A Writer's House
“I haven’t had a drink in a really long time.” She took another long sip and again Will watched the muscles in her neck, letting his face follow the arch of her throat to the open vee of her t-shirt. She licked her lips then added, “Brian said it was unladylike.”
Brian. The someone in question, no doubt. Will hated him instantly. Not for marrying Lara. Not for being good enough in the eyes of her parents to marry Lara. But for not treasuring her once he had her. The rest he could forgive but the latter… Of course, Brian was dead. It was hard to hold a grudge against a dead man. Will had tried for years.
Lara interrupted his thoughts. “Does this drink have a name?”
The rapid change in the tone of her voice left him a little dazed, as if something rushed by quick enough to steal the breath from his lungs. Tension prickled along his skin.
“I love drinks with names, not that I drink but today…today I feel like having a drink with a name.”
Will smiled, slowly letting the grin broaden on his face. “It has a name.”
She took another long sip, watching him over the rim of the glass. Waiting.
Finally, she prodded him. “Well?”
Patience never was a virtue with Lara. But then again, in high school she’d never had to wait for anything she truly wanted. Will wondered if anything had changed.
He moved closer to her. “It’s called a Long, Slow Comfortable Screw.”
Lara’s mouth formed that cute little ‘o’ again and a rosy flush brightened beneath the spattering of freckles. He stopped with less than an inch between them, the air suddenly energized and warm as if the two of them this close together created heat and other forces of nature. Will leaned down and took the glass from Lara’s hand – not afraid she would drop it but afraid she would crush it in the white-knuckled press of her fingers.
Will couldn’t resist and went in for the kill. “Are you ready for another?”