13. Breakup Drinks

THIRTEEN

brEAKUP DRINKS

Dessa

I'm mid-pour when a knock on the front door startles me, causing some of the vodka to spill on the counter. Shit. I set the bottle down and throw a rag over the vodka. I'll take care of that later. When I reach the door, I peek through the peephole. My heart jumps to my throat at the sight of Garrett standing on the other side. Of course, he looks hot as ever in his backwards baseball hat and hoodie that stretches over his broad chest. One look at him makes all my negative feelings toward him evaporate, but he doesn't deserve my forgiveness. What he did was inexcusable. Maybe I should even the score and ghost him. I spin on my heel and make it two steps before he knocks again.

"Dessa. I know you're home. Your lights are on. You never leave lights on. "

Dammit. I hate that he still remembers so much about me. One time, or many times, in high school, he picked me up for a baseball game and after we drove a mile down the road I asked him to turn around because I'd left my bedroom light on. Of course, he did it with no hesitation because that's the type of guy he is.

"Plus, I've already been to every other house on this street except this one. So, I know it's yours."

After a few seconds of silence, I think he may have left, so I go back to the front door and peer through the peephole again. Nope. He's still standing on my doorstep, facing away from me. He spins around and closes one eye to look at the peephole.

Panic sets in and I jerk away, thinking he can see me.

"I'm not leaving until you open the door. I'm prepared to camp out here all night if I have to. But so you're aware, it is getting cold and there's a good chance hypothermia will set in by morning. And I have my mom's cookies. Not made by me this time, but you can only have them if you open the door."

I shake my head and wipe the small smile off my lips. He can't know I find him slightly amusing. I yank open the door and cross my arms over my chest. "You think the good cookies will fix the years of hurt and betrayal?"

His eyes go wide for a brief second, probably surprised I opened the door for him, then his features soften. "It's a peace offering." He holds out the container for me.

I eye him and then the cookies before snatching it from his hands.

"Maybe we can finally sit and talk. Oh! And this." He reaches into his hoodie pocket and pulls out a tiny white flag on a stick. He waves it back and forth. "I surrender. I'm sorry I was an asshole all those years ago. I know it's inexcusable, but I'd still like to talk. "

I blow out a breath and step out of the doorway and wave my hand, motioning for him to come inside.

This is a bad idea. Close quarters with Garrett Dawson is a temptation I don't have enough restraint to fight. It's already happened once. Too late now. The corners of his lips tip up into a smile as he walks past me. His citrus and amber scent wafts around me, causing my nipples to pebble. I close the door behind him and stroll through the living room and into the open dining room and kitchen while Garrett follows close behind. I set the cookies on the counter.

His gaze wanders around my kitchen island filled with bottles of rum, vodka, whiskey, tequila, a variety of mixers, and slices of lemons and limes. He takes his time studying everything on the counter before taking a seat on a stool on the opposite side of me. "What's happening here?"

"I'm experimenting."

"And what's this?" He reaches across the counter and pulls my recipe notebook toward him.

I snatch it back before he can flip through it. "My recipes."

"And that's full?"

I nod. "Almost. I'll have to start a new one soon."

"Wow." He nods.

I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. "While you're here, you can serve a dual purpose and taste test for me."

Plus, this conversation will be less awkward with alcohol. And even less awkward because I won't be the only one drinking.

"Okay." He rests his palms on the counter. "Hit me with your best drink."

I tap my chin, deciding what to make. With a bottle of vodka in hand, I pour an ounce into two copper mugs, followed by apple cider and ginger beer. I cut two lime wedges and squeeze each one into a mug. Behind me, I rummage through my spices and garnish each drink with a dash of cinnamon. When I'm finished, I slide the mug across the counter to Garrett.

"I was hoping to see you toss bottles into the air and spin around and catch them." His lips curl in the corners.

"I'm not a circus act. I'm a bartender."

"Touché." He takes a sip of his drink.

I study his facial features, wanting to read his expression. The scruff on his jaw twitches as he swallows. Then he nods. "That's really good. It's refreshing but also adds a little holiday charm with the apple cider. They should serve these at Fir Meadows Tree Farm instead of hot apple cider."

I laugh. "I'm sure that would go over well with all the families."

"Maybe it would encourage them to buy two trees instead of one. Anyway, what's the name of this drink?"

