Foolishly Falling for You

15

Anita

We eat lunch, and Lance, ever the pragmatist pours himself an orange juice with champagne.

"This early?" I remark, cursing my tongue as soon as I said it.

He sighs. "Do you not drink?"

"Only wine on an appropriate occasion."

"This is just juice really."

"Won't I get drunk?" I ask skeptically.

His thick brow raises. "How much do you know about alcohol?"

I shrug. "Not much."

"No. It won't get you drunk."

He pours me a drink, and I watch him. He seems...somewhat eager. I look down at the liquid with a frown. I was never much of a drinker. I lied. I drink.

But not for taste. Or to accompany with a meal.

I drink to sleep. I drink to forget.

I shrug. What's a little cocktail? I throw it back. Lance narrows his eyes.

"You don't drink but you throw this back like a shot?"

I shrug. "Am I meant to savor it?"

He nods, pouring my another. "Sip. It's meant to taste good."

I frown deeper. Taste good? It's alcohol.  "It's meant to get you drunk?"

He shakes his head. "No...just...make the day a little brighter. Make everything a little...you know how when you squint things look better?"

I nod.

He sips his drink. "Like that. Not falling down drunk, just enough to feel good." He murmurs.

Lances voice is a unique thing. He'd always so sure, and his voice is deep and commanding. Sometimes I forget why I hate him for a moment.

Then I remember.

I take another sip, feeling the swirl in my brain. I see why he likes them. I'm beginning to understand something. He likes my attention.

Lance smirks at me over his glass, his eyes raking over my form. I used to come so dressed up to meals, my only time to leave an impression.

Now I'm still on my sleepwear, my strap hanging off my shoulder.

His eyes are fixed on it—my shoulder.

"Is there something particularly interesting about my shoulder?" I muse, halfway into my glass.

Lance looks away, clearing his throat. "I'm simply concerned for your state, is all."

"The state of my shoulder?" I inquire.

He puts his glass to his lips, keeping his gaze on the wall. "Of your health. Speaking of, where is this doctor —"

I need time. Time to get to the family doctor before Lance does and...talk. Lance is thorough and I have no doubt he'll stay in my way until he discusses my treatment with the doctor. I just have to make sure he says the right things.

He sighs, leaning over the table, extending his hand. I edge away from it.

"Your manners!" I chide him.

He rolls his eyes. Never one for manners or etiquette, of course not. He just wants to do what he wants, damn the rules.

His fingers lift my chin. "You do not have the tolerance of a woman who has a glass at parties. You've become adept at lying to your husband, have you?"