He placed the glass beside the bottle on the counter. The glass was nearly empty. He’d drank entire glass. Again.
He turned it in a few circles, considering the liquor, jolting up and down the sides of the glass. But he didn’t pull it to his mouth, just watched the ripple of color.
He hadn’t thought of the fact that she had bought him the glass. And the whiskey, so akin to her eyes in sunlight.
He used to not drink. He wasn’t quite sure how he’d picked it up. He remembered the set of glasses as a gift.
He also remembered that he’d warned himself against Yolanda. Against letting her into his life. His head. His heart.
But when he touched her he felt something. So much more than the low-volume hum of his every day life. She was a screaming speaker that was about to blow. And he wanted to listen to the song until it ended.
Yeah, somehow he wanted to listen despite the fact that her beliefs were flat, despite the fact that she hated every single damn thing he wore (and told him every time she saw him), despite the fact that they hated each other.
But he couldn’t pull away.
He picked up the bottle.