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I’m not a prude, and I’m not even anti-drugs, even with the household I grew up in. I mean I’ll smoke pot two or three times a year, maybe. I even tried cocaine once, when I was maybe eighteen, before deciding it really wasn’t for me.
I’m notagainstpeople having an escape. Believe me.
It’s just that he escapes…a lot. And it scares me sometimes, the more often I see it. Just like it scares me that he obviouslyseesthat it weirds me out at times and goes to lengths to hide it.
Like today, when he ducked out of the studio to “grab something”. But ten seconds later, I could literally hear the unmistakable inhale of coke into nostrils out in the hall. And when he came back, he was all wide smiles, glassy eyes, and idea that came at a mile a minute.
I turn back to finish the noodles, when I hear that same sound again, behind me in the living room. My lips thin as I glance back at him.
Jackson clears his throat, lifting his head from the cover of a notebook on the coffee table. He sniffs, rubbing his nose as he leans back to exhale at the ceiling. I watch him grin to himself as he reaches for the bottle of whiskey, taking a big gulp.
He’s better than this. Iknowhe’s so much better than this.
I turn back again, trying to push it away. Trying to cover the cracks. I drain the noodles, finish with the tamari and the soft poached eggs, and test the broth itself.
Perfect.
I assemble both deep bowls, spooning in the tamari and the broth, placing the eggs, and adding in the bok choy, the thin slices of beef, and the mushrooms. Then I grab them both and turn to set them on the kitchen island.
“Hungry?”
“Why, are you on the menu?”
I grin as heat creeps up my neck.
“We can discuss dessert after.”
He chuckles, lurching to his feet. I almost go to him when I see him swaying, but he catches himself with a hand on the arm of the sofa. He glances at me and grins sheepishly.
“Man, lightweight over here, huh?”
“Come eat, dork,” I smile back.
But the shadow is there behind it. I watch him stagger in very much not a straight line to the kitchen, whiskey bottle in hand, almost taking out a side table on his way in.
I’m about to sit and dig in. But instead, I gasp as he surges right into me, scooping me into his arms and pining me to the counter behind me. I shiver at the primal lust in his eyes, and the igniting way his hands touch me.
I almost say fuck it to dinner, and his current state, and jump him right here. But then, my stomach gurgles, loudly.
Jackson chuckles as he pulls back from my lips.
“Yeah, let’s eat first,” he slurs, eying me hungrily. “You’re going to need your strength later.”
I grin, biting my lip.
“Promise?”
He just nods, his eyes smoldering as he brings the bottle up. My brow furrows.
“Hey…maybe slow it down?”
“Seriously?”
I shrug. “I mean…yeah, kind of. You’ve really been at it today.”
“I’m fine, sweetheart.”
“No, I know you are—”
