“What did you say?”
I lean in and lower my head to the shell of her ear so she can hear me better over the thumping bass before I repeat myself for her.
“You’ve had too much to drink, Bree.”
Rihanna’s ‘Rude Boy’ blasts from the speakers mounted on the ceiling. Rhythmic beats reverberate through the heavy air with a palpable force. It’s a physical presence in the room that I can feel constrict my skill like a boa constrictor.
A sea of bodies moves around us, hot and sticky with sweat, and yet they are all completely swept up by the energy in the room. There’s so much going on all at once but with my heightened senses I perceive it all tenfold.
I can't quite say that this is my ideal Saturday night, but Sarah wanted to go to this new club in the city for her birthday. Something about it only playing early 2000s music? I won’t pretend to understand what’s so great about that, but I’m here.
Wonderful.
It’s not all bad though. I love seeing this side of Bree. The version of her that lets loose and sways her hips to the beat, without a single care in the world. This Bree rarely comes out to the surface, but when she does I can hardly look away.
I’m certainly not drinking anything tonight, but I might as well be drunk on her .
The vibrant flashes of color from the lights overhead illuminate her flushed face and animated smile. Bree purses her lips in thought as she considers my words. “No, I don’t think so.”
“That was less of an opinion and more of a fact, Briana.” I tut in disagreement.
“But William just went to get us more drinks—” She suddenly turns to look around for him, accidentally smacking me in the face with a cascade of her dark curls and the delicious scent of pomegranate and honey. When it fades into the background and I recover from the briefly overwhelming fragrance, I grab Bree's chin and gently point her in the right direction.
“It looks to me like he’s doing okay.” More than okay, actually. The crowd obscures a fully clear view, even for me, but from here it looks like William has his arms slung across Lark’s shoulders while they make out pushed up against the wall.
Huh. It took them long enough.
I fully expect to see Bree be pleased by this development since she’s been “shipping” them—as she calls it—for quite some time now. But she isn't. Perhaps it's too hard for her to see the two of them clearly. Or maybe she's too far gone to process it and only realizes she's out of a drinking buddy. More likely a combination of both.
“Traitor.” Bree scoffs, betrayal written all over her face. It takes all of me to hold in a laugh at the furrow in her brow and the way she crosses her arms in annoyance. The movement draws my attention to her chest, her figure is sculpted in a lacy red corset-style halter top.
My appraisal doesn’t go unnoticed. Stepping closer, she narrows the distance between us as she pulls me in by the collar of my leather jacket. Now, only a mere breath away, the proximity intensifies the warmth between us.
She slowly trails her nose up and down the column of my neck. “Pretty please?” Bree pouts against my skin and I can feel whispers of her lips with each word, “Just a few more.”
f*cking hell.
This woman knows all of my weak points. All of the ways to get under my skin, to bring me to her knees so I’m at her beck and call. If it were anyone else, I would be terrified of the unholy grip she has on my thoughts, my actions, and my very being.
But this is Bree, my Bree. And she can have her way with me in any way she wants. There is very little I wouldn’t do for her. My resolve crumbles to dust, and it’s as inevitable as the rising sun.
Bree quite literally drags me to the bar counter by my collar. She plops onto the only vacant stool beneath the oak countertop and beckons for me to order for her with a teasing smile.
I think she's trying to give me a hard time. You know what? If she wants to play games with me, I’ll play along a little bit. I feign annoyance as I lean my forearms against the counter and do as she says.
Is this her idea of being a nuisance? It isn’t working. I want to tell her that buying her things, spoiling her in any way that I can arouses a fire in the depths of my soul—and other places that I have no business thinking of right now. Not when she’s like this. Not when I want to win whatever game this is.
So instead I say, “Insolence doesn’t suit you, my love.”
When the bartender passes me her drink, some kind of disgusting fruity concoction, I recoil at the sugary monstrosity. Is there even any alcohol in this? I pluck out the little toothpick umbrella that is propped up on the rim of the glass and stick it in my mouth, jutting it from my lip.
Bree haphazardly reaches for the drink, but I pull it out of the way. Her glare is a biting chill as crisp as the condensation on the glass. It melts when I step into her space, drink in hand. Surprise flickers in her wide eyes, this time she’s the one caught off guard by our proximity.
With one hand I tilt her chin upward, and with the other, I bring the drink to her lips. If she wants it so badly, I will happily oblige. But let it be me who gives it to her, let it be my hands that indulge her wishes.
Bree’s eyes are locked with mine as she gulps it down. Every last drop. I can’t help but trail the hand at her chin down the column of her neck, following the liquid as it moves down her throat. Soft brown skin meets rough palms as I continue to brush past her collarbone and graze the lining of her top.
I let it linger there for a moment before I take my hands off of her body altogether. My skin mourns the loss, but I relish the subtle flush that colors her cheeks both in part by the alcohol and the memory of my touch.
