Page 199 of New York Love Stories: Vol. 2

I set another empty glass of champagne down on the table and rest back, trying to calculate how many drinks that’s been but start laughing, which, in turn, becomes a fit of giggles. “It’s Mrs. St. James, remember?” When he doesn’t crack a smile, I round my shoulders forward, and try whispering, “You’re not having fun.”

“I’m fine.” His reply is as flat as that line across his mouth. Doesn’t matter that he’s a sourpuss. I still want to kiss him silly. But even tipsy, I know that’s not supposed to be done in a restaurant. I roll my eyes. Society’s rules and all that.

Stretching my leg out, I rub the tip of my shoe under the hem of his pants. “Do you know what drinking does to me?”

Suddenly, he’s entertained. Amused, he sits there with that happy sexy face, his gorgeous eyes staring into mine. “I do. We’ve gotten drunk together many times over the years.”

“But why did we always fight? We’ve wasted so much time when we could have been having sex all these years.” My voice pitches, but I’m okay with it.More than okay.

“We didn’t really know each other until?—”

“Until now. Thesexis so good.” Struggling to stave off the slur trying to kick in, I narrow my eyes and try to be serious. “Intense.”

“Marlow,” he whispers, leaning forward against the edge of the table. “People can hear you.”

I pick up my glass of water and take a sip. “It’s not my problem they don’t have sex like we do. Like animals who can’t get enough of each other.” I turn to look across the room, disappointed when I don’t see our server. “When’s the food going to be here? I’m starving. I need tacos.” The water sloshes in the glass.

“You ordered the fish.” Jackson reaches over and takes the glass from me.

My nose scrunches, and I reach up to uncrunch it. “I don’t want fish. I want tacos.” I gasp when I realize I can have both. “Hear me out. Fish. Tacos.”

He gets up and comes around to my side of the table. “It’s time to go. I’ll get you tacos.”

I stand and wrap my arms around him. “Because you’re my hero.”

“No, because my girl wants tacos, so she gets tacos.”

Poking him in the chest, I nod. “That’s hero stuff right there.” We start to walk, but my ankle wobbles under me. “Whiskey is strong, Jackson. Why’d you let me drink that? Especially on an empty stomach.”

“Ididn’t let you drink anything. That’s all on you, sweetheart.”

“You could at least humor me.”

Chuckling, he replies, “I have been for the past forty-five minutes.”

Just as we leave the atrium, we see the server carrying the bag of food, and I’ve never felt so relieved. We follow him into the corridor, where he swipes the credit card through the reader. He glances at me like he’s never seen a woman under the influence before.

I’m not doing anything outrageous. I’m tipsy, at the most. This city’s full of people partying at all hours of the night and day. I still need to hold tight to Jackson’s arm to steady myself though. Maybe I am drunk. Approved flashes onto the screen. “Success!” I exclaim too loud for the server’s comfort level.

Jackson chuckles while signing the receipt. “Thanks, man. I appreciate it.” He takes the bag, and we head for the exit, each step becoming more troublesome.

But when we pass the last door in the row of private party rooms, I catch a glimpse of my mom and her boyfriend. The room is boisterous, and she stands to lead them in a rousing edition of “Happy Birthday.”

Memories of sitting alone on my balcony, wishing on a star for one person to care, come flashing back. For the first time in my life, I wasn’t being greedy. Just one. That’s all I ever dreamed about.

I don’t stare, forcing myself to look ahead instead. Looking back never did me any favors anyway.

The cold air outside is sobering, and I tuck myself under Jackson’s arm until we find a taxi and hop in. “I don’t want tacos. I just want to go home.”

“You need to eat, and you said you didn’t want the fish.”

“I can find something at the apartment.”

I hear the crumpling of the bag, and then he asks, “Do you want my steak? It came with a baked potato on the side. I think that would be filling and help absorb some of the alcohol.”

“I don’t want to think about food, Jackson,” I snap, staring at my reflection in the window. “That’s all I did growing up. I was never enough, or I was too much. I could never just be me.” When he doesn’t respond, I look at him.

Waiting.

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