“Are you even old enough to do that?” I ask with a smirk, but I take a long swig myself.
Fire races through my guts, warming me and settling the irritation that was tinging my thoughts.
“Funny.” Her eyes narrow with a spark in them. “This from the guy old enough to be a grandpa?” Her lips turn up as she reaches for another drink.
“Ouch. That was cold, frosty. Are you always this mean?” I let the bed fall after I’ve pulled two packets of chicken alfredo out of the box. “I ain’t that old, just broke forty-one.”
“Ah.” She rakes her gaze up and down me like she’s seeing me for the first time. “Tell me about your girl.” Her tone levels, then she tilts the bottle again.
My head buzzes when she hands it to me.
Do I really want to open that fucking can of worms?
“Did you love her?” April blinks, her forehead furrowing as she settles onto the blanket.
That demands another shot.
Or four.
I’m almost numb to the familiar burn of the alcohol now.
“Yea, I did.” I still do. And it hurts like hell. “You ever fallen for someone?” I don’t know how long I’ll handle talking about this.
Everytime I let the memories sneak up, it’s like fighting back a dragon, a raging bull that’s intent on bringing me to my knees.
One of these times, I worry it might just destroy me.
Her spiky hair waves around her head. “Nope. I mean, I dated a few guys. Glad I wasn’t a virgin when…well…” She drifts off and her gaze takes on a faraway look until she jerks back. “I mean, at least I know sex can be fun. Sometimes.” Her nose wrinkles and she takes another swig.
When she lowers the bottle, she lets it sit in the hollow made by her crossed legs.
An image of her spread on her back, her head thrown back in a cry of passion flashes through me.
My cock twitches.
Jesus. No. Just. Fucking. No.
Ripping the silver pouches of food open, I pour the boiling water in and set them on the tiny counter to steep.
“How did she die?” April’s voice breaks my concentration.
I almost spill the kettle trying to put it back.
“That’s a long ass story,” I grumble. One I have zero interest in sharing.
She pulls the whiskey up, squinting at the half that remains. “I’d say we have a while. And several more bottles if that’s what it takes.”
Slumping onto the stool, I let my palm fall across my face as I contemplate walking out into the blizzard so I can avoid these questions.
“What if I don’t want to talk about it?” I hold out my hand and gesture for the bottle.
I’m just about resigned to my fate, and I don’t know how I feel about it.
“Do it anyway. I want to know just how broken I need to be so I have a good excuse to run off into the woods.” Her jaw clenches.
There’s no humor in her words.
“You really are something,” I grumble, then take another swallow of the fire water.