May Contain Wine (SWAT Generation 2.0 Book 5) Read online

  My mother poked her tongue out at me. “You’re no fun.”

  I rolled my eyes and reached for Mom’s phone, handing it to Ares.

  Except, I kind of forgot that to take a picture with my mother, I had to turn and face the other side of the room. Which also meant seeing Louis.

  I reluctantly turned and allowed my mother to curl her arm around me. The smile on her face had me smiling in reaction, too, even though I wanted nothing more than to leave. To run and never look back.

  Instead, I picked my head up high, glanced at the camera, and prayed that my eyes would stay solely on it.

  Instead, the moment the camera was dropped ever so slightly, indicating that Ares was done, I couldn’t stop myself.

  I had to look.

  And when I did, it was like a sucker punch straight to the gut.

  He was in jeans, a t-shirt—one that I fucking bought him, might I add—and his Harley boots. He was wearing a red ball cap—the one that I sent to him via Ares with the rest of his stuff—and a smirk.

  I wanted to smack that smirk right off of his face.

  Pissed off now, I turned on my heels and pressed my lips to my mom’s cheek.

  “We’re gonna go,” I said softly. “Love you.”

  She squeezed me tightly and whispered into my ear, “He’s wishing he never broke up with you.”

  I felt a catch in my throat when I looked at her. “I wish he wouldn’t have, either. But what’s done cannot be undone.”

  With that, I caught Ares’ hand, and we were out the door.

  I swallowed hard when Ares looked backward, her eyes connecting with something that was obviously watching us go.

  In my heart, I wanted it to be Louis.

  In my head, I knew it wasn’t.

  Just before the door closed, I could’ve sworn I heard something.

  “You fucked up, kid.”

  Foster.

  “I know.”

  Louis.

  I pretended I didn’t hear any of that. Instead, I hurried across the wet grass to Ares’s car and tried not to look at Louis’ motorcycle that always seemed to make me feel alive.

  Ares looked at me with a shit-eating grin as we got into her car.

  “I can’t believe he looked at you like that,” she gushed.

  My brows rose.

  “He didn’t look at me like anything,” I countered.

  She scoffed, “Oh, baby. He was looking. Don’t worry.”

  I wasn’t worried.

  Was I?

  Two hours later, once Ares had found her date, I was sneaking out the back.

  I wasn’t sure what I expected at the prom, but it definitely wasn’t what I got.

  The music was loud and overwhelming. The kids were dancing and stomping so loud that the entire gym floor was shaking.

  And somebody at some point during the two hours I’d been there had poured copious amounts of alcohol into the punch bowl.

  Leaving me thirsty as fuck, hot, and ready to get home.

  I was literally ten seconds away from dialing my sister’s number when I heard an amused voice say, “Sneaking out already?”

  I shivered when I heard that voice.

  I turned slowly to see Louis leaning against the brick wall next to the door, staring at me with amusement all over his face.

  “Yes,” I said simply. “It’s hot, and I’m thirsty.”

  “Last year they had drinks,” he said.

  I nodded. “They did, but somebody spiked it. The teachers haven’t caught on yet.”

  “Sloppy of them.” He pushed off the wall. “What are you doing?”

  I waved my phone at him. “Calling Reagan to come get me.”

  “I’ll take you,” he offered.

  I didn’t want him to take me.

  But, sadly, my sister might take quite a long time to get here. And I didn’t think that Louis was going to take no for an answer.

  “I…”

  “Scared?” he taunted me.

  I narrowed my eyes. “No.”

  “Sure?” he said. “Because I’m here. Willing to take you.”

  I rolled my eyes and ran my hands up and down the length of my bare arms.

  “I’m not really dressed to ride,” I pointed out.

  In fact, I wasn’t even sure the dress I was wearing would hike up enough to allow my legs to part to straddle his bike.

  “I brought my car.”

  I looked over my shoulder, and sure enough, his car was there, waiting.

  Like he’d planned this.

  Or knew me that well.

  Son of a bitch.

  “What are you doing here?” I asked.

  He gestured for me to go to the car, and with no other options, I did as he bid.

  I didn’t wait for him to open my door, though. Instead, I yanked it open and got inside, slamming it closed behind me.

  He looked at me with amusement on his face before rounding the car and getting in on his own side.

  He looked over at me as he started it up, and the familiar rumble of sound made lightning pour through my veins, reminding me of times past.

  God, I needed to get home.

  “Home?” he asked.

  I nodded, feeling the familiar feeling of exhaustion start to set in.

  “You look tired,” he said.

  I rolled my eyes. “I’m always tired.”

  Having chronic anemia was exhausting.

  And I was damn close to needing another transfusion.

  Which sucked because apparently Louis was at home and would want to donate.

  I wouldn’t let him, though.

  Not this time.

  “How long are you here for?” I asked, changing the subject.

  He frowned at me, wanting to stay on that other subject, but I was honestly tired of being ‘that sick girl.’ I just wanted to be a normal teenager.

  Just for once.

  And now that Louis wasn’t around, I realized that he’d always treated me as such.

