Own the Wind (Chaos, #1)(13)

“Grab a stool, babe. I’ll get you a drink,” he muttered, shifting her hand and arm out to lead her to the outside of the bar while he moved inside.

Tabby, he noted, took direction. She rounded the curve of the bar and took a stool.

Shy moved around the back of it and asked, “What’re you drinking?”

“What gets you drunk the fastest?” she asked back, and he stopped, turned, put his hands on the bar and locked eyes on her.

“What kind of trouble did I pull you out of?” he asked quietly.

“None, now that I’m out that window,” she answered quietly.

“You know those people?” he asked.

She shrugged and looked down at her hands on the bar. “An old friend. High school. Just her. The others…” She trailed off on another shrug.

Shy looked at her hands.

They were visibly shaking.

“Tequila,” he stated, and her eyes came to his.

“What?”

“Gets you drunk fast.”

She pressed her lips together and nodded.

He grabbed the bottle and put it in front of her.

She looked down at it then up at him, and her head tipped to the side when he didn’t move.

“Glasses?” she prompted.

He tagged the bottle, unscrewed the top, lifted it to his lips and took a pull. When he was done, he dropped his arm and extended it to her.

“You can’t get drunk fast, you’re f*ckin’ with glasses,” he informed her.

The tip of her tongue came out to wet her upper lip and Jesus, he forgot how cute that was.

Luckily, she took his mind off her tongue when she took the bottle, stared at it a beat then put it to her lips and threw back a slug.

The bottle came down with Tabby spluttering and Shy reached for it.

Through a grin, he advised, “You may be drinking direct, sugar, but you still gotta drink smart.”

“Right,” she breathed out like her throat was on fire.

He put the bottle to his lips and took another drag before he put it to the bar.

Tabby wrapped her hand around it, lifted it, and sucked some back, but this time she did it smart and her hand with the bottle came down slowly, although she was still breathing kind of heavy.

When she recovered, he leaned into his forearms on the bar and asked softly, “You wanna talk?”

“No,” she answered sharply, her eyes narrowing, the sorrow shifting through them slicing through his gut. She lifted the bottle, took another drink before locking her gaze with his. “I don’t wanna talk. I don’t wanna share my feelings. I don’t wanna get it out. I wanna get drunk.”

She didn’t leave any lines to read through, she said it plain, so he gave her that out.

“Right, so we gonna do that, you sittin’ there sluggin’ it back and me standin’ here watchin’ you, or are we gonna do something? Like play pool.”

“I rock at pool,” she informed him.

“Babe, I’ll wipe the floor with you.”

“No way,” she scoffed.

“Totally,” he said through a grin.

“You’re so sure, darlin’, we’ll make it interesting,” she offered.

“I’m up for that,” he agreed. “I win, you make me cookies. You win, you pick.”

He barely finished speaking before she gave him a gift the likes he’d never had in his entire f*cking life.

The pale moved out of her features as pink hit her cheeks, life shot into her eyes, making them vibrant, their startling color rocking him to his f*cking core before she bested all that shit and burst out laughing.

He had no idea what he did, what he said, but whatever it was, he’d do it and say it over and over until he took his last breath just so he could watch her laugh.

He didn’t say a word when her laughter turned to chuckles and continued his silence, his eyes on her.

When she caught him looking at her, she explained, “My cooking, hit and miss. Sometimes, it’s brilliant. Sometimes, it’s…” she grinned “… not. Baking is the same. I just can’t seem to get the hang of it. I don’t even have that”—she lifted up her fingers to do air quotation marks—“signature dish that comes out great every time. I don’t know what it is about me. Dad and Rush, even Tyra, they rock in the kitchen. Me, no.” She leaned in. “Totally no. So I was laughing because anyone who knows me would not think cookies from me would be a good deal for a bet. Truth is, they could be awesome but they could also seriously suck.”

“How ’bout I take my chances?” he suggested.

She shrugged, still grinning. “Your funeral.”

Her words made Shy tense, and the pink slid out of her cheeks, the life started seeping out of her eyes.

“Drink,” he ordered quickly.

“What?” she whispered, and he reached out and slid the tequila to her.

“Drink. Now. Suck it back, babe. Do it thinkin’ what you get if you win.”

She nodded, grabbed the bottle, took a slug, and dropped it to the bar with a crash, letting out a totally f*cking cute “Ah” before she declared, “You change my oil.”

His brows shot up. “That’s it?”

“I need my oil changed and it costs, like, thirty dollars. I can buy a lot of stuff with thirty dollars. A lot of stuff I want. I don’t want oil. My car does but I don’t.”