“Just put the whole bottle aside for me.” I twirl an unlit cigarette in my hand, wanting to beat the fucking piss out of the dickheads who banned smoking in public places.
“Done.” Lee reaches for a Sharpie and an unopened bottle of Patrón and scribbles my name on it. Shaking his head, he sets the bottle and another shot in front of me. “It’s all yours, man. But seriously, you need to get the hell out of whatever funk you’re in. Where’s the Ryder I know?”
I glare at Lee, wishing he would shut the fuck up. If he doesn’t, he’s joining the infamous ram’s head mounted above the fireplace.
“Come on, dude.” Lee rests his elbows on the bar, letting loose a sigh as he pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I know you’re balls deep in this shit with Amber, but it is what it is. Move on to the next, Ashcroft. There’s nothing you can do about it.”
The truth in his words rip through my gut. He is right. There’s not a goddamn thing I can do about it. Still, as I kill my fifth shot—the burn sizzling my throat—I know the second that girl walks in the bar, any resolve I have about letting it all go is gonna vaporize. If I’d thought I felt an ounce of anything for her before watching her with Casey—the caring way she handled her—I was wrong. After that, I was done for. I wanted to hold her hostage, never letting her leave my apartment, let alone my life.
I gotta get the girl out of my head, but how the fuck do I let go of someone who I feel was made for me? All these months later, no matter how I’ve tried to fill the void—be it banging chicks I couldn’t give a fuck about or drinking and getting high till I can’t see straight—I’m still trying to figure that one out. Is someone who’ll never be mine worth fighting for? I know what my head tells me:
Fuck. No.
It’s the other part of my body—one that hasn’t been alive in years—that tells me yes.
Yes, she is. Despite my friendship with Brock, Amber’s worth a few rounds in the moral boxing ring.
Before I can think too much about holding her captive in my bed, possibly cuffed to the headboard, I glance toward the entrance. My shoulders tense when I see Amber, Brock, and Madeline waiting to get in.
Close to shitfaced, my body reacts, becoming alert as they navigate through the crush of patrons, heading right for me. My gaze locks on Amber’s, and the fiery halo of yellow painting her eyes is almost too much for me to bear. Those angelic irises send me into my own personal purgatory, their heat breathing something words can’t explain into the darkest parts of my fucked-up head.
It’s showtime.
On cue, Lee drops another shot in front of me, and I chug it back, plastering a smile on my face as the trio approaches.
“You look like you’re feeling pretty good.” Brock claps his hand over my shoulder and pulls out a bar stool for Amber.
Clad in a black miniskirt, tight pink sweater, and black knee-high leather boots, she’s the epitome of every man’s dirtiest fantasy. Like candy to a starved tongue or a centerfold to eyes once blind, she throws most of the male population off their game, me included.
Amber sinks onto the stool next to me, a coy smile spreading her lips as she tips her chin up to Lee. “He sure does.” She swings her eyes my way, her brow drawn up in challenge. “I’ll take a double of what he’s having. I feel like making Ashcroft look like a fool tonight.”
Sweet Jesus. Grinning, I look at Brock. “Is she serious, or is she smoked out?”
Brock tosses his arm over Amber’s shoulder. “She’s smoked out a little something, but bro, the girl can drink. That’s all I’m saying.”
I chuckle, snatch up the bottle of Patrón, and throw another shot of the liquid down my throat as I attempt to kill visuals of her gorgeous legs wrapped around my head.
“You sure about that, Amber?” Lee hops onto the bar and lays a kiss on Madeline’s lips. “Ashcroft’s drinking tequila. Think you can handle it?”
Brock and Madeline bark out a laugh, looking at Lee as if he’s lost his fucking mind. Amber remains quiet, a knowing smile on her lips.
“Baby?” Madeline curls her fingers around the collar of his work polo, pulling him in for another kiss. “Brock’s not kidding. Didn’t you know Amber’s a fish out of water, existing only to inhale tequila?”
“Why, no. No, I didn’t, babe.” Lee slides off the bar and reaches for my bottle of Patrón, holding it up as though asking if it’s okay.
I nod, looking forward to the outcome. I’ve witnessed Amber high, but I’ve yet to experience her drunk. After setting a Heineken in front of Brock and preparing Madeline her usual Cosmopolitan, Lee pours Amber two shots. A second passes, and she downs them both sailor-style. With an I dare you to underestimate me look in her eyes, she wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, not a shred of distaste hampering her features.
“Damn.” Lee laughs. “Maybe we do have some competition here tonight. This should be interesting.”
Madeline knots her arms around Amber’s stomach from behind. “Told ya. My girl’s got this.”
“You bet your ass I do.” Amber beams, motioning to Lee for another. “Just give up now, buddy. I may be smaller than you, but you don’t stand a chance.”
“You really think you can outdrink me, peach?” I ask with an amused grin. “Before you answer, I want you to think about what you’re saying. I’m a pro at many, many things, but I take drinking seriously. It’s an art form. Kind of like huge buildings, it takes time to master the level I’m at.”