"Sometimes trust blinds us so much that we can't see the truth"
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After being dragged to some boring dinner meeting, Scarlet meets Jackson Vanderbilt. From leaving dinner early to being kicked out her apartment, Jackson was by Scarlet's side. What...
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I'm pissed. So very pissed.
Jackson begins talking to a man— a familiar man. My eyes scan the man's face. He's Mr. Kennedy. My father dragged me to his house as well. This man can talk about any oven subject for hours. Here's my chance to slip away.
I slowly slip away from Jackson and towards the bar. My mind was so pissed, it came up with a whole ass plan in just a matter of seconds.
I look behind me to check if Jackson is there, and he isn't.
Looking back at the bartender, I ask, "Can I have a bottle of whatever is the strongest?"
I'm not one who knows much about liquor. Never been. I'm also not much of a drinker, but I do love to get even.
The bartender looks at me for a second and finally hesitantly hands me a bottle of Spirytus Vodka.
Ugh, Vodka. The bitch of the liquor world.
I take the bottle and walk to an empty hallway. After a deep breath, I take a sip. The vodka pierces my throat. I hate the taste. It seems so strong.
After just a few sips, I became too drunk to control my actions, but too sober to forget what was happening.
I decide to put the down. Clearly, the vodka has done its job— a little too well.
It has been about ten minutes, which was enough for lightweight me.
Just milliseconds later, quick footsteps come my way. Please be Jackson.
"There you are! I've been looking everywhere for you. You could have told me you wanted to leave," Jackson scolded.
I pull myself up with the bottle of Vodka in my hand.
"Have you been drinking?" He asks, rage filling his emerald eyes.
"Yeah," I chuckle as I draw out the word.
"We're going home. Now Scarlet." Jackson snaps.
"Ugh! You're so annoying. I'm just gonna go to Bryce. He seems more fun than you," I slur. Everything at this moment was being controlled by the alcohol.
Jackson seems to have caught onto my little game because his lips turn to a smirk.
I begin to walk away— or stumble away. Almost effortlessly, Jackson grabs my arm, pulls me back, and pins me against the wall. I gasp as my eyes jolt up to his.
All of a sudden, I feel sober.
Jackson's tattooed finger traces my cheek and then my neck, "I'd like to see you try to be with another guy. It'll be hilarious to see how long you'll last. We both know no guy can make you weak to your knees like I do," His mouth lowers to my ear, "No guy can make you orgasm like I do, Beautiful."