"I call it a Dirty Reindeer."

"See! That's perfect. It would fit right in at the tree farm." He takes another gulp.

I fiddle with the handle on my mug. While the small talk is nice, I need him to get to the point. "You wanted to talk, so talk." I take a drink.

"Shouldn't we ease into it a little? Maybe warm it up. Or are we ramming it right in?"

I half cough, half choke. Surprisingly, I don't spit my drink all over his face. With a napkin, I dab at my mouth and regain my composure. "At this point, I think there's already been enough warming up. You should be able to ram it right in." I half wonder if we're talking about why he came over here or something completely different.

He scrubs his hands down his face before dropping them to the counter. "What do I say? I had to leave. It was easier to go than to talk to you. I was young and thought I was doing the best thing." His gaze drifts up. Dark green eyes bore into mine. "I know it's not an excuse, but it's the truth."

I guzzle the rest of my drink, not ready for this conversation. "Need another?" I raise my copper mug.

"Sure."

I make us two more drinks. "What about our senior year? You were always gone and never said more than two words to me."

He blows out a breath. "Honestly, I hated you. Or wanted to hate you."

My heart plummets to my ass. Those are three words I never wanted to hear coming from Garrett. And I certainly never expected him to say them.

"I hated my brother. I hated you were with my brother and there wasn't anything I could do about it. I thought it would be easier to be the asshole." He takes a drink.

I nibble on my thumbnail, digesting everything he's saying. "That's why you spent our entire senior year ignoring me," I mutter, mostly to myself.

"I couldn't see you with Tony. Everyday felt like a rope around my heart, strangling me. It was easier to hate. Deep down I never hated you though. I convinced myself if I said it enough that it would be true, and I could stop feeling like shit." His gaze drops to the counter. "I was eighteen and thought I had all the answers. Clearly, I was wrong."

I swallow a giant gulp of my Dirty Reindeer. "Do you know how many times I called? How many messages I left with no response? That gutted me. Then when I got the automated message that your number had been disconnected, I was in agony. I didn't have my best friend anymore. Do you think that was fair to me? "

He reaches across the counter and rests his hand on mine. "It wasn't. I know that now. But at the time, that was the only way for me to process my feelings. I'm sorry." His thumb brushes over my knuckles. "I hope we can move past this. I'm here now and want to make amends."

It's exhausting holding on to a ten-year grudge. I press my lips together before a smile tugs at them. "I think we can take some baby steps to rekindling our friendship."

"I promise, I'll do whatever it takes to show you I'm sorry. I can't take back what I did, but going forward I'll be the best friend I once was and know I can be." He pulls his hand away.

Instantly, I hate the loss of his warm hand on mine. I shake it off. "Another drink?"

"Sure. Let's try something new."

I mix a new drink and pass it to Garrett. He takes a giant gulp. His teeth grit together as he sucks in a sharp breath. "That one has a bite to it."

"I call it The Heartbreaker." My gaze meets his. "Because it's a little painful, like a broken heart." The corner of my lips twitch into a smile.

He huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. "I see what you did." He takes a sip. "Did you go to school for mixology?"

"Well, if you'd stayed in touch, you would know."

He flinches. "Ouch. Someone's taking shots below the belt."

I shrug and swallow the last sip of my drink. "I've always enjoyed concocting new drinks. When I got old enough, I started adding alcohol."

"That's right." He tilts his cup toward me. "I remember you would always mix five different sodas into your fountain drink."

I brush a strand of hair off my forehead and tuck it behind my ear. This is one more thing he remembers about me from years ago. "I enjoyed testing out the different combinations and seeing what I could create."

"Everyone thought you were being weird. But I loved that you didn't care."

My heart leaps to my throat at the word loved. Shut up, brain. It's not like he's saying he loved you.

He swallows the last gulp of his drink. "What else do you got? Maybe something like a slippery nipple? Sex on the beach?" He flashes me a wink.

A laugh bubbles out of me. I rest my palms on the counter and lean toward him, locking my gaze with his. "What are you trying to insinuate, Mr. Dawson?" My voice is low and husky. I'd like to think I sound like a sexy vixen, but it's probably closer to a drunk cat. I was never good at flirting.

"Well, Ms. Mitchell," he leans forward, mimicking my tone, "my drink is empty, and I need a new one." He winks again.

