Page 36 of Cruel Abandon (Fallen Royals 5)

“No,” I say. “Someone’s gotta hold my hair when I puke later.”

My cheeks flame, but it’s too late. It’s like I’m already drunk, because I have no control over what’s coming out of my mouth.

She pours me a shot, slides Liam’s beer to him, then steps away to make my drink.

I tap the shot glass to the counter and toss it back. It burns a path down my throat. A ball of fire radiates from my chest, then slowly dissipates.

“What’s the goal tonight?” Liam asks.

I lift one shoulder. “Is forgetting an option?”

He sneers. “I can think of better ways than drinking to forget the night.”

“Sex?” I immediately groan. “Pretend I didn’t say that.”

“But things just got interesting.” He swivels toward me, capturing my legs between his. “You fantasizing about me, Buckley?”

I narrow my eyes. “No. You?”

He smiles. “I wasn’t the one who immediately thought of sex as a way to forget what happened tonight.”

Ugh.

“Back to your goal,” he demands.

I hum and rest my chin on my fist. “I just want to not think about it. Thus the forgetting. That’s really my only plan.”

“And to not be at home with your weepy roommate?” He lifts his chin. “Do you need another shot to be more honest?”

You’re more likely to tell the truth when you’re afraid.

I’m not afraid, but I also have no idea what the truth is.

Slowly, I nod.

He catches the bartender’s attention again, and she approaches. There are only a few people at the bar tonight, but that isn’t unusual for mid-week. Fridays and Saturdays, the restaurant and bar are packed.

He points to my empty shot glass and holds up two fingers.

She nods once, sliding him a shot glass before filling both of them.

I raise mine, but he catches my wrist.

“Wait.” He picks up his glass and holds it out to me.

We cheers, tap the glasses back on the bar, and raise them to our lips. I pause right before I drink mine, though, and watch him swallow the clear liquid.

He even makes that look good.

“Is this your schtick?” I say.

Liam purses his lips. “Schtick?”

“Yeah.” I wave my hand up and down. “You know, sit too close, get the girl drunk, make a shot of tequila seem like water. Everyone knows you’re a player.”

He doesn’t respond, but his eyes narrow.

I continue, “How many girls have you been with? Thirty? Fifty? Seems like you had a different date every week in high school.”