Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
BETTSY
“I can’t believe you don’t like this,” I say, holding up a glass of the Macallen.
Honestly, this is the whisky of dreams and even after the first sip, I can feel the warmth wrap around me in a way only decent single malt can.
“Are you sure you should drink that?” she asks. “Don’t you have your camp thing starting on Monday?”
I swallow down another drop, taking a moment to study the liquid in the glass before responding.
“Yeah, but I won’t get drunk on this. This, Kitch … is too good to waste on getting drunk. You need to savour it … enjoy the flavours and?—”
She rolls her eyes at me. “Right, well…”
“Are you sure you don’t want to try it? Maybe you just shot it down last time without giving your taste buds time to appreciate the flavours?”
I hold out my glass to her and she looks at the amber liquid for a moment before shaking her head .
“I’m good, thanks,” she says, moving to the fridge-freezer and pulling open the door to the upper compartment.
“You know whisky literally means ‘water of life’ in Gaelic? It’s designed to give people a kick up the ass—make them a little more … you know,” I say.
Ellie looks away from the fridge and over towards me. “A little … you know what?”
“Lively. You seem a smidge uptight, that’s all. Maybe you should … relax a little.”
“Uptight? You’re joking, right?” She slams the fridge shut.
“Yeah. You’ve been in a bad mood since you showed up at my place.
Granted, you’ve warmed a little, but I can tell—” I pause, taking in her expression before deciding to change direction.
“You know there’s worse things in the world than realising a wedding experience could be real, right?
Hey—maybe we can sue them or something? Every cloud and all. ”
Ellie looks at me with disgust.
“I’m sorry that my bad mood is not to your liking, but what you need to understand is this ‘wedding’ crap is just another thing to add to my ever-growing list of fuckups. I know how to have fun and relax, but I’m sorry for not having the same idea of a good time as you.”
“Sweetheart, you have no idea what I class as a good time.”
I throw her a wink—and if I’m not mistaken, she shivers. Though being fair, it is fucking freezing in here.
She pauses for a moment before huffing.
“Fine. Pass me that tequila,” she says curtly, pointing to a bottle in the drinks cabinet.
“Hey, come on now … I didn’t mean it like that.”
“Pass it.” She steps closer, reaching for it anyway.
A powder-fresh scent wafts off her hair and has me wondering what her skin smells like.
“Go ahead,” I say, stepping aside.
But as she grabs the bottle and turns, she bumps straight into me. My hand finds her waist automatically, steadying her .
She parts her lips, maybe to say something, but then she pulls free and slides past me, heading for the cupboard above the kettle.
She pulls out a glass, pours a generous measure, and knocks it back in one go.
“Look,” I start, “you don’t have?—”
But she’s already setting the glass down, slipping her tongue out to catch a stray drop trailing her bottom lip.
Now it’s my turn to shiver.
“What’s wrong, Mike? Don’t tell me you’re too uptight for a little tequila?”
A teasing smirk plays out on her face.
I don’t even like the damn stuff, but she’s taunting me. The tone of her voice and the look in her eye have me setting down the Macallen, stepping forward and reaching for the tequila.
I pour a measure into the glass she used before sinking it, eyes locked on hers the entire time.
She stares at me, letting her mouth drop open a little before she blinks.
“Give me that,” she says, prying the glass from my fingers.
“Be careful, Kitch. You don’t want to play drinking games with me,” I say.
“And why is that? Don’t think I could keep up?” she says.
I let out a booming laugh.
“I think you don’t understand how competitive I am. C’mon … don’t start something you can’t finish,” I say.
“Who says I can’t finish?”
“It wouldn’t be very good of me to let you sink yourself into oblivion on the premise of keeping up with me. Let’s not kid ourselves—I’m double the size of you.”
“You,” she says, pointing her index finger into my chest, “do not know who you’re dealing with.”
And just like that, I turn on the flirting. There’s something about knowing she’s not interested that only makes me want to pursue her more. The thrill of the chase—I can’t help myself.
“Ellie—come on, we both know that I’ll win, or we’ll end up in bed together. Drinking lowers inhibitions, intensifies emotions and?—”
She scowls at me.
“I will not end up in bed with you. You may have a queue of women ready to crawl between your sheets, but I’m not one of them.”
And without so much as a second thought, she takes another shot, wincing as she swallows.
“I told you … I’m closed for business,” I say.
“Right. The whole ‘no sex before marriage thing’. Or is that another ploy to coerce me into bed with you? It’s the ideal scenario for you, I guess.”
