“You probably don’t want to be around me right now,” he finally says, voice gravel smoothed by sandpaper, as he moves back around the table to hit another ball. “Why?” I ask, drawn into the room and him in a way I’ve never been with someone before. “Because I’ve drank more than is reasonable. Because I’m pissed. And because when both of those things happen, I typically like to fuck them out of my system and, Wills . . .”—he tsks and turns toward me for the first time, eyes flashing with a glint of something that borders on danger and desire—“. . . you’re within reach.”
