Page 51 of When You're Gone
Tori: Are you at work?
Fielding: Not yet. Heading there in an hour. Jake said we’re hot tubbin’ tonight! I think he’ll beat me there since I’m scheduled at The Grille.
She scowled at his reply, pausing for only a beat before typing out her request.
Tori: Call off. Or get one of the guys to cover. I need you to come over now.
Fielding: Be there in 20.
She could survive twenty minutes.
Bury it down.
Hollow it out.
Twenty minutes on empty, and then Fielding would pour her a drink, crack an inappropriate joke, and remind her that everything wasn’t as painfully tragic as it seemed.
Chapter nineteen
Tori
“Truthortruth?”heasked, grimacing as he sucked down a gulp of tequila from the plastic Gatorade bottle in his grasp.
She rolled her eyes, then smiled so wide she squinted. They’d been in the hot tub for almost an hour now after spending the afternoon in the sunroom noshing on greasy takeout. Field had convinced her to stick with the theme of the night and drink tequila, arguing that it would all go down easier since Jake was bringing margaritas later.
She closed her eyes, tilted her head down, and stretched her neck forward. A few strands of hair had escaped her messy bun, and she watched them swirl around in the blue and purple lights that danced amongst the bubbles, then giggled when the hair tickled her collarbone. She didn’t give a shit about getting her new boobs wet tonight. She didn’t give a shit about much of anything right now. At this point, she’d had enough tequila to make everything feel like nothing.
A dramatic sigh left her as she righted herself and met his gaze. “Truth.”
Fielding was positioned on the right of the stairs while she was perched on the left. Rhett and Jake’s thrones. She snickered at the idea. She knew Jake would push her out of his favorite seat as soon as he arrived.
She glanced over at Fielding again, awaiting his question. Her body was hot from the tequila and warm from the water. She was burning from the inside out. She had half a mind to take a break—to get out and cool down a bit, then get back in once Jake arrived. But there was something dark and angry inside her tonight that compelled her to stay. The darkness wanted her to burn. And she was too damn tired to fight it.
“What did you want to be when you grew up?” he finally asked. He reached across the stairs and brushed back a damp strand of hair she was trying to bat out of her eyes. She shoved his hand away before tucking the hair behind her ear and glaring at him.
“Honest answer or drink,” he reminded her in typical cocky Fielding fashion.
She knew the rules. He knew she knew the rules. She splashed him in the face a little too aggressively for his snide remark.
Except the splash wasn’t much of a splash. Fielding caught her wrist and stilled her hand, his fingers squeezing against the pulse point thundering in her veins.
“You better watch yourself, Victoria Thompson,” he deadpanned. He brought their joined hands to rest on the underwater bench on his side of the stairs, moving her effortlessly through the water in the process. He didn’t release his hold until she was tucked up against his body. “Your new boobs are already wet. Don’t think I won’t retaliate.” His words came out as a threat dipped in wicked intent.
Her eyes widened at the challenge, but she cowered back slightly as she processed the seriousness of his warning. It was all fun and games until a six-two solid mass of muscle was threatening to submerge her in a hot tub.
He finally broke their staring contest, shaking his head and running a wet hand through his hair. “Jake’s gonna freak when he gets here,” he murmured, glancing back toward the house as if he expected their friend to appear on cue.
“What? Why?” She pulled her legs onto the bench seat and crossed them where she sat, turning to stare at his profile.
He rolled his head to the side and gave her a pointed look. “Because you’re drunk, Victoria Thompson. It’s not even eight, and you’re drunk as a skunk.”
“Askunk? That’s rude! I don’t smell like a skunk!”
Fielding chuckled at her protests and bit down on his lower lip. He just kept shaking his head and smiling. He was like her own personal bobble head: endlessly patient, constantly amused. She knew she could say or do just about anything and get away with it tonight.
“Okay, your turn,” she declared.
“Um, no.”
