Page 62 of Between Steel and Secrets
“Bristol,” she says and offers her hand. “Yeah, I remember the little man, is it Zeke?”
“It is,” Harper says.
Zeke beams and climbs from Harper’s lap and over to Bristol.
“It seems he remembers you too.” Harper laughs, amused by her son’s antics.
“Hey, do you want to sit with me?” Bristol asks, and Zeke climbs onto her lap. She keeps her drink out of his reach as he keeps extending his arm out, wanting to grab it.
“If he’s bothering you?—”
“Oh, it’s no bother. He’s cute. Sweet even. Unlike this ogre,” Bristol says and jabs her thumb in my direction.
“Ogre?” I glare at her. “I’m surprised you know such a big word.”
“I know a lot of big words, most of them aren’t appropriate for Zeke.” Bristol’s icy gaze sends a chill down my spine.
Zeke keeps reaching for Bristol’s drink, and as she takes a long sip, his hand dunks into the colorful concoction. I grab his hand and a napkin, wiping him clean and taking him from Bristol so she can finish her drink without anyone wearing it.
Bristol finishes her drink and heads for the bar, ordering another while I watch her, mesmerized by the enemy.
She’s spellbinding, but I can’t quite figure out why.
“You like her,” Luca says, watching my gaze and following it. “Somehow, I doubt that she feels the same way.”
“You’re wrong.” Harper smacks Luca’s arm. “He definitely has a shot with her; he just has to take it.”
“No, I think Luca’s right on this one. Bristol and I have hated each other since the first grade.” I’m not about to recant the story to them, but the tension they feel, it’s not unresolved sexual tension; it’s pure hatred.
Zeke wiggles off my lap and runs across the restaurant and toward the bar, making a beeline straight for Bristol.
“I’ll get him,” I offer, hurrying toward the bar.
“Hey,” Bristol says and bends down, scooping Zeke into her arms. “I’ll bet it’s past your bedtime.” She glances over her shoulder, noticing me, but doesn’t say anything.
“No bedtime,” Zeke proclaims. “Want.” He points at the drink that the bartender is making Bristol.
“Sorry, Zeke, that’s not for you,” I say. “Do you want me to take him?”
“Would you? Wrestling him and heels are a lethal combination.” Bristol smiles at me, and it’s as natural as the sun setting. My heart leaps in my chest.
It’s probably the alcohol making her giddy but damn, I’m not complaining.
I don’t count how much Bristol has to drink. She goes to the bar a few more times before Coach, who is sitting at another table, gives us a ten-minute warning.
We wrap up, pay the bill, and have to head back to the bus.
Bristol stumbles as she walks on those sparkly heels and giggles as I catch her, my hands instantly wrapped around her hips. “Are you always going to be my hero?” She smiles up at me.
It’s a sight that I never imagined witnessing in all of my life.
Bristol Greyson is drunk.
And she’s a happy drunk.
“How’d you get here?” I ask, glancing her over. She’s not in any condition to drive home, not that I believe she has a car, at least she didn’t the last time we caught up together.
“The bus,” she slurs, and I glance at my watch. I’m concerned about her taking the bus, alone, at this hour, while in her current inebriated condition.
