A Love Letter to Whiskey
Page 58
- Background:
- Text Font:
- Text Size:
- Line Height:
- Line Break Height:
- Frame:
I nodded. “Mm-hmm.” Then, I sipped my own drink — my water — because clearly I had had enough. In fact, I couldn’t even remember why I said River was funny. Did he make a joke? I wasn’t sure.
I wasn’t sloppy drunk, but I was definitely solidly buzzed. My feet were warm, smile loose, eyes hazy. I was still dressed in the yoga pants and loose t-shirt I’d been wearing in my apartment, and I didn’t even feel a little ashamed about it.
I thought it would make me feel better to drink, to get out of the house, but it didn’t. That fact didn’t stop me from word vomiting to River in the hopes that it could change.
“Did I tell you he asked me to be his Best Lady?” I laughed, stirring the black straws in my glass of water, wondering if it would turn to vodka if I stirred long enough.
“You did.”
“You know. Like the best man, like his number one. Except I’m a girl.”
“Right.”
“I said yes, of course,” I added quickly. “Because we’re so close, and I love him, but like… really?” I shook my head. “It feels weird.”
“Feels to me like this guy really did a number on you,” River mused, turning to face me more head on. His legs were so long, stretching out to rest on the heels of my own bar stool. I looked at him more closely that night, noting the light tone of his hair, the brightness of his eyes, the way his hair was always so put together.
“Yeah,” I finally whispered.
“So, I’m going to go out on a ledge here but… is the guy you’ve been talking about Jamie?”
The fog in my head cleared a little at the mention of his name. Suddenly, my brain kicked into overtime, thinking over everything we’d talked about that night. What had I told him? How much did I spill? I traced back, remembering that I told him an ex was getting married, which was actually kind of a lie, but easier to explain. I told him we hadn’t been split up but a year, which was true. I’d told him about us ending on bad terms at first, but reconciling, remaining friends, and then the phone call.
So, not much. But still, enough.
Enough for me to feel oddly protective of Jamie’s name. I didn’t want him to be known as an asshole, because he wasn’t. In all actuality, I was the asshole. I also didn’t like the fact that River remembered Jamie’s name. Had he really seen it that many times on my phone? And what if Jamie ever flew up here to visit me — would River treat him badly knowing all I’d just divulged?
Nothing was making sense, but I somehow found the response I felt was right.
“Nah, you don’t know him. Just an ex.”
“That you were dating last summer as an intern?”
River’s gaze was questioning. Not accusatory, not prodding, just curious.
“We never actually dated, technically. Like, if you want to talk titles and all. I don’t know. New topic,” I said, waving the bartender down to refill my water.
River’s hand darted out and grabbed the bottom of my bar stool. He tugged me closer, our knees touching, and he leaned in close. “You’ve been talking about this guy all night, and now when we’re getting down to the root of it, you want a change of subject. Talk to me.”
His hand was on mine now, not invasive, just resting there. I swallowed. “I don’t know how I feel about any of it yet. I really don’t. I came straight here, drank way too much, and now I can’t think straight.” The bartender topped off my water and I took a drink quickly. “I’m sure the hangover tomorrow will be a bitch — in more ways than one.”
River’s thumb grazed mine then. “I know it hurts right now, and I’m not going to sit here and bullshit you like it’s going to stop hurting tomorrow. Clearly you love this guy, enough to swallow your pride and be beside him on the most important day of his life.”
I gulped. The most important day of his life, and I would be a supporting actress.
“But I want to be the first to tell you, since clearly you haven’t heard it yet,” he added, leaning in just a bit more. I smelled the gin on his breath, mixed with evergreen. He leveled his blue eyes with mine. “You are, by far, the most spectacular woman I have ever met. You’re bright, driven, intelligent, funny, kind — I could go on all night, B. I really could. And there is not one doubt in my mind that there are good men out there who would give anything just to have a chance to prove to you what you’re worth.” He swallowed then, and my mouth fell open slightly at his words. They were so sincere, his voice so steady. “And the line forms behind me.”
His hand slipped from mine up my arm then, treading boldly to frame my jaw before curving around the nape of my neck. His eyes were steady as they fell to my lips, but unsure. He was waiting for me to tell him it was okay, and that night, whether it was a good decision or not, I told him.
I leaned closer, twisted my hands in the starch fabric of his dress shirt, and pulled his lips to mine.
It was wrong — it was all wrong. His lips weren’t as full as Jamie’s, his tongue worked too quickly against mine, his hands were cautious and slow. He didn’t smell like honey and spice, he smelled like paper and ink — which was beautiful, but he just wasn’t Whiskey.
And that’s when I realized, he didn’t have to be.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, deepening our kiss, shedding any remaining thoughts of Jamie and Angel. Of the wedding. Of that night in general. We barely broke our kisses long enough to make it up the elevator to my apartment, and once we were inside, neither of us said another word.
River was frantic with me, like he couldn’t believe we were in my bed, like he’d been waiting years to get this chance. I realized maybe he had. I’d caught on to his flirting, but I never realized he felt how he said he did in the bar. He didn’t just want me, he noticed me — the best parts of me, and just that alone made him sexy in my eyes.
I tried hard not to, but I compared every move he made to Whiskey. The way he kissed my neck, the way his fingers felt inside me, the way he looked when he came. It was nice with River — fun, sweet, almost a little too intimate. That night, he wasn’t my shot of whiskey, but he was my cup of tea — and maybe that’s what I needed. A change in pace, a new addiction, a fresh taste on my tongue.
