Page 85 of Grease Monkey
“How can you drink this without wanting to vomit?” she asks, tilting her empty glass toward herself and peering inside.
I smirk and angle the neck of the bottle her way. “More?”
She bites her bottom lip, holding her glass out.
That lip bite will be the death of me.
Pouring her another, I set the bottle down and lean back in my seat. It’s awkward, and we do more shots than I anticipated when I first suggested as we try to navigate through the conversation.
“So…” I glance at the clock on the wall and note we’ve been sitting here for ten minutes. I could have sworn it’s been hours. Morgana shifts in her seat, her eyes darting around my office.
“So…?”
“Still friends with Shay?”
Her shoulders release their tension, and she sucks her bottom lip between her teeth and laughs. “I couldn’t get rid of her if I tried.”
And that does the trick. The conversation flows as she tells me about college, and the summer her and Shay went to Europe with Shay’s parents. That surprises me that Morgana’s mom would let her out of her sight for a whole month, but then again, Shay was always pushy. I swear, if we decided we wanted a third in our relationship back then, Shay would have been up for it faster than we could have asked. Thank fuck I don’t share, but Shay and Ana together… damn, that would have been hot.
Aaaandthe vodka’s clearly working as my dick perks up, and a sensation extremely close tohappinesssettles in my stomach. Yup, the vodka is definitely working.
“So…” I drawl, kicking my feet onto the coffee table. “What did fuck face do to make you cry earlier?”
She pulls a face, one I remember her making when she wanted to downplay something important.
“I didn’t cry.”
“Ana, cut the crap.”
Her lips part, and it’s hard to tell if that one word made her eyes blow or if it’s the alcohol. Either way, her shortened name is familiar and rolls off my tongue before I can stop it.
She gulps her drink before saying, “He spoke to a realtor about selling my apartment.”
“You don’t live together?”
She flushes, glancing away as she itches her cheek. “No. I didn’t want to officially move in until we were married.”
“But you guys fuck, though? You’re not likesaving yourself for marriage?”
“Drink,” she says, nodding to my glass and thank fuck she said it ’cause as soon as I asked that question, I instantly regretted it. No one likes to know who their ex is sleeping with. We both drink, Morgana appearing to handle the burn better the more she drinks.
“Of course, we have…” Her voice drops to a whisper as she says, “sex.”Her cheeks flush brighter as she takes another gulp. I join her, then top our glasses back up, the pleasant warmth from the neat vodka blanketing me as I watch her mouth, the perfect bow, move as she talks without hearing the sound.
“So if you were going to move in together eventually, what’s the big deal about him talking to a realtor?” I hear myself ask, the other side effect brought along by vodka of loose lips.
Her brows dip, and she grips her glass tight. “He went behind my back, Teddy. That’s the big deal. He just decided for me without discussing it to see how I felt. And I get it. I do. Sometimes renting can be a pain in the ass, especially if you get awful tenants. But I would get references and background checks and try renting it to someone I know.” She sags in her chair, looking into her glass like it holds all the answers. “I guess giving up my last piece of freedom terrifies me. Knowing it’s there… it’s like a safety net. Stops the constricting feeling in my throat. But it’s not like I have a choice. He’ll get what he wants, so fighting is not worth it.”
“You seem to do that a lot.”
“What?”
Shit.
Oh well, in for a penny, in for a pound or whatever that saying is.
“You clearly love that apartment. Want to keep it.” She nods. “But you’re a people pleaser, Morgana. If something you’re doing makes someone unhappy, you’ll stop it. You’ve done it for so long that I don’t even know if you realize you’re doing it.” Then I ask something that’s been on my mind since I first noticed it. “Whose idea was it to get rid of your curls, Morgana?”
She looks down, and we both know the decision wasn’t hers. It’s quiet, so quiet that we can hear the ticking of the clock on the wall and the cars driving outside on the road, and I wish I had kept my big mouth shut. But didn’t I say vodka and loose lips go hand in hand?
