Blackout ✓

31 | self-preservation

A / N :

Flashback 2 of 3, let's go.

This one corresponds to Chapter 17 in the timeline if you care to read back! I'd like Blackout to be enjoyable for re-readers, especially with these flashbacks acting like Easter eggs throughout the story.

Hope you enjoy. x

▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬▬

January

The Welcome Back Party

JAMIE FOUND ME IN MY room in a compromising position—with my bottle of vodka pressed to my lips.

Probably should have locked the door, considering Jamie knew my habit of leaving it unlocked when I was inside.

I lowered the glass vessel as he stepped inside, my tongue darting out to catch a trickle of the spirit from my bottom lip. No drop wasted. Jamie's hands were empty, but I knew from the ruddiness to his cheeks and the watery sheen over his eyes that he'd been drinking, too.

Not that I was discreetly watching him down beers with his teammates tonight. Not at all.

I wasn't supposed to look at Jamie because he'd shut down the notion of us falling into bed again. But I couldn't help it. Every part of me was drawn to him, eyes included. That navy shirt he wore—tight at the shoulders, looser at his torso tapered—didn't help the situation.

His eyes had a marksman's precision. I didn't fight him as he took the bottle of vodka from my hand and set it on the desk—I'd essentially finished its contents, anyway.

"Haven't you drunk enough tonight?"

"Haven't you removed that stick up your ass?" I retorted, without missing a beat. A flare of heat in my stomach alerted me to the vodka doing its job, and I shut my eyes and breathed through the intense sensation.

Jamie raised his eyebrows cockily. "That's rich, coming from the girl who gets one phone call and ditches the party."

My eyes snapped open. "Stop bringing it up."

"Come on."

"I don't want to talk about it." I pushed Jamie away, taking a step back. His ultimatum from before the winter holidays still rang in my ears if I let my surroundings fall silent enough.

You can't control other people's feelings by writing it down on a piece of paper.

You treat me as a walking dildo, conveniently lying by to get off on.

So I didn't let my surroundings be silent—keeping myself busy, or drunk to ward off the pesky thoughts.

"In fact, I don't even want to talk to you. So unless you're here to retract your statement and fuck me," I relished in the stiffening of his shoulders, "we have nothing to say to each other."

We were both breathing heavily, though Jamie had said little. His cheeks caved as he worked his jaw, obviously frustrated.

"I want to know who Eric is," he stated, a foot away from me.