“Just because I want to sleep with you doesn’t mean I’ll coerce you,” I say. “I could win you over with my charm if I really wanted to … failing that, there’re always the mental images I could concoct. Right. Up. Here.” I tap my temple, and she tuts.
“Stop it.”
“Stop what? I’m not doing anything.” I muster my dirtiest grin to get a bigger reaction out of her.
“Trying to flatter me. And whatever you’re thinking. Stop that too.”
“We both know you’d fall into bed with me, given the right circumstances,” I say.
I’m kidding at this point. There’s no way she’d actually sleep with me, but since I’m trying to make light of this unique situation, I figure it can’t hurt to joke.
“I need another drink,” she says.
“If that’s what it takes…”
That wins me a scowl. And you know what? I quite like angry Ellie—all set on being pissed off.
Imagine if she wanted to tie me up and do semi-mean things to me.
Damn .
Despite the booze in my system, my dick wakes up to the thought of being restrained to the bed and having Ellie bossing over me, denying me an orgasm until I’m begging for it.
I file that in the bank for later as she brushes past me.
“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” I say.
She’s looking through the bottles of alcohol in her collection and stops at a fancy looking gin.
“Because you’re not keeping up?” she snipes back.
Johnny’s voice rings through my head … the partying and late nights need to be done with…
But watching her pour herself a drink is all the encouragement I need to ignore it. I’m competitive by nature and there’s no way I’m losing here.
I sink another shot while Ellie grabs a bottle of something else before pouring a measure into her glass.
“Don’t you think you’ve had enough, anyway? Maybe you shouldn’t mix…”
“I know when I’ve had enough. I don’t need a guy telling me what to do—especially one who’s led me on.”
I roll my eyes. “I didn’t—look, I simply want to make sure you don’t regret this in the morning.”
She sets her cocktail down.
“I’ve regretted nothing in my life,” she says, her voice trembling with doubt.
I snicker, unable to stop myself. “Yeah, right? I’m pretty sure you regret the girls’ trip to Germany.”
“I wouldn’t have regretted the girls’ trip if you’d have called me afterward—even for closure. But you didn’t, Mike, did you? Because you were already busy with whatever-her-name was.”
Her voice quivers again as she reaches for her drink, and because I’m such a gentleman, I feel it necessary to intervene, stepping towards her.
“Okay, now let’s take this away,” I say, pulling the glass away from her. “I thought we’d already established I tried to call you. ”
“But you didn’t flirt with me either,” she says. “The whole day. Not a single lewd comment.”
“Is that what you think?” I flash her a puzzled look but she looks away, a warm glow settling on her cheeks. “The reason I didn’t flirt with you is because I didn’t want an open rejection from the only girl I’ve ever fancied.”
She laughs, but it’s a sort of slurry laugh that turns into a giggle.
“You did not fancy me,” she says.
“I definitely did. And for the record, I looked you up several weeks ago, wondering if we were going to be in with a possibility of cashing in on that pact. You know, if we’re both single when we’re thirty?”
She stares at me for a moment before swallowing.
“Because I’m a last resort?”
“No—because I was hoping you’d hold me to it, and I’d at least be in with a chance that way.”
The embarrassment of laying my feelings on the line has me stress smiling. And Ellie notices in a flash, whacking me across the arm.
“What the hell was that for?” I rub my forearm.
“You were smirking at me—like this is all one big joke to you. This is my life, Mike. This is my life, and you ruined it with your crappy ideas for wedding experiences and whatever.”
“I was not smirking at you,” I say. “It was just a little smile.” But I take a second to realise I was—and—I still am smirking, not smiling in the slightest. My face positively aches.
Her mouth drops into a frown.
“Okay, maybe I was,” I say. “But you’re so … I don’t know—cute. And I’m trying to be honest with you … make you understand how much I?—”
But I don’t think she’s listening.
She’s staring at me; her lips sort of pouting outward like they want to be kissed. And boy, do I want to kiss them—kiss her .
I step forward, closing the gap between us. My hand finds her chin, and I gently tilt her head towards mine, locking eyes.
She’s beautiful. Ridiculously beautiful.
Too beautiful for me.
But I can’t help myself. I lean in—just a little … but there’s a little voice in my head.
She’s got a boyfriend, Betts. Don’t be that guy.
I swallow hard, drop my hand, but keep my gaze on hers.
“I’m just trying to be honest here, Kitch,” I say, voice low. “I’d be lying if I said I haven’t thought about you. Because I have. And I?—”
A vibration cuts through the air, forcing me to halt. Her phone buzzes against the counter, and both of our eyes snap towards it.