I laugh and rise to my full height, all five four of it, and busy myself with mixing a fresh drink.

He taps his fingers on the counter. "You know, you should make a drink for the wedding."

"And call it what? The Ex-Boyfriend."

"The Wrong Brother?" His lips spread into a wide grin.

I raise an eyebrow. "Or The Jerk Who Left Without Saying Goodbye."

He laughs. "That's too long. People won't go for that."

"I haven't decided if I'm even going to the wedding." I pour the drink from the shaker to a lowball and slide it to Garrett and then fill one for myself. "Don't you think it'd be a little awkward for the ex-girlfriend to show up at the wedding?" I take a sip of my drink .

Garrett shrugs nonchalantly. "You could always be my date."

This time I spit my drink out onto the counter and floor. With my hand, I wipe my mouth before grabbing a napkin to clean my mess. "Because that would make things less awkward."

He laughs. "Who cares? The wedding seems like a sham, anyway."

"How can you say that when you've been out of town for ten years?"

"I know my brother, and he's never been able to make a decision and stick to it. In middle school and early high school he constantly flip-flopped between baseball, hockey, and football. Not to forget, the brief time he also played golf."

"It's normal for kids to play multiple sports until they find one they enjoy the most."

"But that's the thing, I don't think he truly had a passion for any of them." He leans back and rests his arm over the backrest. "I believe he only got serious about baseball and played for as long as he did was because I played too, and he resented the fact that I was better than him."

I yank open a drawer and pull out a safety pin. Unhooking it, I jab the pointy end into the air toward him.

His brows pinch together. "What are you doing?"

"Deflating your ego. It's starting to occupy too much room."

He exhales a boisterous laugh. "It's not ego. It's the truth."

I drop the pin in the drawer and close it with my hip. "Maybe he's changed?"

He drops his arm from the chair and leans forward. " Tigers don't change their stripes. Chameleons maybe. He'll disguise himself until it's time to strike."

"You're not judging him fairly, especially since you've been gone all these years."

"Have you been in contact with him?"

The ice clinks in my glass as I swirl it, mostly to busy myself with… anything. "We've always remained acquaintances with the occasional small talk, but it's not like I'm running off whispering all my deepest, darkest secrets to him."

"So you can't say he's changed either."

"I'm giving him the benefit of the doubt. What kind of person would marry someone they didn't love?"

"I want to say my brother, because that's exactly something he would do."

"I still think you're wrong." I flip through the pages of my recipe notebook, searching for the next drink to make.

"When you said that was full, you weren't kidding." He nods at the notebook.

"It's kind of like my version of a diary. While some people write breakup songs, I created breakup drinks." I smile at him.

"How many are about me?" He smirks.

"We never dated, so I never made any about you."

"With all the hostility you're throwing my way, I'm sure there's one or two."

I continue thumbing through the tattered pages, a smirk on my lips.

"I know that look. That's the ‘you're right, but I'm not telling' look."

I stop flipping pages and lift my gaze to his. "I don't have a look."

He drops his hands to the counter. "Yes, you do. You get the little half smile and your eyebrow twitches. Tell me I'm wrong."

I rub the twitch out of my eyebrow. I hate he knows me so well. Even after all the years away he can still read me like an open book. Always has. Apparently still can.

I roll my eyes. "Whatever. Fine. Perhaps there's a drink or two named after you." Or seven, but I don't tell him that.

His eyes light up as if I'm giving him the secret to eternal youth. "Show me one."

"A drink?"

"Yeah. Make it. Let me taste your disdain for me."

I laugh. "Alright. Let me find one." The swooshing of paper fills the air between us as I thumb through the pages, looking for the perfect one. "I got it." This was three years after he left and had his phone number changed. It was then when I finally gave up.

"What's it called?"

"Runaway."

He laughs. "Alright."

I pour us both a shot of tequila, squirt the lime juice inside, and slide his to him.

"That's it?"

"Yeah. It's kind of like a sucker punch in the gut. Kind of like when your best friend leaves without saying goodbye."

He raises his shot glass, and I do the same.

"Well, here's to runaways getting a second chance."