I put down the lipstick-stained glass on the counter with a clink. “Is there a problem?” I ask with a teasing smile playing on my lips.
Bree, however, is not nearly as amused as I am. She grabs me by my collar for the second time tonight, but this time Bree drags me towards the dance floor that we came from. And if she spends the rest of the night grinding up against me in revenge, then so be it.
***
A little while later, we find what’s left of the group to say our long overdue goodbyes and let them know that we’re heading out for the night. It was a broken heel that finally convinced Bree it was time to call it—not the visible exhaustion pulling at her features. Because of course not, why would it be?
Either way, I pick Bree up and draw her into my chest, gripping the underside of her knees and upper back as I navigate us through the crowd and towards the exit. The moment we step out into the street, the heavy heat from inside the club is chased away by the cool breeze of the night. I quickly adjust my grip before I speed off down the sidewalk towards our apartment. Our molded shadows are scattered by the glowy hue of city street lamps above us.
We don’t get very far before Bree lets out a pained groan. Immediately I pull over to the side and come to a stop, assessing her with concern while I ask her what’s wrong.
“Oh f*ck. I think…I had too much. I think.” Her eyes are squeezed shut in a grimace.
“You don’t say?”
“Everything’s spinning too fast…Put me down, I’m going to throw up.”
“I can’t put you down, Bree.” I don’t want to stop here, it’s already past 2 am and I want to get her safe in bed as fast as possible. Besides, our apartment is just two blocks away. I’ll have to walk at a slower pace though, so she doesn’t get any more dizzy than she already is.
“Then I’ll throw up all over you.”
I’m calling her bluff. “Go for it,” I say as I continue down the sidewalk at what feels like a snail's pace. Bree's legs slightly sway from side to side like a metronome with each step I take.
“I will do it, you know.”
“Mmmhm.”
But as I amble down the sidewalk, I notice that her expression softens and the furrow of her brow vanishes. Her dizziness recedes just like I thought it would, but relief washes over me anyway. It’s even more apparent that all is well again when she playfully kicks up her feet and giggles in my arms at nothing in particular.
“I feel like a princess!” Bree proclaims with a loud laugh and another kick that accidentally hits a man walking by square on the shoulder. He scowls and turns around to lash out at her, but he stifles his sharp words at the cold intensity of my glare.
“You're a King, Bree. And stop squirming, by the way, we're almost there.”
By some miracle, she does what I say, so it's not long before we walk up the familiar bricked entryway and into the lobby.
“I want to be both.”
“Of course, you can be both. I never said that you weren't.”
The silence of the lobby is as defaning as the club was, in a strange way; everything is so still, broken only by the ping of the elevator as it opens up for us.
Under the fluorescents of the elevator, she peers up at me. Brown eyes flick around my face before she reaches up to press a finger to my cheek and begins to trace soft circles on my skin. “Why are you so pretty.” It's both a question and a statement in one.
“Am I?”
“Mhm. It's sooooo annoying.”
“I'm sorry to hear that.”
“But Princess Kings need pretty Prince Queens so it's okay I think.”
“Is that how that works?”
Bree nods solemnly as the elevator slides open to the 13th floor. It's mildly challenging to unlock our door while carrying her but I manage it.
It feels good to be home. To be honest, part of me has been thinking about coming back ever since we left. It’s not much, but it’s ours. Bree's “plant babies” are there to welcome us in the living room. Leafy greens envelop the brick accent wall adjacent to the window and our city view.
After slipping off my shoes by the door, I turn towards the bedroom down the hall and gently lay her on the bed. I briefly consider helping her to the shower but the exhaustion is catching up to her again, so instead I help change her into an old black T-shirt of mine.
“You’re going to f*ck me now, right?” she part asks, part yawns at me.
I bite back a laugh. “I’m afraid not.” She nods sleepily at that, her eyelids growing heavy and blinks becoming more infrequent with each passing moment.
Before she falls asleep, I get a glass of water for her to drink from the kitchen. I would have preferred she ate something substantial, but I suppose that it’s better than nothing. For the second time that night, I press a glass to her lips and urge her to drink. But no games this time.
Once she’s tucked in, I start to get ready for bed myself, going through my routine and periodically checking to ensure that Bree’s still asleep. I know she's in for a rough morning tomorrow, so I refill her glass of water and put it out on her nightstand.
It’s only when I’m brushing my teeth in the mirror that I notice the burgundy-red lipstick kisses all over my face; on my neck, my cheek, my forehead, and my nose. The faint impressions on my skin mark the ghost of her presence like footprints in the snow.
I trace them with my fingers—just like Bree did earlier, I realize—while looking at them in the reflection, and consider washing them off. But perhaps…perhaps it wouldn’t hurt to leave them on for a little while longer? Until tomorrow morning. Yes, that would be best.
So there's nothing left for me to do besides curl into bed with their maker, where I press a kiss of my own onto her cheek before I fall into a deep sleep right beside her.
