Page 115 of Crossbones
He comes further into the room and looks me up and down. “Why aren’t you wearing any clothes?”
I follow his line of sight and realize I’m only in a pair of underwear. I finish pouring my wine and walk back over to my chair, taking a large sip before answering.
“I’m getting married tonight.” I sink back down in the cushions and moodily study Harrison over the rim of my glass. “I plan on not remembering any of it.”
“Okay, that’s enough,” Harrison plucks the wine from my hand.
“Hey! What the fuck!” I glare at him angrily. “Why are you here? James is dead—Aldric has the gold—I have to figure out how to fuck him up without jeopardizing Foxhollow—”
“Yeah, clearly you’re very busy,” Harrison remarks sarcastically.
“Yes, I have a lot to do and none of it involves fighting you for my wine, Blondie.”
“Are you done?” Harrison moves around the room, picking up my shirt, he tosses it to me.
“What?”
A pair of pants is next, landing on the chair. “Aldric doesn’t have the gold.”
“What?” I say again incredulously.
He throws my boots at me, a little harder than necessary. I fumble one, and the other hits my stomach and falls to the ground.
“God, how drunk are you?”
“Slow down, what do you mean Aldric doesn’t have the gold?”
Harrison throws my empty sword belt at me and stands, hands on his hips, regarding me with annoyance.
“We don’t have time for this,” he grumbles. “Can you dress yourself? Because I’m definitely not doing that—”
I wave away the comment and shove my legs into my pants, hopping slightly as my balance wavers. I look up to see amusement dancing in Harrison’s eyes, and I scowl.
“Fuck off, I wasn’t expecting to have to be functional today.”
“Can you wield a sword?”
I shrug into my shirt, shoving it haphazardly into my pants. “Probably—if I had one—”
Harrison produces a second cutlass I hadn’t noticed from his belt.
“You’re just full of surprises,” I hold up my hands quickly. “Don’t throw that thing at me.”
I sit down to pull on my boots. “You still haven’t told me why you’re here.”
“I would have assumed that’s obvious,” he says dryly.
“I’m drunk, remember, humor me.” I do up my laces and start on the other boot.
“I’m breaking you out.”
I stand up, sufficiently dressed but definitely not sober. Harrison comes over and hands me the cutlass.
“Careful with that,” he jokes.
“Even drunk, I bet I’m still better than you,” I tease.
I put the blade on my belt, feeling instantly better being armed.
