Pretty Thing (Naughty Things 1)

“Prick,” she says. But she tilts the glass to her lips and swallows it all. She hands it back to me. “Fill me up, asshole.”

And suddenly, I’m better. God, what is wrong with me tonight? I’m like a fuckin’ teenage girl with all the goddamned emotions I’m feeling. But I walk into the kitchen, grab the bottle and come back out into the living room, pointing it at the couch. “Take a seat, little sister. We’re gonna do this proper.”

“Proper, huh?” And she makes a face. “I’m not your sister.”

“You are now,” I say, then regret it. Because no, Aiden, that’s not right. “I mean, you know.”

“I know what you mean,” she says, taking a seat on the couch and patting the cushion next to her. “Sit down and pour.”

I grin at her and take a seat. Purposefully close, but not too close so I’m obvious. I’ve wanted to kiss her my entire life and I finally take the chance and it’s… not good enough. I need a do-over.

But that can wait. We’ve got whiskey to drink first. I pour it into her glass as she holds it, then refill mine and set the bottle down.

“You know these are doubles, right?” she says, staring at the level in her glass. “We should be taking shots if you want to drink like this.”

“Tonight,” I say, clinking my glass to hers, “tonight we drink like you’re Kyle and not Kali.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” she hums. “I get it. Trying to get me drunk, are you? So you can kiss me again?” She smiles as she lifts her glass to her lips. Pauses, then tips her head back and downs it.

I wait, my glass half lifted to my lips, and look at her, serious again. “Yeah,” I say. “So I can kiss you again and not think about how Kyle would kick my ass if he were here.”

I down my drink and place it on the coffee table.

“Well, you know what?” Kali says.

“Hmm?”

“He’s not here, is he?” She pours us each another two fingers, and holds her glass up to the ceiling. “Fuck you, Kyle. Fuck you for not being here. How you like that, brother? Feels good, right? To be left out, and left behind.” Then she looks at me and says, “I’m gonna kiss him back next time.” And then she downs her drink.

I smile, lift my glass up to the ceiling, and say, “Yeah, fuck you, Kyle.” And down mine too.

Kali is already pouring again. We just did six shots in the span of two minutes and yeah, I can hold my fucking whiskey, but that’s a lot of alcohol flooding my system right now.

“You know what the best part is?” Kali asks, handing me another double.

I turn my body to the side a little and lean back into the cushions. Her hair is kind of a mess right now. A little bit in her face, not smooth and sleek like it normally is. Just haphazardly framing her cheeks like an unruly tangle of underbrush.

My fingers reach out, like they have a mind of their own, and brush some of it away from her cheek. “Hmm?” I ask. “What’s the best part, Kal?”

“Kal.” She snorts. “God, it’s been years since you called me that.”

“Kal,” I say, brushing my knuckles down her cheek, a part of me unable to believe I have permission to do this, another part of me wondering why the hell I waited for Kyle to die before I did it. “Tell me.”

“Drink first,” she says.

I shrug, down the drink, and set the glass down on the coffee table.

She smiles with the glass up to her lips, then downs it and slams hers on the table next to mine, like we’re at a bar and not my apartment.

“OK,” she says, wiping the glistening droplets of alcohol off her lips. “This is the best part. You ready?”

“You’re already drunk,” I say, laughing.

She slaps my leg, laughing too. “I am not. I’m just… feeling better. Funny how eight shots of whiskey can do that for you.”

“Jesus Christ. Only eight?” I joke. “We need two more before I can hear the best part.”

“Pour,” she says.

I do. I pour a little extra this time. Three shots.

She notices, but takes the glass anyway, then says, “Challenge accepted, Aiden Edwards.”

We down it all, at the same time, then both of us come up for air, coughing like maniacs.

“Oh, shit!” She giggles. “I’m drunk. I’ve been here ten minutes—”

“Eight,” I correct her with a finger point.

“—eight minutes and I’m shit-faced!”

“Technically,” I say, “you’re only half shit-faced. Because most of that has not hit you yet.”

“I’m in trouble,” she say. Then bursts out laughing.

I reach over, like… I dunno why. It’s instinct, maybe. Or wishful thinking. Or twenty-six years of pent-up desire. But I reach over, place my hand on her cheek and turn her towards me. She goes quiet and still in that moment. Like she knows what I’m gonna do.