The Rebel of Raleigh High (Raleigh Rebels #1)(89)

“On me,” Paul says. “I knew I was saving my promo tab for a good reason. See me if you want another round. Colleen's fucking PMS-ing. She tried to choke out the new bouncer 'cause she caught him looking at her ass. She'd probably charge you double for your drinks right now sooner than comp them. Oh, and…no offense,” he says, grimacing at Silver. “About the PMS thing. I'm a total feminist. But seriously, it's a real thing here. The girls all sync up. It’s like fucking Armageddon one week out of the month.”

“Throw down the shovel, man. Walk away. You’re not doing yourself any favors,” I laugh, picking up one of the tequila shots. Silver hardly seems bothered by Paul’s comment. The savage little smirk on her face says she’s enjoying watching him squirm, though. Paul slides us two wedges of lime on a cocktail dish and then heads off to serve someone else, flipping the bird at me over his shoulder as he goes.

“He seems nice,” Silver offers. She’s holding her shot, the back of her hand already salted.

“Didn’t realize you were such a hardened drinker, Argento. You look like a semi-pro right now.”

“Yeah, well, you forget. I was friends with Kacey for a long time before I was cut from their little squad. And Kacey Winters will drive anyone to drink, friend or otherwise. Come on. Down in one.” She licks the back of her hand, and I can’t fucking help myself. I grab her by the back of her head, hand fisting in her hair, and I kiss her. Her lips are so damn soft. She sighs into my mouth, breath sweet and warm, and I have to convince myself it’d be a bad idea to tear her clothes off and fuck her up against the bar right here and now.

Using the flat of my tongue, I stroke it against her own, stealing the salt she just licked from her hand, and my mouth aches with the taste of the sea, of a childhood spent running up and down Black Sand Beach with an icy wind pulling at my clothes. She moans, a quiet, tense pant of pleasure, and my hands almost get to work on the button of her jeans.

Silver opens her eyes and looks up at me, pupils dilated, her cheeks flushed, and I realize a little too late maybe that my thumb is rubbing along the addicting curve of the underside of her breast.

“Alcohol,” she whispers, dazed. “Shit, let’s do the shot before I embarrass the crap out of myself and climb you like a tree, Alex.”

I can’t tear my eyes away from her. I keep her in my sights as I throw back the tequila, the burn lighting me up from the inside as the booze floods my chest. I’m fucking fascinated by the way the shot glass presses against her bottom lip. The way the muscles in the graceful column of her throat work as she swallows. The tiny wrinkles that form on the bridge of her nose as she shakes her head, wiggling her fingers as the tequila hits her.

Oh, holy fuck. You stupid son of a bitch, Alex.

How can I not have realized until now? Feeling more than little slow on the uptake, it occurs to me that at some point, I became so enthralled with Silver Parisi that there isn’t a part of her I’m not completely and utterly in love with.

She wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, cringing when she notices me staring at her. “What? Did I spill it all down my face?” she asks. “You didn’t do the lime.”

“I don’t need the lime.”

“Of course you do. It’s the rule. You do the shot, and then you—”

“Silver?”

“—do the lime. We have to get ano—”

“Silver.”

She finally stops talking. Looks up at me, eyes a little bright from the tequila. “Yeah?”

I lean into her, brushing her hair back behind her ear. Only she can hear me when I whisper into the shell of her ear. “I’m in love with you. Did you know that?”

She stiffens, her breath catching in her throat. When she looks at me out of the corner of her eye, her smile is gone, and she…fuck, why does she look afraid?

“Yes.” Her voice cracks on the word. “I did.”

“Why didn't you tell me?” I stroke the back of my index finger over the smooth, porcelain of her cheek. Fuck, she's so fucking beautiful, it makes me want to scream. To trash the entire bar and set the whole place ablaze. I can't fucking take how perfect she is.

“It’s not my place to tell you your feelings, Alex.” She’s putting on a brave face on it, laughing lightly, trying to be glib, but her hand, still holding her shot glass, is shaking. I take hold of it, closing my own around it, steadying her.

“I know plenty about lust. There’s very little anyone could tell me about want. There hasn’t been a day in my life when I haven’t needed something or someone. But love? Shit, I hardly know anything about love, Silver. I’m out of practice. You’re gonna need to help me out a lot with this one.”

“Who’s to say I know any more about it than you do,” she asks. The bar’s loud as hell, the band striking up another song, laughter and chatter all around us, but I hear her as clearly as if we’re standing in a silent room, quiet enough to hear a pin drop. “Who’s to say I’m not going to need just as much help?”

My chest feels like it’s splitting open. My heart’s a fucking ruin. “Why? What does that mean, Argento?”

“It means…god, Alex. Don’t you know that I love you, too? That I have no idea what the hell I’m doing either?” Her playful smile has disappeared. Her eyes are shining even worse than before, only now the burn from the tequila is gone, and it looks as though she’s about to burst into tears.