“Let’s get drunk.” There’s a smile in his voice that sounds like teasing.

“I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.” I thread my fingers through the ends of my hair where it’s still wet from my shower and lean back into the seat, “Coy doesn’t like it when I drink.” Why do I even care what he thinks? I don’t know why, but I do, and it angers me more than the bruising around my neck, or the swelling on my face.

Sean scoffs but then goads, “That’s because he’s a jerk and doesn’t want you to have a good time without him.” He’s not wrong. Not really, and that’s almost enough for me to say screw it, and take him up on his offer.

But I don’t know. After the angry way Coy left tonight, there’s a good possibility I’ll be homeless by morning. What good will letting loose now do, if I have to deal with the slap of reality tomorrow? “I’m not sure . . .”

“Come on. I’ll keep you safe. Besides, why should you have to do what he says? He’s not even here.” That’s what seals it.

“You know what? I will have a drink.”

“How much do you want to forget?”

“Huh?”

“Do you need to relax a little, unwind from a stressful day? For that I say we open a bottle of red. Need to let loose? I’ve got a craft beer in the kegerator.” There’s a smile in his voice and it does its job of chasing the dark thoughts from my mind. Maybe Sean is onto something. Maybe I do need to get drunk. Maybe I deserve to lose control. Tomorrow will come, regardless.

Sean leans forward on his elbows and if it weren’t dark out, I’m certain his stare would take my breath away. “But if this was like the worst kind of day, one you wish never happened, there’s only one drink for that.”

“Do tell.” I clear my throat. “Because that’s the kind I need.”

“Jameson.” He leans back as if he’s just given me the keys to the world.

“Oh, I don’t think I can handle that.” I shake my head and let loose a chuckle. I don’t drink. Not like that. The most I have is a drink or two with dinner. I wasn’t kidding when I said Coy doesn’t like me to drink.

“You don’t give yourself enough credit, Jess. You’re strong enough for the hard stuff. Come on, let’s go make you a drink.”

He stands and motions for me to come along. I only hesitate a moment before I pop to my feet and follow behind. He’s a man on a mission, and I rather like this no-nonsense, driven side to him. He’s always so easy-going and gives the impression he’s not so goal-oriented, but I know that’s not true. You don’t get to be the bass player in a bestselling rock band without a solid work ethic. Besides, I’ve seen how much he runs. A lazy person would never be so committed.

He walks through the kitchen all the way to a far cupboard and slides two wine glasses from where they hang upside down from a rack. He fills them with ice from the freezer and sets them on the counter. There’s a grin on his lips as he lifts his gaze, but that easy-going smile only lasts a split second. It’s erased with his stare and that’s when I remember how I look.

“Jess!” he shouts. He takes a step closer. “What the fuck?”

My hand goes to my face and I try to turn away. “It’s nothing.”

“That’s not nothing. Let me see it. Don’t move.” His hand moves with a gentleness that contradicts his size. His touch doesn’t sting, but the embarrassment of everything that caused this to happen drops my gaze in defeat. If I weren’t wearing this high neck, long-sleeve shirt, he’d be horrified at all the pinkish-purple bruises marking my skin underneath.

“He do this to you?” The words barely grate through his clenched jaw.

“I don’t want to talk about him. You promised me a drink.” Avoidance. I’m not ready to look at my life head on. If I do, I think I’ll break.

“Fuck. Looks like we’re gonna need more ice.” Humor. He defuses my unease, and for that I’m grateful. I watch him take a clean dishtowel and fill the center with ice, balling it up before turning back and meeting my gaze. “This might hurt. Can I?” He waits for my permission and I nod before he presses the makeshift ice pack against my cheek. “Better?”

I nod again and raise my hand to take the towel from him. Our hands brush and in that one connection my body thrums with the awareness of how close we are. How sweet he is. How much I want him to press more than this ice against me. That’s the thought that causes me to step back and out of his reach.

“Now, the good stuff.” He snaps his fingers, walks across the room, and squats down to open one of the cabinets. He stands up with the biggest bottle of whiskey I’ve ever seen in my life and comes back to fill the two glasses.

“Wine glasses? Doesn’t that go against whiskey drinking rules?”

“Well, yeah, but no one will know.” He winks. “Besides, I don’t know about you, but wine glasses make me feel fancy as fuck.” If he’s trying to be funny to put me at ease, it’s working.

“Fancy, huh?” A giggle escapes my lips and I raise an eyebrow.

“And they hold more.” His tongue darts along his lower lip and he grins before handing me a glass. He raises the other in his opposite hand. “What should we toast to?”

“Do we have to toast?”

“It’s the proper way to get sloshed. Protocol, really. Who are we to mess with tradition?”

“Hmm . . .” My lips twist upward at his silliness. My mind races for something witty or cool or even downright honest to suggest. When the words pop into my head I don’t hold back. “To forgetting.”

Sean lifts his brow and clinks the lip of his glass against mine. He must approve. “To forgetting.”

I tilt my glass back and sip; the amber liquid burns inside my mouth and all the way down my throat. A cough bursts from my mouth and Sean laughs as I set my glass back on the counter in exchange for the ice pack. “I’m not good at this.”

