Page 2 of Whiskey Sour
Rhys glares at him, but continues. “Anyways, thanks to everyone who’s here. This past year has been absolutely crazy, and I wanted to take this opportunity to thank the person who got me through it.” He turns and looks at Everest, who’s standing at the edge of the pool. “Baby, thank you for everything you do for me. I really couldn’t get by without you.” He gulps, and even from here, I can see him flush. “Which is why I need to ask you something.”
Everyone gasps when Rhys gets down on one knee and pulls out a little box from his trunk pocket.
“Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God!” Skylar shouts as he jumps out of the seat. “He’s proposing, Cass!”
“I see that, sunshine,” I mumble, gently yanking him back beside me.
“You’re everything I want, Everest,” Rhys says, and fuck me, there are tears in his eyes. “I love you more than words could ever describe. I know we’re both still young, but if those crazy fuckers”—he shoots Knox and Elton a look—“can get married, so can we.”
“I got you, bro!” Elton shouts as he jumps up and down, his excitement barely contained by Knox’s hand around the back of his neck. “Fuck yes, Everest! Say yes!”
Skylar throws in his two cents. “He hasn’t even asked yet! I think—” He’s cut off as I place my hand over his mouth. Those mismatched eyes of his throw me a deadly glare, but I shrug. When I take my hand away, his voice has dropped to a whisper. “If Rhys didn’t want audience participation, he should have asked in private.”
Well, he has a point there.
Rhys doesn’t look a bit flustered at everyone’s commentary, looking only at Everest, and smiles. “Everest Hill, will you marry me?”
Everest, with tears in his eyes, nods shakily. “Yes, Rhys. I’ll marry you.”
The partygoers erupt in a loud array of hoots and hollers. Claps ring around us as Rhys jumps into the pool and swims toward the edge. He pops up right in front of Everest and reaches out a hand to show him the ring. With one hand over his heart, Everest lets Rhys put the ring on his finger, then screams when his now-fiancé drags him into the water.
I join in on the celebration, clapping loudly, but stop short when I hear a sniffle.
Oh, fuck no.
Skylar is clapping, but my poor sunshine can’t hide the tears in his eyes that aredefinitelynot tears of joy. Shit, I knew he wasn’t over the breakup. Thinking quickly, I stand and drag him along with me, rounding the back of the pavilion so we’re hidden from everyone else. There’s no way I’m letting anyone see him cry.
“Sunshine.” I try to wipe away his tears. “It’s okay?—”
“It’s not okay, Cassius!” he sobs, dropping his face against my chest. “I’m so happy for them, but I’m so sad. I don’t know what I did wrong for him to break up with me.”
I suck in a subtle breath. Soothing him as best as I can, I rub his back, scraping my nails lightly against his skin in the way I know he likes. Still, it does nothing. His wails only grow louder, and I’m powerless to stop them.
“Why would he break up with me?” With tears trailing down his cheeks, he pulls his head back so I can see his puffy, wet eyes. “Is there something wrong with me?”
“There’s nothing wrong with you,” I snap rather harshly, which only causes him to cry even harder. I curse myself and drop my voice to a whisper. “The guy was an asshole. You deserve better.”
“Cass, I…” He starts scratching at his arms. It’s a tic of his he doesn’t even realize he has. He rakes his nails down his skin until it’s red and raw, tender with the way they cover the scars underneath.
I hate it when he does that. Taking his wrist, I stop his movements. I drop my lips against the white scar on the inside of his arm, then trail my mouth up over every raised surface, until I reach the crook of his elbow. “Don’t do that, sunshine.”
A little calmer now, he sniffles. He likes it when I kiss away his pain. Kiss away the memories of how we grew up.
If only the butterfly kisses would mean more to him.
“I thought he was different,” he mumbles. Peeking up at me, those beautiful dual-colored eyes shine with pain. His hands start to wander the way they do when his heart is broken. Over the little tattoo of a sun on my chest, down my sides, over my hips. It’s torture. “Why didn’t he want me?”
I know I should keep my hands where they are, but I’m so weak for him. He’s touching me the way one would touch a lover—gentle and tender—but he doesn’t mean it that way.We’ve been like this since we were kids. Always touching. Always together. Never apart. Like we share the same breath and would die without the other.
“Because he’s an idiot,” I murmur, threading my fingers through his purple hair and scratching at his scalp. “You’re too good for him.”
“Do you think I’m a whore?” he questions with a tremble in his lower lip. “That’s what he said. I didn’t think that shirt was slutty. I didn’t mean to hit on anyone. I just wanted to look nice.”
Fuck me. I love him so much. I shouldn’t, but I do. The innocent love he has for me shouldn’t be tainted by my wants. Still, I can’t resist. It isn’t unusual for me to cup his cheeks like I do now or to bring his mouth inches from mine. “You looked beautiful.”
He sinks into me, our mouths open and breathing each other in. Our noses brush, back and forth, a touch of affection.
“I’m sad,” he admits as another tear tracks down his cheek. “I thought he was the one.”
