Page 1 of Whiskey Promises
Prologue
Zoya
At five-foot-two, most ofthe world is taller than me. But I've learned that it's a less intimidating place when people think I have my shit together. So my motto has always been to fake it until you make it…and talk a lot of crap if you can't.
But that was before my sister's stupidly hot guitarist, Jareth Grayson, strolled his fine ass into her dressing room. I've never been more acutely aware that my shit is not together than I am with him staring at me from across the room.
The only thing I'm faking now is a yawn while I discreetly check to make sure I'm not actually drooling over him.
Jesus. The man is gorgeous. And imposing. His tight black t-shirt stretches across the muscles in his chest, hinting at the body beneath. His long fingers wrap around his beer bottle in a way that shouldn't be nearly as hot as it is…and yet, it is.
Don't even get me started on his tattoos. They litter his body in devastating lines I want to trace with the tip of my tongue.
I think he knows it, too. Those jade green eyes have been locked on me all night. Every time he catches me staring, he smirks.
Like right now. He's smirking again.
And I'm scowling again.
My sister, Nadia, sees my face and chuckles. One long fingernail jabs me in the ribcage.
"You should talk to him, Zoya," she says, her hazel eyes dancing with amusement.
"What? Who?" I turn to blink at her like I'm oblivious. There's no way she's buying my bullshit, though.Idon't even buy it.
"Jareth." She nods in his direction.
"No, thanks." I scrunch my nose up, sending him a disgruntled look. "Dad taught us not to talk to creeps who stare too much."
My older sister's laughter spills across the dressing room, a bright, happy sound. We both know she isn't really happy, though. Like me, she's gotten good at faking it, but I know her as well as I know myself. She hasn't been truly happy since Teo Kirby broke her heart six years ago.
I might not ever want to fall in love myself, but the two of them belong together. They're just too busy being hurt to see what therest of us know. Some days, I'm not sure they'll ever find their way back to one another after everything they've been through. Other days, I'm certain they will.
Today? Well, today I'm choosing hope.
I mean, they have to figure it out sooner or later, right?
"Jareth is not a creep," she protests through laughter.
"Says you." I scowl at him again. Why is he still staring at me? Better question, why am I still staring at him? "But I stopped trusting your judgment when you told me that Dad wouldn't lose it if I dyed my hair pink my senior year."
Her lips curve into a mischievous grin. "I just wanted to see if you'd actually do it."
Spoiler alert: I did it. It went over like a lead balloon. Dad is dramatic and overprotective every day of the week, but I thought he was going to have an actual heart attack that day.
"It is your body, your choice, but not your beautiful, beautiful hair,zaika!" Nadia mimics his deep baritone. She even manages a pretty spot-on facsimile of his horrified expression. "Make your daughter change it back,kisa."
That's pretty much exactly how it went down. Except there was more dramatic gesturing and anxious pacing involved. He damn near wore a hole in the carpet. For a week straight.
"Have you ever noticed that we're always mom's daughters when we're stressing him out?" I ask, tucking strands of my curly hair—which is no longer pink, I might add—behind my ears.
"Uh, yes. He swears his daughters are angels. When we misbehave, it's all mom's fault."
"That's because it usually is her fault."
Nadia and I fall into a fit of laughter.
"What's so funny?" Jareth asks.