“What?” He tilts his chin and studies me in a way that radiates the warmth of the drink from my belly to down between my legs.

My breath catches as I meet his stare. “Drinking. I’m not good at drinking. Because I don’t. Or haven’t in a long time.”

“Good thing I’m a connoisseur. It’s okay, Jess. We’ll start slow. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want.” His lips hold their smile but suddenly I feel as though we’re discussing more than liquor.

My lips part to respond, with what I don’t know.

“Grab your glass.” He holds his in one hand and the bottle in the other and nods toward the back of the house. “We can gaze at the stars. I’ll bring this baby.”

“Let me guess, this is also part of the getting drunk guidebook.” I remove the ice from my face as I follow him out of the kitchen and down the hall.

“Exactly. Now you’re catching on, young grasshopper.”

He approaches the doorway and I skip ahead to grab the knob and open the door.

“Thank you.” He tips his head with a childlike grin.

Back under the cover of shadows, Sean cracks a few jokes and puts me at ease. That, or it’s the combination of him with the alcohol. Either way, it’s obvious he’s making an effort to make me smile. It’s attention I’m not used to. It feels nice.

We talk about his time in the band. How they used to tour in a rental van. I like that his success was earned. His humble beginnings give him a realness that’s unexpected. He tells me about their first drummer, Derek, and how they haven’t found one to stick since.

“Sorry, we’re forgetting.” He shakes his head and fills both his glass and mine. I stopped counting how many times he’s done that, but by the warmth in my body and the way my limbs move with little to no effort, I expect I’m well on my way to being drunk.

“It’s okay.” I wave him off and roll my eyes. “Coy’s like that. Hard to avoid.”

“I hate that he’s our drummer.” His animosity takes me by surprise.

“He’s a good drummer.” I shrug because as much as Coy’s hurt me, he still deserves this.

“That gives him a pass?” Sean rears back with his eyes wide. “I can’t watch him hurt you.”

“Welp, lucky for you, you won’t have to. Not anymore.” I click my glass against Sean’s but the force is too much and some sloshes over the side. “Shit! Sorry.”

Sean laughs and takes the cup from my hands, setting it on the ground. “Why, Jess, I don’t think I’ve ever heard a bad word slip through that mouth. That my bad influence or the Jameson?” He reaches back with one arm and tugs his shirt off.

My mouth falls open at the sight. And his boldness. He’s a vision to behold. All tan skin and ink. Abdominals that pop and beg to be touched. He works out a lot, and wow does it show. His chuckle spreads a shiver down my spine. I’m sure he’s laughing at my awkward gawking, but I don’t even try to hide it. My body thrums with desire. I’d like to shuck my clothes, too. “You think I’m innocent, but I’m not.”

His breath falls heavy and he scoots over, closing the space between us until his presence invades all my senses. He smells good. Of course he does. And his arm brushes against mine where our shoulders touch. “You’re right. You’re not.” There’s a dominance in his tone, one I haven’t witnessed before, and if I wasn’t melting to his will before, my body practically screams for him now.

“You looked every bit a seductress at the fundraiser last month. Not at all innocent, but not arrogant either. God, you were so fucking beautiful in that dress. But it doesn’t matter. That’s not what I think of you.”

What do you think? I want to ask, but I’m not sure I want to hear his answer. The way he looks at me, it’s different than the way anyone’s ever looked at me before. Even Coy. And I don’t want Sean to stop looking at me this way.

“Good.” His lips pull up at the edges. “I think you’re a good person.”

My chin drops and I shake my head, trying to scoot away. “I’m not, though. The things I’ve done . . .”

He reaches out for my hand, winding our fingers together so we’re linked together. “You are. Where it counts.”

I lift my chin and meet his stare. My jaw moves with a hard defensiveness. He only thinks I’m good because those are the parts I show people. If he knew my past . . . If he knew what I’ve done . . . ? He wouldn’t say I was good. “I don’t think you know me well enough to say that.”

“You are, Jess. You don’t see what I see. What everyone else does. You’re good. So damn good.” He holds my gaze until I have to look away.

“I don’t believe you.” Pulling my hand out of his, I reach for my glass and tip it back for a long sip. The alcohol is a vain attempt to numb the intensity of our connection. Even though we’re no longer touching, all I can imagine is how good his hands would feel on my skin. How much I want to slide my hands over every inch of his body. My gaze drifts to the skyline, but even there I feel the heat of his stare. Does he really want me?

No. The voice in my head isn’t fooled by the moment, or by the gorgeous night, or the sweetness in his words. You’ll never be enough for Sean. You weren’t enough for Coy, either. I can’t help but feel unworthy of his affection because it isn’t real. Sean’s attraction is for the woman I pretend to be.

Screw it. I’m exhausted by this game. By the masks I wear. Maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe I have nothing to lose anymore, but either way it sparks a boldness inside that I don’t normally act on. I want to trust this man sitting at my side. I want him to see all the parts of me—even those that are ugly—in the hope he doesn’t run. If I’m honest, I’ve always held that hope when it comes to Sean. He may push me away. He probably will.

But maybe not.