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“Can we not talk about this … or act like we neverdidtalk about it?”
“There is no chance in hell I’ll forget this conversation.” He winks. “I’m starting to like you more, dear neighbor.”
* * *
I’mdrunk off my ass with the man I hate sitting at my side.
Last time we hung out, it crushed me.
Kyle chuckles, drags my drink away from me, and sets it out of my reach. “Cut-off time for Chloe.”
I scowl at him and gesture to the bar. “Look at that, ladies and gents. The life of the party has graduated to the party pooper. Is the music too loud for you? Should I ask Maliki to turn it down a notch, so you can get your full eight hours of sleep?”
“I love wasted, smart-ass Chloe.” He smirks.
I’m clueless as to how long we’ve been sitting here with each other. Kyle’s company has outshone every thought of Kent. Being around him is entertaining and much better than drinking myself into a stupor alone. I’m an emotional drunk. The first time I got wasted, I blubbered about losing a pet goldfish before puking and passing out.
Hanging out with Kyle—if that’s what you can call it—has been interesting. We argued when I attempted to order a drink stronger than the vodka in front of me. Five minutes later, I realized I had no choice. When I yelled my order to Maliki, Kyle shook his head, and Maliki turned around like a traitorous little shit.
Somehow, Kyle volunteered for Chloe babysitting duty—not surprising. He’s always enjoyed being in charge and bossing people around. Sober me does not like him being in charge and bossy. But drunk me—good ole stupid, drunk me—loves his authority.
Somehow, the liquor numbs my hate for him. His attractiveness is the culprit of my sliding closer to him as the night grows later. My attention closes in on his hair as I think of how amazing it’d be to mess it up, run my hands through it, while he touched me in places he shouldn’t. The flannel hugging his muscular arms looked hot when he sat down, but my mouth watered when he unbuttoned it later and revealed a black V-neck tee. He hung the flannel on the back of his stool and stretched his arms out on the bar.
I knew vodka went straight to the head, but I didn’t know it messed with your head like this.
Maybe I should drink away those thoughts.
Excellent idea.
I need to up my alcohol intake.
I reach for the half-full glass of vodka soda he confiscated, but he grabs my hand. His finger massages the space between my thumb and finger before sliding the drink farther away from me.
“Nice try,” he says.
“But it’s half-full!” I argue as if he took my favorite toy. “Isn’t that a drinking foul?”
“True, but you’rewayover being tipsy.” His response drips with authority, and I shiver.
“Duh. It was my game plan tonight.”
He cocks his head toward the door. “Come on, my drunk Nancy Drew. I’ll drive you home.”
I cross my arms. “No.”
“Yes.”
“I can find my way home.”
He snorts. “It’s not like it’s out of my way or anything.”
“I’m not getting in the car with my archnemesis.”
“Archnemesis?” he scoffs. “What are we, a fucking high school drama?”
“Piss off.”
“Come on, I’m a nice guy. I ordered you fries. Mean people don’t order other people fries. They keep them to themselves.” He elbows me. “So, admit it. I’m a nice fucking dude.”
