Page 75 of Whiskey Sour
“I think I remember,” I tease as I crack my knuckles. “Just like I remember how I used to always beat you.”
He gasps and slaps his hand over his heart. “No, you did not!”
“Always did.” I smirk, tugging on my bottom lip. “What do I getwhenI win?”
“WhenIwin, you have to let me ride the bike,” he declares, hands adorably planted on his hips. “If, by some miracle, you win…”
“I get to fuck you in the soccer mom van.”
Blushing, he nods shakily. “Um, yeah. Totally. We can do that. I mean, even when you lose, we could still?—”
“Start the game, sunshine.” I chuckle. “I’m ready to get some ass.”
He rolls his eyes but, fuck me, look at that cute little tent in his pants. When he starts the game, it only takes a few seconds for my body and mind to link and remember how to play. It’s alittle robotic and awkward at first, but we both get the hang of it quickly.
“Do you remember how many times we used to play this?” Skylar asks as he stomps down to the pattern on the screen. “We had the highest score in the arcade for weeks.”
I cross my legs so I can stomp on the square behind me. “I think we might still have the highest score.”
“It’s been years.”
“So? We played a lot.”
It sounds like a good memory, but it’s not. We didn’t go to the arcade back in our small trailer trash town to have fun. We went to escape. We’d spend all day there, begging people for scraps of tokens so we could play games. From the minute they opened to the second they closed, we were there. It might have gotten boring after a bit, but anything was better than being home.
“Do you…” I look at him from the corner of my eye as he gulps. “Do you remember a lot of it, Cass?”
I give him a clipped nod, not particularly wanting to ruin our night with this topic. “Yeah.”
He stumbles on his next move and curses. “Do you ever think we should talk about it?”
I’m sure that’s the healthy thing to do, but it’s not something I’m interested in. Like Skylar said, it’s been years. We’ve moved on. We’re free. What’s the point of dwelling in the past?
“Doyouwant to talk about it?” I ask, because if he does, we can. I’ll go back to the darkness for him. When he hesitates, I cock an eyebrow. “Skylar?”
“I just want the best for our lives, Cassy,” he mutters, faltering on a step before recovering. “That’s all I ever wanted for us. Anything we could dream of.”
For some reason, it has my mind wandering back to the producer he tried to set me up with. I can admit that I was a raging dick. Maybe not as bad as Knox, but definitely not politeto someone who gave their time to see me. And especially not to Skylar. His words paint the situation in a different light. I had thought maybe he was unsatisfied with me, that he thought I was some deadbeat like those in the town we escaped, but that’s not the case.
He wants us to achieve things we never would have thought possible. Me signing with a producer? It was never the dream, but maybe I never let myself think of it. Don’t get me wrong, I’m happy where I am, but the idea of more…
In my distracted state, I miss a consecutive five moves, and the screen lights up with Skylar’s name as victorious. Suddenly, our past is forgotten as he claps and cheers.
“I won!” he shouts excitedly, making a face at me. “Guess who’s taking me for a ride.”
“Skylar,” I say, my tone sobering. “Doyou want to talk about it?”
“About what?”
I don’t know if I believe he actually forgot what we were just talking about, but I know I can’t push. Pushing Skylar is the worst thing anyone could do. It’s not that he’s weak or feeble, but getting something thrust onto him that he’s not ready for can rattle him. When he thinks he’s backed into a corner, he either bolts or retreats into himself, neither of which I want to happen.
One day, we’ll have to talk about it. I think him bringing it up today means that the time is coming.
But not tonight.
We step off the game so other people can play, and I automatically wrap my arms around his waist and tug him to me. “So?”
He nibbles seductively on his bottom lip as he flutters his lashes at me. “So?”
