At least his hair was how I liked it. Roughed up and wild from hours of sticking his fingers through the inky black mass.
James looked like an Olympian god who’d pissed the night away, strangling the steering wheel as if he’d fall off the Earth without it. His attractive face was completely wrecked by the lack of sleep sitting heavy underneath his eyes, ones that still hadn’t moved my way.
Glancing to this passenger seat, an empty bottle of Jack Daniels was riding shotgun.
I think that might’ve been half-full last night. Couldn’t really remember.
Staring at it, I decided on exactly what I wanted to fill my hollow ache with.
“Wanna get drunk?”
With his rancid stare still stiff and straight ahead, James slapped his burly hand on the ignition and twisted the keys while the engine roared with life, giving a tense and gruff,
“Yes.”