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The corner of his mouth flickered, but then he smiled. “Yeah. I’m cutting you off. You’re a cute drunk, but you’re definitely drunk.”
“I’m not cute,” I stated.
“Yeah, you are.”
“No.” I turned on the bed to face him. At some point—maybe an hour earlier—Viper had finally sat down on the edge of the bed, and we’d been drinking steadily since.
My pointer finger pressed into the center of his chest. “I’m notcute. Women don’t want to be cute. It would be like calling you cuddly. Do you really want to be cuddly?”
“But I’m not cuddly.”
“You’re definitely not,” I agreed. My gaze swept over him. “You’re…you’re…”
“I’m what?” he asked in amusement.
“Terrifyingly hot,” I blurted out.
“I’m what?”
“Terrifyingly hot.”
“I don’t know what that even means.”
“It means you’re so hot I want to cry. And I must be a masochist because every time you tell me you’re too old for me, it just makes me want you more.”
A raspy chuckle left his lips. “Yeah, you’re definitely drunk. You’re going to remember this conversation when you’re sober and be really embarrassed.”
I shook my head. “I won’t be embarrassed. It’s not like I’m hiding how I feel about you. Horniness. Full on horniness. Viper, I haven’t had sex in months.”
He groaned. “Stop. Just stop.”
“I can’t.” I inched closer to him, close enough that I could smell the bourbon on his breath. Close enough that I could run my fingers across the stubble of his jawline and cheeks. Close enough that if I just lifted my leg, I could climb onto his lap and press myself against him.
But I did have some pride.
Sort of.
We were staring at one another and when his gaze dropped to my mouth, I bit my lip.
“You’re drunk,” he murmured.
“Not that drunk.”
“Drunk enough.”
“So are you saying if I wasn’t drunk you’d kiss me right now?”
“No. I wouldn’t kiss you.”
I reached out and probed the collar of his T-shirt with my fingertip. “I think you would. I think you’d cradle the back of my head in your big, tatted hand and kiss me so good and so deep I’d feel it all the way to my toes.”
He gently grasped my finger and stilled my movements. “You need bread.”
I frowned. “Bread?”
“I knew we should’ve eased up on the bourbon,” he muttered. “Or maybe I should’ve at least fought you harder when you started drinking right from the bottle.” He slid off the bed. “Wait here.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
