Blame it on the Vodka (Blame it on the Alcohol)

Not that it bothered him. He’d been my plus one to so many events I’d lost count. At first, he’d been alarmed but quickly mastered the polite smile while creating distance. The first time he came home to a Christmas charity gala over a school break, I’d been in tears watching him flounder under all the forward advances. Now, laughing was the furthest thing from my mind. I wanted to bare my teeth and pull him close.

I care about him.

Dammit. Just hearing the admission in my head had me wincing as if the memory actually slapped me.

“You okay?” Austin asked.

“Yeah,” I answered, quickly smoothing my face to a smile. “Just thirsty.”

“Ladies, if you’ll excuse me, my wife needs a drink.” He pulled us away with a smile as they awed over how romantic it was that this big, strong man guided me away like a little girl who couldn’t find her way to the bar all alone.

It was eye roll-inducing.

I should have been eye-rolling.

Yet, part of me awed right along with them.

I care about him.

God, I was screwed.

Austin grabbed two glasses and found a small standing table in the back corner, offering a modicum of reprieve from the noisy crowd. Just as I was taking a sip, the crowd parted, giving the perfect view of Aubrey in a white, single-long sleeve dress. Part of me wished she had bad taste, but I had to admit she looked stunning, and her dress was straight amazing. Dammit. I never held back from appreciating a woman and her style—even if I was jealous.

“What made you want to marry Aubrey?” I blurted.

“Uhh,” he stuttered, as surprised as me by the question. “I don’t know. I liked her at the time.”

“Yeah, but you liked a lot of girls. Why her?”

He set his glass down and rubbed at the furrow growing between his brows. I probably should have pulled back. The middle of a party might not have been the top pick of places to play twenty questions, but Pandora’s box had been opened.

“I guess it was just life at the time. My brother had recently gotten married and maybe that, mixed with the small panic of the seriousness of life after college, had me on edge. I mean, we got along well.”

With herculean effort, I kept a passive look locked in place, despite wondering if he heard how absurd it was that he wanted to marry her because they ‘got along well.’

“Was she right for you? Was she the kind of woman you imagined your life with?”

His eyes, which had been watching the crowd, snapped to me. The deep green bored into mine—intense and holding me captive. “No, she wasn’t the kind of woman I imagined,” he finally answered. Something lingered behind those words, but he blinked before I could study it. “And the timing was all off.”

“What do you mean?”

I wanted to grip his jacket lapels and shake him, scream the question, and demand he answer. My mind reeled like a flashing slideshow of options. Did he think the timing now would be better? Would he keep in touch after this? Oh, my god, what if they kept in touch? What if it worked out this time? What if he ended up marrying her now? Time stretched into an endless wait, pushing me closer to the edge. Realistically, I knew maybe half a breath of space came between one question and the next.

“Are you guys going to keep in touch when you leave here?” The question spewed out. Between the fast-paced questions and the barely masked, high-pitched, panicked tone, his mood shifted. Suddenly, this didn’t feel like two friends talking off in a corner. In all honesty, I wasn’t sure it ever had, but now it shifted to something more.

His shoulders relaxed as if figuring out the game and preparing to play, while mine tightened, preparing for a challenge.

Oh, yeah. Just like before, Austin watched me with a challenging look. It coiled around my muscles, pulling tight. It sunk low to my core when his tongue glided across his lips before shifting to an arrogant smirk I wanted to hate but kind of loved.

“Would it bother you if I did?”

Not trusting my voice, I rolled my eyes and took a drink, trying to come up with a question to throw him off as much as he derailed me.

“Do you miss fucking her?” I finally asked, realizing too late that my question revealed more than it shocked. His smile grew, and I rushed to speak so he couldn’t. “Just curious…” I shrugged. “I mean, maybe there’s more behind those pearls that can keep up with you.”

“Why do you say that?” he asked, his head tipping to study me.

“You had a pretty descriptive mouth earlier. Makes me think that maybe you crave more in the bedroom than you portray.”