Page 99 of Silver Sweet

I should go.

Fuck that.

The mere thought of letting Tom be alone, drunk, with a guy I don’t know is lighting my eyeballs on fire.

Tom forces a casual smile to RJ, and then his on-off thing heads to the bar. Tom’s smile slides right off his face as he stakes a serious look at me. “Okay, now you’ve met him. Mission. Accomplished.” He slurs the last word a little.

He can try to push me away from this situation, but Iliterallycannot leave him. I’vetriedalready. I tried after he rejected me.I tried on the dance floor with that ugly redhead. I blacked out when I kissed him.

I’ve felt like sawdust ever since. Then I tried to encourage Tom to sleep with someone here—and that felt like a thousand bee stings inside my esophagus. In my horrible attempt to distance my hurt and myselfawayfrom Tom, I’ve made this whole thing worse.

The actual hilarious part about me—I would still try to kiss Tom again. I wouldn’t take back that moment for themerechance he gives in. But I can’t fault him for hoisting a stop sign.

He is so,soinvested in our success, and I love that about him. I love that he’s trying to protect this beautiful fucking thing we’ve built together. He has all the resources and the money to say fuck it and gamble his future away. And here I am, the one with the piling debt and pennies to my name willing to make this life-altering wager.

My parents would love if I were as cautious with my future as Tom is. But I just…I can’t be careful when it comes to some things.

Some emotions.

Some feelings.

God, I’m in way toofuckingdeep. How did this happen? My vital organs feel attached to him. A silver-spoon nepo baby who drives me absolutely fucking bonkers. And really, right now, all I want is to get him home safely.

Especially since his sudden vodka spree was right after he saw me kissing another guy. I’m not dense. I know that’s on me.

Tom sips more liquor.

My pulse accelerates as the DJ spins a faster tempo. “I’m not leaving you,” I tell Tom. “Your hookup is sketch as fuck. Did you not hear his response to me?Sort of?”

“Yeah, he was brushing you off, dude. You looked like you were about to fold him into a ham sandwich.”

I almost laugh. “The fuck—a ham sandwich?”

His smirk appears, then disappears. “Just let him be. He could’ve evensort ofwent to the gym.” He shrugs like it’s nothing. “Maybe he was working out at home.”

“Where’s home for him?” I ask hotly.

Tom shrugs again. “An apartment, probably.”

“Probably,” I echo. “Where? Brooklyn? Chelsea? SoHo?”

He mumbles out a, “It doesn’t matter.”

“Itdoesfucking matter. You’re about to go sleep with him, right?”Fuck, fuck.This is going to kill me.

“At least I know his initials,” Tom defends. “Youjustkissed a random, no-named dude after meeting him for point five seconds.”

“Yeah, a mistake,” I admit, to which Tom sways a little in drunken surprise. “But I make a fuck ton of those, especially when I’m hurt.” I run my tongue over my molars. “I don’t want to anymore. I’m trying not to.”

This can’t be Sophomore Summer part two. I’ve been at rock bottom before, due to my own destructive behavior, and it’s one thing to be there alone.

I cannot, under any circumstance,fathomdragging Tom there with me.

That hurts on a level I can’t even comprehend right now, and I’m justcontemplatinga scenario where I nuke his dreams. Actually experiencing the death of The Carraways by my own hands would be obliterating.

Tom sways into the high-top, knocking it hard enough that I grab the edge. My uncapped water bottle tips over, and I right it as quickly as I can. Water puddles on the table, but the bottle is still half-filled.

I hold out the Aquafina to him.