Page 52 of Tell Me You Love Me

“Oliver!” I peel Chris’ arm from around her neck and snarl when he holds on too fucking tight. “Take him.”

“Truce!” Chris declares. Not just for him or her, and not even for me. He makes a stand and speaks to everyone. “For my birthday, I’m saying y’all stop staring at her. Forget for a night that she abandoned us and pretend she’s just… ya know… Alana Page. She’s been hiding out in Tommy’s bedroom for ten years. Since,” he grins, “that’s totally in character for what we thought was gonna happen anyway. Stop staring at her and stop whispering. Stop actin’ like she’s got the leper, and instead, buy her a drink. Once she’s at the third shot, she’s gonna shed that big-city sparkle and become like us again. Give it time.”

“We’re gonna go to the smoking area for a bit,” Ollie decides, pulling Chris along and gritting his teeth when he jerks Alana off balance. “Sorry.”

I grab her arm and steady her again. But also, to stop her from turning on her heels and making a dash for freedom. Since the second, of course, is way more likely than the first.

“It’s okay.” She tries to brush my hands off. “Let me?—”

“Don’t leave.” I pull her closer, thankful for the jukebox that covers the sound of her exhaled breath when we crash back together. And since we’re technically on a dance floor, I sway. “Swear to christ, Lana. I’m sick of seeing you leave.”

Her eyes, desperate and emotional, glitter with unshed tears. “I can’t be here. I can’t?—”

“You can.” And because I’m a Watkins just as surely as Chris is, I nudge her shot glass up and hold her eyes until she drinks what’s left. “Truce, remember? And everybody else has been put on notice. They don’t get to stare at you anymore.”

“He’s drunk.” She licks the tequila from her lips, and whatever sticky drops are on her wrist. Then she startles when I steal the glass and set it on anearby table without, even for a second, releasing her or stopping our impromptu dance. “He’s going to puke tonight, you watch.”

I choke out a soft laugh, nodding in agreement. “You’d know. He got drunk like that a time or two back in high school.”

“And then he was a total baby about it for the next forty-eight hours. Needed a cold washcloth on his forehead and soup for every meal until he felt better.”

“He doesn’t get soup anymore.” Dancing is for touching. It’s for tracing new curves and remembering old flames, so I run my hand over her hips and bury my nose behind her ear. “Since I’m not the kind of guy who’s gonna make it. But he preps the washcloths before he drinks now.”

Surprised, she pulls back to search my eyes. “Really?”

“Mmhm. Soaks them in water and tosses them in the freezer before we come out. By the time we’re home, and he starts whining, he remembers what he prepped and goes to sleep a happy man…” I laugh. “Ish.”

She doesn’t find things as humorous as I do, frowning instead. “He drink himself sick often?”

She’s still his mama bear, even when she thinks she isn’t. Still his protector, a role she took on when she became mine. “He needs better guidance, Tommy. Drinking like that is how you end up like your parents. We know that’s not what he wants, so?—”

“Hasn’t drunk himself sick in years.” I press my hand beneath her chin and shut her up. “Seems he’s working through his emotions with alcohol and bad choices tonight, because that girl he once knew is back in town, and besides, it’s his half birthday. He’s allowed to get loud for a night.”

Her eyes glitter with anger—which is better than the heartache I catch all too often—then she brings her hand up and slaps mine away. “Don’t touch my face.”

“I said I’d buy you a shot.” Caroline pops up on my left, brandishing a shot of tequila and a grin. Then she forces the glass into Alana’s hand. “I’m under no illusions aboutthis.” She points between us. “This is not a reunion. This is lightning in a bottle, bound to explode soon. So, while all is contained and everyone is playing nice, I’m gonna shut my trap and pour your drinks. But the second I get so much as ahintof anarchy, I’m kicking you both out and putting you on the street. If you break asingleglass, I’m dragging you out of bed first thing tomorrow morning and bringing you back here to clean my bar from top to bottom.”

“What if we break a table? Respectfully,” I add, teasing. “Because Imight like to swing one at my brother a little later, and I need to know the terms of our agreement before I start that war.”

“Startnowars in my bar!” She sets her hand beneath Alana’s drink and nudges the glass up, emptying clear liquid into her mouth. Then she takes the glass and spins on her heels, striding back to work.

“Holy shit!” Alana’s breath whistles along her throat. I know the tequila burns on its way down. “Does no one around here respect a woman’s right to drink at her own pace?”

“I’m not sure she saw the first one. Probably didn’t realize you’d already downed a shot.”

“Under duress.” She swipes her mouth with the back of her hand and closes her eyes. It’s not a wistful, dancing-in-the-dark thing outsiders might assume. It’s an ‘I need a minute alone before I hurt someone’ thing.

So I give her that and slowly, almost imperceptibly, bring us closer to the middle of the dance floor.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Yeah?” I pull her in, forcing her to straddle my leg and rest her cheek on my shoulder. “I’m dancing. I’m drinking, albeit slower than you. I’m celebrating my brother’s half birthday because he needs one day a year to feel like he’s not just one half ofus. It matters to him, and what matters to him matters to me more than what matters to me.”

“You’re intentionally being obtuse.”

“Am I?” I close my eyes, too, so I don’t have to see all the assholes staring at us. Their stunned expressions remind me of everything I’ve already lost. They remind me she’s a flight risk, plain and simple. “So what is it you think I’m doing?”

“I grew up with you.” She licks her lips. I don’t even have to see it to know she slides her tongue over perfect, swollen bow lips. “I grew with you, through the good days and the bad. Guys like you… trouble found you even when you weren’t looking, and grudges were had, even when you weren’t sure why you had them.”

---