At least, that’s what I told myself that night. I repeated it in my head until River stepped out early the next morning and I called into work. Just like I’d predicted, the hangover hit me like a wall of a wave.
I wasn’t sloppy drunk, but I was definitely solidly buzzed. My feet were warm, smile loose, eyes hazy. I was still dressed in the yoga pants and loose t-shirt I’d been wearing in my apartment, and I didn’t even feel a little ashamed about it.
I thought it would make me feel better to drink, to get out of the house, but it didn’t. That fact didn’t stop me from word vomiting to River in the hopes that it could change.
“Did I tell you he asked me to be his Best Lady?” I laughed, stirring the black straws in my glass of water, wondering if it would turn to vodka if I stirred long enough.
“You did.”
“You know. Like the best man, like his number one. Except I’m a girl.”
“Right.”
“I said yes, of course,” I added quickly. “Because we’re so close, and I love him, but like… really?” I shook my head. “It feels weird.”
“Feels to me like this guy really did a number on you,” River mused, turning to face me more head on. His legs were so long, stretching out to rest on the heels of my own bar stool. I looked at him more closely that night, noting the light tone of his hair, the brightness of his eyes, the way his hair was always so put together.
“Yeah,” I finally whispered.
“So, I’m going to go out on a ledge here but… is the guy you’ve been talking about Jamie?”
The fog in my head cleared a little at the mention of his name. Suddenly, my brain kicked into overtime, thinking over everything we’d talked about that night. What had I told him? How much did I spill? I traced back, remembering that I told him an ex was getting married, which was actually kind of a lie, but easier to explain. I told him we hadn’t been split up but a year, which was true. I’d told him about us ending on bad terms at first, but reconciling, remaining friends, and then the phone call.
So, not much. But still, enough.
Enough for me to feel oddly protective of Jamie’s name. I didn’t want him to be known as an asshole, because he wasn’t. In all actuality, I was the asshole. I also didn’t like the fact that River remembered Jamie’s name. Had he really seen it that many times on my phone? And what if Jamie ever flew up here to visit me — would River treat him badly knowing all I’d just divulged?
Nothing was making sense, but I somehow found the response I felt was right.
“Nah, you don’t know him. Just an ex.”
“That you were dating last summer as an intern?”
River’s gaze was questioning. Not accusatory, not prodding, just curious.
“We never actually dated, technically. Like, if you want to talk titles and all. I don’t know. New topic,” I said, waving the bartender down to refill my water.
River’s hand darted out and grabbed the bottom of my bar stool. He tugged me closer, our knees touching, and he leaned in close. “You’ve been talking about this guy all night, and now when we’re getting down to the root of it, you want a change of subject. Talk to me.”
His hand was on mine now, not invasive, just resting there. I swallowed. “I don’t know how I feel about any of it yet. I really don’t. I came straight here, drank way too much, and now I can’t think straight.” The bartender topped off my water and I took a drink quickly. “I’m sure the hangover tomorrow will be a bitch — in more ways than one.”
River’s thumb grazed mine then. “I know it hurts right now, and I’m not going to sit here and bullshit you like it’s going to stop hurting tomorrow. Clearly you love this guy, enough to swallow your pride and be beside him on the most important day of his life.”
I gulped. The most important day of his life, and I would be a supporting actress.
“But I want to be the first to tell you, since clearly you haven’t heard it yet,” he added, leaning in just a bit more. I smelled the gin on his breath, mixed with evergreen. He leveled his blue eyes with mine. “You are, by far, the most spectacular woman I have ever met. You’re bright, driven, intelligent, funny, kind — I could go on all night, B. I really could. And there is not one doubt in my mind that there are good men out there who would give anything just to have a chance to prove to you what you’re worth.” He swallowed then, and my mouth fell open slightly at his words. They were so sincere, his voice so steady. “And the line forms behind me.”
His hand slipped from mine up my arm then, treading boldly to frame my jaw before curving around the nape of my neck. His eyes were steady as they fell to my lips, but unsure. He was waiting for me to tell him it was okay, and that night, whether it was a good decision or not, I told him.
I leaned closer, twisted my hands in the starch fabric of his dress shirt, and pulled his lips to mine.
It was wrong — it was all wrong. His lips weren’t as full as Jamie’s, his tongue worked too quickly against mine, his hands were cautious and slow. He didn’t smell like honey and spice, he smelled like paper and ink — which was beautiful, but he just wasn’t Whiskey.
And that’s when I realized, he didn’t have to be.
I wrapped my arms around his neck, deepening our kiss, shedding any remaining thoughts of Jamie and Angel. Of the wedding. Of that night in general. We barely broke our kisses long enough to make it up the elevator to my apartment, and once we were inside, neither of us said another word.
River was frantic with me, like he couldn’t believe we were in my bed, like he’d been waiting years to get this chance. I realized maybe he had. I’d caught on to his flirting, but I never realized he felt how he said he did in the bar. He didn’t just want me, he noticed me — the best parts of me, and just that alone made him sexy in my eyes.
I tried hard not to, but I compared every move he made to Whiskey. The way he kissed my neck, the way his fingers felt inside me, the way he looked when he came. It was nice with River — fun, sweet, almost a little too intimate. That night, he wasn’t my shot of whiskey, but he was my cup of tea — and maybe that’s what I needed. A change in pace, a new addiction, a fresh taste on my tongue.
At least, that’s what I told myself that night. I repeated it in my head until River stepped out early the next morning and I called into work. Just like I’d predicted, the hangover hit me like a wall of a wave.