  With kid’s gloves.

  “I’m here for two weeks before I deploy,” he murmured.

  My stomach sank into my feet.

  “I thought you were going to get stationed overseas. Like Japan or something,” I said.

  He shrugged. “Not in the cards right now, I guess.”

  I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

  On one hand, it wasn’t my right to be pissy or upset about anything. He wasn’t mine anymore.

  But I’d always cared for him—and to be honest with myself, loved him.

  Not that I would be admitting that to him.

  He didn’t need to know that what he did and didn’t do still affected me.

  So instead of saying a word, I sat there silently, contemplating the miles that passed, and refusing to think about how freakin’ scared I was that he was being deployed.

  “You’re awfully quiet over there,” Louis said once we were almost to my house.

  When I didn’t say anything, he kept talking. “You look beautiful tonight.”

  My heart caught in my throat.

  He sure knew how to say things to make me feel things that I shouldn’t be feeling.

  “When you came down those stairs today, I thought I was going to lose my shit,” he murmured. “Black dress. Bare feet.”

  I didn’t say anything still, wondering if he was trying to accomplish something with the words he was saying.

  “When you sent me your hair, I thought I was going to lose my shit then, too,” he said softly. “But I kind of like the short. It’s cute.”

  I licked my lips, eyes staying directly in front of me.

  “Knew why you did it,” he continued. “You were pissed. You wanted to hurt me like I hurt you.”

  He had no fuckin’ clue.

  That was the thing.

  He had no clue how badly he’d hurt me.

  In fact, if he h
ad, he wouldn’t be here right now. He wouldn’t be taking me home because he would know how much this meant to me. How much I still wanted him back.

  How, after nine months without him, I still dreamed about him every night. I still reached for him every morning.

  We might not have gotten to do all those things that usual couples do—i.e., sex, sleeping over, things like that—but I still yearned for those things.

  I still wanted them so badly that it hurt.

  Him being here right now? It felt like a knife straight to the heart.

  “Some little asshole tried to take it from me once, and I lost my shit on him,” he continued. “Gave him a black eye.”

  I finally turned and stared at Louis.

  “Louis, why did you care?” I asked softly. “What’s it matter if someone took it?”

  He didn’t reply.

  Instead, he parked the car by the side of my house and got out.

  I got out, too.

  I didn’t want him to think that this was a date or anything. Where he used to open my door for me, offer me his arm, and walk me to the front door as if I needed the help to get there.

  Well, I didn’t.

  I didn’t need anything from him.

  What I needed was him to leave and stop confusing me.

  What I got was Louis being Louis and poking his nose into my business even when he wasn’t supposed to care or want to be in it.

  When I went to pass him and head up to my front porch, he caught me by the arm and hauled me back.

  In the high heels I was wearing, I had no choice. It was either go in the direction he wanted or break my ankle.

  I chose not to break my ankle and instead fell into Louis—which secretly was where I wanted to be all along.

  “Why do you do this to me?”

  I didn’t know what he meant.

  At least, I didn’t know what he meant until he kissed me.

  Then I knew exactly what he meant.

  Mouth on mine, he pressed his tongue inside my mouth and licked against mine, shooting sparks of excitement through me with each thrust.

  His fingers tightened on my hips, dragging me closer and closer to his body.

  And his chest? It felt different. Broader. More muscular.

  Before I even realized what I was doing, I was kissing him back. Running my fingers along the muscled torso that I’d longed to touch.

  But just as quickly as the kiss began, it ended.

  And how he ended it made my heart wilt into a tiny little shriveled piece of what it used to be.

  “Nothing has changed.” He panted against my lips. “I still want you. Let’s get a hotel room. Then I can bring you home before your curfew.”

  I pulled back with horror, realizing only just then that despite him feeling me up and kissing me, he didn’t plan to do anything more than what we were doing right then.

  Son of a bitch.

  I pulled myself away with a yank of my head and wiped off my lips with the back of my hand.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  “I’m not a one-night stand, Louis.” Louis’ eyes narrowed. “And I’m not just some girl you can come home to when you’re on leave. I won’t be waiting next time.”

  Chapter 1

  Low Life.

  -Weiner Dog Dad

  Louis

  A couple years later

  I ran into the blood center, where the transaction took place once a month, as if my ass was on fire.

  Like clockwork, once every couple of months—or if she needed it sooner—I donated my blood to Calloway. Calloway, my ex who hated my guts.

  “Shit, I’m so sorry,” I mumbled as I rolled up my long-sleeved shirt. “I’m here. I apologize.”

  The nurse, the hottie who continuously tried to get me to take her number, grinned wickedly at me as she waved the needle she would be using to take my blood.

  “It’s okay, darlin’,” she said sweetly, as if she wasn’t inconvenienced at all. “I completely understand.”

  There was an indelicate snort from the woman on the bed beside the one I was currently leaning back on, and I looked over to find Calloway Alvarez leaning back on the table with her hat covering her face.

  I wanted to rip it off and throw it across the room.

  I didn’t.

