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His entire frame lifts with his sigh, the eye roll flying all the way to Mars and back, but he pulls the bottle closer and produces a second glass.
Filling both tumblers with more than two fingers’ worth, Fin grasps his glass like I might steal it again, sipping the liquid.
“You really shouldn’t do that.” He tells me when I tip mine back and swallow the contents in one gulp.
“Why the fuck not?” I demand, the bottom of my glass smacking the marble again.
“Whatever floats your boat, kid. I’m not your fucking babysitter.” With a shake of his head, Fin leaves me and the bottle alone at the bar.
It doesn’t take long to feel the effects of the alcohol warming my blood and for me to ditch the glass only to replace it with drinking straight from the bottle.
The more I drink, the less shitty I feel, the more comfortable I become in this house that’s a hidden dungeon and doesn’t belong to me.
Doesn’t stop me from stretching out on one of the many couches like it is, though.
It also doesn’t stop me from pulling out my phone and opening the text thread to Rex.
Me: I hate that you’re famous.
The little dots at the bottom of the screen illuminate almost immediately and I sip from the bottle.
SexyMane: Right now, so the fuck do I, babe.
SexyMane: Where are you?
I can’t believe I never changed that name. It’s ridiculous.SexyMane.
I laugh to myself and slide down into a prone position, only spilling a little of the amber on my hand.
SexyMane: Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you.
Me: S’oky. Fin here somewhere.
Me: I think
I swing my head about the room to check for my companion only to come up empty.
SexyMane: Just tell me where and I’ll be there.
SexyMane: Please baby.
42
REX
When my last text goes unanswered, I call Fin.
Swear to God he better not do anything dumb.
I grip the device to my face as it rings and fucking rings.
“Fuck!”
I cock my arm back and throw the fucking thing against the wall. It bounces off the plywood, plastic pieces splintering from the device and scattering all over the floor of the treehouse.
“Hey!” Mac ducks and covers his head as shit rains down on him from his spot on the brand-new bean bag. “What the fuck, duck lips?”
Throwing my hands up with a growl, I run a tight hand through my hair and turn on Ian who’s perched in the corner, making the small space seem broodingly claustrophobic.
