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She lifts her hands. “I’m not judging. I think you deserve one after putting up with me.”
I sigh. “That’s not why I need a drink and you know it.” Her face falters a little, but I watch as she quickly detaches. I would know that ability anywhere. I do it all the time.
After a second, she reaches down and pulls out a little bottle of vodka. I smirk slightly. “How did you know that’s what I like?”
She shrugs. “Just a guess.”
I tap my fingers on the counter. “Tell me why it’s your first guess.”
Birdie slides the bottle to me. When I reach for it, our fingers touch just slightly. It warms me more than this shot of vodka ever will. She pulls back her hand too quickly, that’s when I know she felt it, too.
She clears her throat. “Well, you work out.”
I let out a barking laugh that makes her smile. “I have no idea what that has to do with me liking vodka.”
“I’ve heard it has the lowest calories,” she shrugs.
“And that’s the only reason?”
“And it’s Ben’s favorite, so I assumed…”
“Now that answer makes more sense.” I open the small bottle and quickly drain it. “That’s disgusting,” I wince. She hands me an open cola, which I gratefully accept. After I take a swig, she slides me another vodka.
I shake my head. “I’ll hold off for now.”
She gives me a challenging stare. “You scared, Liam?”
More than you know,I want to say. But instead, I push my shoulders back and crack open the second bottle. This one goes down smoother, but it still tastes like shit. Birdie does another shot of bourbon, then opens an IPA for each of us.
“Are you trying to get me drunk?” I ask.
She bites her lower lip. “Not drunk, maybe tipsy. After tonight we both need a little help to relax.”
Though I don’t like to drink to get rid of stress, tonight is one of those nights I’ll make an exception. I grab the beer and take a drink. Then another.
I let the hoppy liquid enter my veins and mix with the cheap vodka. Birdie’s right, my body does relax a bit, but not enough for me to be off my game. If anything were to happen, I’d be able to take care of Birdie. That’s what matters most.
After a few moments of silence I ask, “What now?”
She taps her fingers on her chin and smiles. It’s very cute and reminds me of something teenage Birdie would do. “Listen to music on the patio?”
My stomach twists. The trauma of tonight must have made her feel nostalgic. Her desire to feel safe with the boy I once was makes me nauseous. For a second, I want to deny her, my own fear of being vulnerable getting in the way. But I don’t.
I stand, beer in hand. “Lead the way.”
“I need to grab my iPod and speaker. I’ll meet you out there.”
Before I can think twice, she’s rushing off with a giddy pep in her step. It’s fucking adorable. I’m glad to see it after what happened earlier.
While I wait, I make my way to the patio of her suite. We’re high enough that I don’t have to worry about any stalkers creeping on her, but the open air still makes me slightly nervous.
I push it down and try to relax. Once I sit, I prop up my feet on the table in front of me. It’s after nine, and the sun has gone down. The Atlanta air is humid, and I can hear crickets chirping. I look up at the muddled stars, and I wish we were somewhere north where the sky looks like a painting. That’s one thing I miss about living in Michigan. NYC didn’t lend itself to stargazing. Maybe when we hit Nebraska we’ll actually see the stars.
After a few minutes the sliding door opens and Birdie walks out. When my eyes take her in, I feel my temperature rise. She’s changed into short little pink pajama shorts and a tight white t-shirt with a rainbow printed over her breasts. Her hair is up in a messy bun again. I immediately have the desire to grab her by it and press my lips into hers. For a split second I wonder what her hair smells like. Maybe hotel shampoo, or something like peaches or strawberries. When she sits, her breasts bounce slightly, and my eyes go straight to her dark nipples peeking out from the white shirt. Shit, she’s not wearing a bra. Is she trying to kill me?
She plugs her iPod into the speakers, not noticing my dick is happy to have her here, dressed like that. Maybe I did drink a little too much. I better nurse my beer or shit might happen that shouldn’t happen.
That day in the spa when we’d called a truce, I almost kissed her outside the sauna. When I came to my senses in the shower later, after I’d released some pent-up frustration, I was glad I didn’t let my small brain win out in the moment. I still want to kiss Birdie. Hell, do way more than just kiss, but it’s not a good idea. Especially after her stalker just traumatized her.
