Impulse

“You know that, right? You’re always going to be the most impulsive thing about me.”

“Okay,” he answered smugly. “And?”

“And that doesn’t bother you?”

“Should it?”

“Yes. Of course it should, you bastard. I spent all of this time and energy drawing these lines and you just waltzed right through them,” I said harshly. I wanted to feel a trace of guilt in him for once. “I was so fucking careful not to go too far. And you just ruined all of it.”

“You’re upset,” he pointed out smoothly.

“And you’re a piece of shit,” I grumbled back, hoping to God that I could stay mad at him for once.

He grinned that stupid, crooked, mischievous grin and turned away. I breathed a quiet sigh of relief. At least I would have a few minutes to be angry; maybe then I could get worked up enough to stay angry. I was still revelling in my frustrations when he re-entered the room and pushed a quick fix into my hand. Crown and coke – his apology drink.

I rolled my eyes and set the fancily etched glass on the piano bench beside me.

“You’re not going to let that ice melt,” he said flatly.

My one sassy eyebrow shot up. “I’m not?” If he could be a snarky asshole at a time like this, then so could I. I could see fires catching in his eyes from where he was perched on the coffee table a few feet away. He shook his head slowly, but didn’t say anything back.

I sighed heavily before raising the whiskey to my lips. I sipped it slowly. The old-fashioned pendulum clock on the wall ticked behind me. “Do you have anything more to say for yourself? Or is it time for you to go?”

“What?” he whispered, taken aback.

I raised my shoulders in a what do you mean, what kind of way.

“You want me to go?” I could tell in his face that his feelings were hurt. I rolled the glass around with my wrist, slowly but intentionally. His eyes were locked on mine, no longer burning but suddenly soft and quiet. My resolve broke.

I shook my head no, and he finally remembered to exhale. “Stay,” I whispered back. “To hell with being careful.”

 

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