs up. “You’re in luck, big boy. Abbi’s already out with Shane.”
I crinkle my forehead. “Big boy?”
She chuckles, and a blush spreads across her cheeks. “Oh, shut up.”
When we get to the club, Whitney drags me to the front of the line and throws her arms around a tiny redhead in the highest heels I’ve ever seen. They are both squealing and giggling and talking at a pace that is unintelligible to human ears. Behind them, a ripped guy with dark hair gives me a nod and reaches out for a bro-shake.
“Hey, I’m Shane,” he says.
“Liam,” I reply.
“So, this is the British brute.” Abbi’s eyes scan me up and down in judgement. He’s hotter than you said.”
“He’s standing right here,” I mutter.
Shane clasps my shoulder. “You’ll get used to it,” he chuckles. We flash our IDs to the bouncer and he lets us in. The club is insanely loud and packed with people. Abbi grabs Whitney’s arm and drags her towards the dance floor while Shane and I head to the bar for drinks.
We push our way to the front, and I get a beer for myself and a tequila soda for Whitney. Shane catches a table off to the side and grabs it while I settle our tabs. I carry our drinks, eyeing the crowd for Whitney. I spot her and Abbi in the middle of the dance floor as I settle into the booth. They’re laughing and grinding on each other in a way that has me gripping my glass harder than necessary.
I down half of my beer in one gulp, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand as my eyes follow Whitney in the crowd. She looks so fucking sexy in that tiny pink dress and thigh-high platform boots. She throws her hands in the air, shimmying her hips and moving her body to the music. My throat feels suddenly dry.
“You wanna dance?” Shane yells from his side. “I can guard the fort.”
I grip my beer tighter. Do I want to go over there and grind against Whitney until she’s sweaty and panting and begging me to take her home? Fuck yes.
Should I?
Definitely not.
“I’m alright,” I say to Shane and force my gaze away from Whitney. Staring down at my beer, I try to calm my racing mind. This was a huge mistake. My self-control is slipping away with every moment I spend watching her.
“Whoa, man. You might wanna reconsider that.” Shane bumps my shoulder, jutting his chin towards where the girls are. I follow his gaze to see some guy grinding on Whitney, his hands around her waist.
I see red.
Before I even know what I’m doing, I push through the crowd and cross the room to where they’re standing. I grab the guy’s shoulder and yank him back, shoving him backwards.
“Get your hands off my wife,” I growl.
“Your wife?” He stumbles, clearly wasted. “Didn’t know she was taken, man.”
Whitney is staring at me in shock. I grab her left hand and flash it in his direction. “Check the ring, arsehole. Now fuck off before I put my fist through your jaw,” I tell him.
“Alright, jeez. Chill out,” he says before stumbling away, muttering under his breath.
Abbi has disappeared, and it’s just me, Whitney, and the sea of bodies that surrounds us. I turn towards Whitney, seething. “What the hell was that?” I growl down at her.
“Me? You’re the one who went completely caveman on me. Since when do you get jealous?”
“I’m not jealous,” I argue.
She rolls her eyes. “Yeah, right. There was basically steam coming out of your ears.”
“I don’t like people touching what’s mine.”
She raises her eyebrows. “Yours?”
I step closer, invading her space. We’re almost chest-to-chest. “Yeah. You’re mine. You’ve got my ring on your finger, so don’t fucking forget it.”
Her eyes widen and she blinks up at me. Someone jostles me from behind and I end up pushed closer to Whitney. I can feel her heartbeat against mine as I stare down into her deep brown eyes. Eyes that say one thing.
Kiss me.
I lean closer, my lips at her ear. “You better not look at me like that, love. Not unless you know what you’re getting yourself into.”
Her breath catches, and I’m close enough that I can hear her sharp inhale. I pull back and study her expression, indecision clouding her features.
“What am I getting myself into?” she asks, her eyes sparking with a challenge.
I grumble, narrowing my eyes at her. “Don’t play dumb, Whitney.”
Her eyes flicker back and forth between mine, searching my expression for something. I don’t know what, but she seems to find her answer. She presses impossibly closer to me, not an inch of space between us, and reaches her hand up to the back of my neck. Awareness trickles at every point our bodies touch and my brain can’t seem to comprehend what’s happening. That I’m about to kiss Whitney.
That I am kissing Whitney.
Her lips meet mine, soft and wanting all at once. A groan escapes me, and she pulls me further down, breathing heavily as she slides her tongue against mine. I swear I’ve never tasted anything as sweet as her lips. I don’t know how long the kiss lasts — it could be seconds or minutes — but much too soon, she pulls back, a stricken expression clouding her features. She blinks up at me, conflicted, and I can’t stand that damned look on her face, so I press my lips against hers again, taking control. It’s a kiss that brands her and lets everyone in this club know one thing.
She’s mine.