When I Was Theirs

38. Jared

38

Jared

F riends.

I watch as she turns away. There’s a slight flush in her face as she tucks her hair back behind her ear, darting another glance at me before she hurries over to the impatient girl waiting for a drink.

Forcing myself to listen to the music, I work my way through a few more beers.

And Emilia is… skittish.

Awkward. Fumbling, nearly spilling the beer she hands me on her next pass.

I grab for the bottle at the same time, my fingers wrapping around hers before I release them with a mumbled apology.

I can be friends with Emilia.

I can.

Ben asked me. He asked me to take care of her. To watch over her.

He didn’t ask you to look at her like that, asshole.

Fuck.

I slide off my stool. I’ve drunk more than I realized, and I stumble, bumping into a stool as I make my way to the restroom. Running the water until it’s cold, I toss several handfuls over my face and stare into the cracked glass of the tiny mirror.

She’s not for you.

My hands grip the edges of the discolored porcelain sink.

If he was here, I wouldn’t feel like this. This weird, fucked up, unsettled sensation that lingers in my chest every time I look at her.

If Ben was still here, there wouldn’t even be a question of looking at my brother’s girl. Not in a million lifetimes.

So why the fuck are you looking now? Because he’s not here to stop you?

Guilt settles in my stomach like a stone as I make my way back to my seat. When Emilia glances over, I don’t meet her gaze, ordering my drinks from Carla instead until she cuts me off.

“No more.” Carla eyes me. “You’re going to fall off that stool. I’ll get you some water.”

“I want a bourbon.” The words slur.

Make me forget.

“Too late.” Carla gives me a toothless smile. “We already closed the bar.”

Already?

“I think I’ll be the one walking you home.” Both of Emilia’s faces weave in and out as I squint at her. “Jared?”

“’m fine.” I stumble off my chair. “Let’s go. We can get a drink.”

“No more drinks.” Emilia follows me, her thumb tugging at her lip as she watches me warily. “Seriously, Jared. I don’t drink, anyway.”

“Why not?” The cold air hits my face, a little clarity returning in the night air. Beside me, Emilia puts her umbrella up. “It’s not raining.”

“Because I don’t like what it can do,” she says quietly.

“The umbrella?”

“The alcohol, Jared.” She starts walking away from me, her shoulders hunched. “I use the umbrella because I’m scared of the dark.”

I chase after her. “Wait.”

Why the hell do I feel so guilty ?

Midnight-blue eyes meet mine.

Shit. That’s why.

“Why are you scared of the dark?” The questions roll off my tongue more easily tonight. All my curiosity, flowing out of me with alcohol-induced ease. “Tell me.”

I have a lot of curiosity when it comes to Emilia Marsters.

“Not tonight.”

“I won’t ask when I’m sober.”

Truth.

I won’t let myself.

But now, with the warmth of the beer in my veins and the world around me in soft focus, it doesn’t feel like reality.

A soft sigh. “I always have been. It got worse as I grew older.”

“Why?”

She turns to face me, her breath puffing out. “God, you’re an annoying drunk.”

I smile sloppily down at her. “And you’re cute when you’re annoyed.”

Fuck’s sake.

Shut up.