Page 72 of Whiskey Sour
I swallow audibly and try to think of something, but Knox beats me to it.
“We were just shooting the shit,” he says smoothly, killing his own cigarette. He walks up behind me and claps his hand on my shoulder. “He’s all yours now.”
There’s sympathy and almost pity in Knox’s eyes as he leaves us. Skylar wrinkles his nose in disgust as he sniffs me. “You smell horrible.”
“Sorry, sunshine,” I say, just a little bit twitchy. “Um, I caught Elton giving Knox head.”
“What!” Skylar screams, throwing his hands in the air. “Why didn’t you get me! Do you know what kind of fanart I could have made!”
Chuckling, I let his body ease my trembling as I kiss the top of his head. “Sorry about that. The next time I catch our friends going down on each other, I’ll make sure to grab you.”
“It’s the least you can do.” He huffs. Shaking the thought away, he smiles. “So, that was really cute. Do you think they’ll start having kids soon?”
I raise an eyebrow as I lead us back to the party. “That’s a good question. I know Elton for sure wants some, but I’m not too sure about Knox.”
“How about you?” he asks, blinking up prettily at me. “You think you ever want to do this? Get married? Have kids?”
I think it through, my nerves already a bit more settled the longer I’m with him. I actually don’t know. I mean, there’s nothing wrong with marriage and kids. If that’s what someone wants to do, I fully support it. But when I picture my life years from now, besides having Skylar by my side, I don’t see the white picket fence and the two-point-five kids.
Maybe it’s because of how Skylar and I grew up, but that kind of life just doesn’t appeal to me. I want to travel, see the world, and play my music. I want Skylar with me for all of it. Kids and marriage…they just don’t fit in that picture.
“No,” I say, clarity striking me all of a sudden. “I don’t think so.”
Skylar rolls his bottom lip into his mouth and hums thoughtfully. “You know what? I don’t think I want that either. Is that bad?”
I shake my head. “No. Everyone has a different path in life. You don’t have to have a marriage certificate to be in love and committed to someone.”
“Don’t get me wrong, I want forever,” he clarifies as we rejoin the party. “But marriage doesn’t seem necessary. Does that make sense?”
To that, I smile. Skylar really is perfect for me in every single way. I press a kiss to the tip of his nose. “It makes perfect sense.”
“So, what do you want to do now?” he asks, his eyes darting around the garden. “Ooo! Do you want to see if Butch ended up beating the shit out of Knox’s brother! Or maybe we can see if Max succeeded in getting Davis drunk!”
While those sound like wonderful options, I shake my head. “Why don’t we just go home and take a nap together before our shifts tonight?”
I think maybe that’ll be too boring for him, but he surprises me by nodding. He latches onto my arm and snuggles into myside. “A whole afternoon with my favorite person? You know I always want it just to be the two of us.”
Yeah. The two of us. No matter what.
Right?
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Skylar
I sighas I look at the spectacular disaster in front of me.
AfterOut Of This WorldNight, Davis now has him planning another themed night. This time it’s aJimmy Buffett Bash, which is clever, considering where we are, but how do I make Jimmy Buffett-themed drinks? Margaritas? That’ssooooooboring.
So, here’s my third attempt at making a mix between a margarita and a Sex on the Beach. It has all the typical alcohol from both drinks, but it sparkles!
Or at least it should. It’s looking a little more dull and lifeless than I had hoped, and the sparkles kind of make it look like I might have spiked the drink, which, no matter how many times Knox says it, isnottrue. Just because he and Elton ended up getting freaky after a couple of Blue Nipples does not mean it was my fault. Same with the Bareback and Flip Fucks. These are all grown-ass men, and if they can’t drink responsibly, that’s not on me.
Still, I don’t want my new drink—It’s Sexy Time Somewhere—to be a major turn-off, so I huff and start from scratch. Pouring the drink into the drain, I set the glass down and reach for the tequila. I’m about to try again, and hopefully have something toshow for my time when Rhys and Max get here, but something catches my attention.
Davis is shaking hands with someone I vaguely recognize. I don’t know what his name is, but he comes and goes every now and then, mostly just to and from Davis’s office. He pats him on the shoulder, leading him down the stairs and toward the bar.
“Skylar,” Davis says, with no smile on his face, but his voice is pleasant enough. “Can you get Lyle a drink?”
