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Mav stares up at them from his seat. His grip on the beer bottle in his hand so tight the whiteness of his knuckles are visible from here.
With one more look at the gyrating couple, I head back inside. Just from the few minutes standing out there, my shirt is soaked through. But it feels weirdly good. And like fuck am I running away like a little bitch again.
So instead, I grab a bottle of whiskey and three glasses before heading back out.
The song has changed, leaving Alana and JD dirty dancing to a popular Rihanna song.
I don’t want to be fascinated by them and the way they move together, but it’s harder than I expect to rip my eyes away when I kick the chair out next to Mav’s and drop my ass into it. Sensibly, he’s sitting under the canopy, although his clothes tell me that he’s not always been sitting here. It makes me wonder if he’s had his fair share of time up there molesting his wife.
When I finally manage to rip my gaze away and look at him, I find him glaring right at them, his jaw ticking in irritation.
Sloshing a generous amount of whiskey into two of the glasses, I pass one over.
“What’s this?” He grunts, staring at the drink as if I’m handing him poison.
“You look like you need something harder than beer,” I explain. “It’s good shit,” I say, pushing it closer to him.
He hesitates, his eyes bouncing between me and the glass.
“Fair enough,” he says eventually, abandoning his bottle and taking the whiskey.
Turning his attention back to the show, he lifts the glass to his lips and takes a small sip.
He nods when he discovers that I’m not lying to him and quickly swallows a bigger mouthful.
“I can probably get you a meeting with Sidney Hyde, or at least one of his right-hand men,” he offers, as if we’re talking about something as simple as the weather.
Unfortunately, I’d just taken a mouthful of whiskey, and I almost spray the deck with it as I cough in shock.
“You serious?” I ask once I’ve recovered enough to speak.
“Yeah. JD said you’ve been struggling with them and—”
“Yeah, I want it. Set it up.”
“Would it kill you to say please?” he mutters like an asshole.
I glare at him. Really fucking glare, but he doesn’t give a shit.
Reaching for the small table on his other side, he lifts one of JD’s joints and lights it up.
“I got all the time in the world, man. Apparently, we’re not going anywhere.”
He takes a hit before letting his head fall back against the chair and blowing it out. All the while, his eyes never leave his wife. In fact, they track every single one of her moves. It’s almost like he’s categorizing them.
“Thank you.” I eventually grunt.
“See, wasn’t so hard, was it?”
In celebration, or what the fuck ever, he passes the joint over, offering up a hit.
I hesitate. It’s been a long time since I kicked back and enjoyed what we have to offer.
His eyes hold mine, allowing me to see more of him than I have in years.
“Thanks,” I say, reaching out to take it.
I take a hit, letting the smoke fill my lungs and the weed do its work. It hits almost instantly, and I relax back.
