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“Where the fuck did Darren find you?” Alistair asks and clicks his tongue as he moves closer to me.
“Where else? A bar.” Technically, it was an alley.
He looks me up and down once more, his expression turning curious. “What has he told you?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “I don’t kiss and tell.”
Alistair laughs. “No, I don’t suppose you would.” He drops the tip of his finger on my shoulder, dragging it lazily down my arm.
“Darren and I have been friends for a long time,” Alistair says, his finger now reaching my elbow.
I lean in, looking up at him through my lashes. “Are you going to tell me that you and your friend share?” I ask, pulling my lips into a smile.
When Alistair leans in to kiss me, I slap him. The sound reverberates against the window and through the suite. He touches his cheek in obvious shock, and I can see his once playful expression turn to anger.
“Jesus,” he spits and then reaches for me, but from behind him, Darren grabs his arm.
His eyes are bloodshot, the bruise on his face an ugly shade of purple and blue. He can barely stand, but he holds Alistair’s stare.
I don’t know if Alistair was going to hit me back. What men do when they’re angry is never predictable.
Darren lets go of his arm and Alistair has the sense to look ashamed. “Mine,” he says while shaking his head.
“Sorry,” Alistair says in a flippant tone.
Darren turned from a charming drunk to an angry one.
“Get out,” Dare says, pointing towards the elevators.
“Come on,” Alistair cajoles and then slides his eyes to meet mine momentarily, probably assessing whether I’m worth fighting over. “You’re in a bad state right now after…”
“I said get out!” Dare yells over him, his voice echoing in the room.
“What the fuck?” Alistair asks, looking down at his bare feet and boxers. “I don’t have any clothes on!”
“I said get the fuck out!” Darren yells, stalking towards him, and Alistair backs up towards the elevator, reluctantly hitting the button.
“What am I supposed to do?” Alistair steps into the car.
“Figure it out,” Darren snarls as the elevator doors close with Alistair in it.
“You didn’t have to do that…” I’d rather leave than start trouble between him and his friend.
“Stay,” he stops me with a gentle hand on my elbow. “Please,” he adds, and I concede, letting go of my purse while Darren presses a hand to my back, leading me in the direction of the bedrooms. He stumbles, knocking into the edge of the pool table, gathering up the bottle of whiskey on his way.
Darren takes another drink from the bottle, and I can see the relief wash over his face as it further clouds his eyes. No matter what they say, the real reason men drink is because they want to forget, they want to hide in the murky waters it provides, to dull whatever pain is inside, and I remind myself that this is why I don’t leave.
I put my arm under his to help him down the hallway, and he turns us into the first room which I assume is his. He slides out from my hold and flops on the bed like a ragdoll. Leaning forward, he props his elbows on his knees, resting his face in his hands as he lets out a long sigh; a sigh that sounds as if he’s releasing the weight of the world from his body.
He mumbles something that sounds like, I’m a mess. I want to tell him that we’re all a mess, but instead, I stand in front of him and place my hand in his hair, running my fingers through the dark brown waves. Slowly, he lifts his head to look at me, the twisted colors of browns and greens in his eyes now engulfed by the darkened room, but the undeniable grief remains. I lift my leg and prop my heel onto the bed next to him, the skirt of my dress creating a curtain of silk. He runs his hand up my calf as if in utter fascination, and watches it disappear under the hem.
His hair feels like a down pillow. He wraps his arms around my leg and buries his head against my inner thigh, the softness of his hair against my skin making me sigh. I can feel his lips, warm and moist as he nuzzles against my leg, the tip of his nose reaching my panties. His breath makes me shiver, and everything tightens.
He runs his hands along my hips, fumbling with my dress to push it out of the way. I help him by grabbing the hem and sliding it over my head and tossing it to the floor. His hands remain at my waist as I stand before him in only my panties and bra, both a delicate black lace. He lifts his head to look at me.
“Jesus, you are even more perfect than I imagined,” he whispers, pulling me onto his lap.
“I’m glad you like,” I say, cocking my head and letting my hair fall to the side as I help remove his shirt which is ripped and dirty. He’s lean but with well-defined muscles that I run my hands over, feeling his smooth skin.
