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Jacqueline nods and makes herself scarce again. Remy's hand slips from my face, one finger brushing over my lips as a grin spreads over his. "You said Jack was your drink of choice. Can you shoot it?"
I square my shoulders and lift my chin. A small voice in the back of my head warns me that he’s trying to get me drunk for a reason, but then another voice in my head screams back that it doesn’t matter how drunk I get because I’m hopeless against him. I want this… him. "I can do it. The better question is, do you really want to be cleaning vomit out of the back of your car tonight?"
Remy laughs, a genuine sound of amusement. "It's nothing Jovich hasn't done before."
"Fine." I agree. "So, what's your angle?"
"We take turns asking questions now." He explains, twisting the top off the whiskey and filling the shot glass to the brim. "Same rules apply, only now, if I catch you in a lie, you take a shot."
"So, we're doing the same thing except with shots." I laugh, feeling everything I’ve drank to this point rushing through my veins. "Well, then you're first. You already asked me three, remember?"
"Fine.” He shrugs easily. “What do you want to know?"
I shouldn't ask, but I don't even think of censoring myself until after I've already done it. "Have you slept with Jacqueline?"
The smirk that spreads over his face is a bit condescending. "That's your big question?"
"She wants you." I reason. "She was practically begging for you to notice her."
"Do you really think that someone I've slept with would call me Mr. Boudreaux?"
That… is a fair point. "Probably not."
"Were you jealous of Jacqueline..." He ventures. "When you thought I'd slept with her?"
"No." I purse my lips, swirling the melting ice around in my glass.
Remy watches me carefully, then holds the whiskey out for me. "I think you're lying."
I eye the shot and then glance up at him. Those beautiful lips are tugged into a smirk. He has me right where he wants me. I clench my thighs together, trying to ignore the ache in me. He has me right where I want to be.
I reach out and toss the shot back in a fluid motion. He’s smug and satisfied as I pull a face, take a sip of my cocktail, and then hand the shot glass back to him. Chasing a shot of whiskey with a mixed drink isn't one of my better ideas, but I’ll worry about that later.
"So, you haven't slept with Jacqueline, despite her obvious willingness. Why?"
"Not my type." He says it quickly enough that it seems natural, like he didn’t have to lie about that.
"Bullshit. I don't think you have a type."
Remy looks like he’s going to say something, but he keeps his mouth shut as he pours another shot and then takes this one himself. "Why are you in college if you don't have any clue what you want to do once you get that degree?"
I laugh and reach for the shot glass again. No sooner has Remy filled it, than I reached out and take it, draining the glass without wincing at the burn this time. When I return it to him, the surprise on his face is evident. I can feel the heat rising in my cheeks, the alcohol warming my veins. I feel lighter, and I don’t think it’s just the liquor talking. Despite the fact that he’s clearly trying to get me drunk, he seems to actually be hearing me. He isn’t just asking me questions because he wants to fill the silence—he wants to know me. "I'm not going to lie to you, but I don't know the answer myself, so I figured I'll just get ahead of this one."
"By all means." He gestures for me to continue.
"I mean, what do you do when you have no idea what to do with your life?" I laugh and hope it doesn't sound as bitter as it feels. "You buy more time!" I explain, pointing a finger at him as if he was about to say that exact answer. "My last fosters weren't exactly trying to win parents of the year, and I wasn't going to stay with them a day longer than I had to. And I always liked school, college was always the plan. I just thought… I'd figure it out when I got there."
He looks like he wants to laugh, and I’m suddenly aware of how fast the drinks are hitting me. I take a slow breath through my nose while he waits for me to look at him again. Now, he looks more sober than before.
"What was it like... growing up in foster care?"
I didn’t expect that one. It hits different, cuts deeper. I know he’s curious, but I don't want to talk about the worst days of my life with him, not on what is shaping up to be one of the best nights. "It's my turn to ask a question."
"Sure." Remy relaxes into his seat. "We'll circle back to that one."
Well. I guess the kid gloves are off. He may not realize he’s hitting below the belt, but if he is going to insist on knowing about something so personal, I’ll give him the same. "What do you really do, Remy?"
I didn’t expect him to ask me about growing up an orphan, and he certainly didn't expect my question. The shock that flits across his face is brief, but it’s telling.