  Instead, I leaned back and held out my arm for Patricia to take my blood.

  “Oh, dear. Your veins are absolutely popping today,” Patricia cooed.

  “Listen, Palin,” Calloway snorted. “Just take his blood already and stick it into me. I have places to be and things to do, none of which have you flirting with ol’ Louie over there.”

  I growled under my breath.

  I hated it when she called me Louie. It fucking hurt to be reminded about what was no longer mine.

  “It’s Prissy,” Prissy—why could I never remember her name?—said. “And you know it has to be tested first.”

  “It doesn’t, and we’ve already cleared this with management.” Calloway rolled her eyes. “Now, let’s skip this song and dance we play every time, and get on with it, okay?”

  It was true.

  This was something that the two of them liked to argue about every time. And, like every time, Calloway got what she wanted. Mostly because we both knew that my blood was safe for her, and always would be.

  “Prissy. Palin. Patricia. Whatever your name is, hurry up. I have to be at work in fifteen minutes.”

  I winced, looking at my watch.

  She actually had more like twenty-five, but I wasn’t going to point that out. But then I quickly remembered that this was Saturday morning, not a weekday. She didn’t have work today. Which was why we’d planned it this day anyway.

  Prissy moved quickly after that, setting us both up.

  But she was a bit harder on Calloway than she was on me.

  “Bitch,” Calloway muttered when Prissy shoved the needle in a little too hard.

  When she was gone, I looked over at Calloway with a raised brow.

  “Did you really expect her to be nice when you were such a bitch to her?” I asked conversationally.

  Calloway looked over at me with a sneer on her face. “I expected a little bit of professionalism. I literally watched her pull her tits up and pull her shirt down to show them off before you walked in the door. Now that was unprofessional.”

  I didn’t disagree with her.

  In fact, I agreed with her.

  Not that I would ever tell her that.

  I didn’t want her to get a big head.

  As the blood drained out of me and into the bag that would then be transfused into her, I watched her.

  She tried to appear as if she didn’t care, but I knew that she did.

  She was just as aware of me as I was of her.

  “So what do you have planned today?” I asked. “It’s Saturday.”

  She looked down at the blood bag that was being agitated on the little table next to my chair to see how filled it was. When she realized it was almost full, she answered.

  “I have to work,” she replied.

  I rolled my eyes.

  Obviously she was still sticking with that story.

  “It’s Saturday, Cal,” I said. “You don’t work on Saturdays.”

  She looked at me, and once again, the sight of her eyes looking into mine made my heart skip a beat.

  It always had and always would.

  “I already told you I have to work,” she said.

  She had.

  And I’d already told her it was Saturday.

  Instead of fighting, I changed the subject.

  “I had some old woman ask me to sign her breast today on the way in,” I said, being reminded yet again of my celebrity status thanks to the stupid calendar photo shoot that I’d done with my fellow SWAT team members. “I think she actually expected me to do it, because she had a Sharpie.” I paused. “I see her ev
ery time I come in here.”

  “The old woman that works next door at the scrapbooking place?” she asked. “Because she’s the only woman I know that’s older that would be here this early.”

  I shrugged. “It might be her. I wouldn’t know. I’ve seen her before, but always outside when she’s smoking.”

  “That’s Myrtle,” she confirmed. “She’s a pack-a-day smoker. But I really like her. You should’ve signed.”

  ***

  Calloway

  He shot me a quelling look.

  “I’m not signing some old woman’s tit,” he said. “I draw the line at tits. I’ll sign the stupid calendar. I’ll sign the fucking shirt. But I’m not signing a tit. I don’t care if it’s perfectly smooth or wrinkly. It’s just not happening.”

  Poor Louis.

  I would’ve laughed had he not been one hundred percent serious.

  I sat up and faced him, pulling my top slightly to the side. “What about mine?”

  His eyes zeroed in on my flesh right when the little machine beeped, indicating the bag was full.

  Seconds later, Prissy appeared, ruining the moment.

  I covered myself back up, but Louis didn’t remove his gaze from my shirt.

  I grinned and moved back to where I was previously lying, waiting patiently for Prissy to hook me up to the good stuff.

  After she did, she paid extra special attention to Louis as she cleaned and bandaged his arm.

  “Oh, I forgot to give you a ball to squeeze today,” she pouted.

  I rolled my eyes. “Could’ve used your tit. You did offer.”

  I must’ve said it quiet enough that Prissy didn’t hear, but Louis did.

  I heard his snort of laughter just as a couple of men walked through the door, momentarily drawing Prissy’s attention.

  “Ohh, the whole crew is here!”

  I groaned and willed the blood to drip into me faster.

  Honestly, if there was somewhere else that I could do this, I would.

  Prissy was by far the worst part of my month. Even my hellacious periods were nothing in comparison to being subjected to dealing with Prissy.

  She was seriously the ditziest blonde I’d ever met. She only cared about men—and only hot men at that—and she loved to point out that I was nowhere near her level.

  Which, I might add, I wasn’t.

  I wasn’t because I just couldn’t compete.

  I didn’t have tits and ass and hair.