I clink my shot glass with his and we both throw back the liquid. The tequila burns as it slides down my throat. My entire body shivers from the earthy flavor and tart lime as a wave of warmth flows from my belly to my cheeks. I shake my head and push off the counter. A sea of fuzziness floats through my head. I grab a bottle of vodka and pour two shots into a shaker along with blackberry schnapps. Next, I combine the other ingredients into the shaker along with some ice and give it a shake. I remove the cap and pour the cocktail into a lowball, the deep red liquid glinting in the dim light.

He lifts the glass to eye level, inspecting the drink. "So, what's this one called?" He takes a sip.

My tongue peeks out, wetting my lips. "Sex on the Couch."

He chokes on the drink. A small giggle escapes me as I pass him a napkin.

"There's a little hint of sweetness that caught me off guard." He holds his thumb and index finger in front of him centimeters apart.

"It's the agave nectar." I busy myself with making another drink before he can finish the last one. I roll the rim of the glass in pink sugar. Once it's finished, I slide it across the counter.

"What's this one?"

"This one is called Asshole."

He squints at the pink liquid. "I don't get it."

I bite my lips together to hide my laughter. "You slide your tongue around the rim and then toss it back."

His gaze jerks to mine. A slow smile plays on his lips. "Got it."

A hint of desire dances in his irises. Either that, or the alcohol is causing me to hallucinate. His tongue peeks out as he swipes it around the edge of the glass. With hooded eyes he wraps his lips around the rim, watching me the entire time before tipping back the shot glass. His Adam's apple bobs up and down as he swallows. Why's it so hot? I tug at the collar of my sweatshirt. When did it get so tight? I should hate him, not want to jump over the counter and ride his face like a jockey at the Kentucky Derby. I pour the rest from the shaker in a glass and swallow the last gulp. It's a desperate attempt to bring my body temperature back to normal, which I'm almost positive is caused by the dirty thoughts playing through my head. Either way, I need a distraction from Garrett. Or myself.

Vodka. Vodka is a good distraction. With the bottle in hand, I pour two shots into a shaker to make a new drink. Garrett's eyes are on me the entire time from the other side of the counter. My heart races as he tracks my every move. When it's finished, I slide it over to him. He studies the glass, then lifts his gaze to mine.

"Are you trying to get me drunk?"

"You're a lot more manageable when you're passed out."

He barks out a laugh, then swallows the pink liquid, and I do the same.

After he's finished, his tongue runs over his bottom lip, and I can't help shifting my weight, rubbing my thighs together.

"What's that one called?" he asks.

"Get Me Naked," I whisper softly.

His normally green irises darken to a hunter green, almost black, and his nostrils flare. I can only imagine he's having the same thoughts as I am. It looks like he wants to jump over the counter and maul me like a ravenous grizzly bear.

"Say the words, Dessa. Don't mask them behind drink names."

Is he reading my thoughts? The glass slips out of my hand and shatters on the linoleum floor. Shards of glass scatter across the floor.

"Shit." I bend down and grab the large pieces, placing them in my palm.

The stool scrapes across the wood floor as Garrett races around the end of the island to help. He holds out his hand for me to put what I've collected in his palm. While he throws the pieces into the trash, I get the broom from the tall storage pantry and sweep the rest. When I'm finished, I return the broom to the closet and close the door. I whirl around and immediately collide with Garrett's very strong and muscular chest.

"I'm sorry." My words are barely a whisper as my fingers brush over the cotton fabric covering his pecs. Without saying anything, his fingers rest on my waist as he leans around me to throw a piece of glass into the garbage. When he returns to his full height, he doesn't move. His gaze wanders from my eyes to my mouth. I part my lips, wetting the bottom one with my tongue. He inches closer, his grip on me growing tighter. My breathing grows shallow. There's so much electricity flowing between us it could power the entire state. His fingers flex on my waist.

"Garrett," his name is a cross between a whisper and a plea.

His hand reaches up and cups my cheek as my chest heaves with every passing second. Then his mouth crashes onto mine in a fervent, desperate kiss. With a hand on my hip, he spins me around and without breaking the seal of his lips on mine, he lifts me onto the counter with no effort. My knees instinctively spread to allow room for his body to nestle in between.

He pulls away and runs the tip of his nose over mine. "Tell me you want this." His voice is deep and breathy as his words hang in the air.

Without hesitation, I nod. "Yes. I want this."

Then his lips are on mine again.