“SURE YOU WANT ANOTHER shot?” Jon murmured, a hand suspended over the bottle of vodka on the table.
Kurt narrowed his eyes at his brother, lips firming. “Yes. Don’t ask me again. This is only my fourth. And, anyway, I’m not driving. We came here with a driver for this purpose. So that we could drink to oblivion.”
“Right, right.” Jon muttered, sloping the bottle over Kurt’s shot glass and decanting the contents. “I hear you, bro.”
Kurt directed a frown at the clear liquid in the glass on the table in front of him. He wasn’t normally a vodka person, but tonight it was doing a passable job, patching up the colossal hole in his chest. It had been two whole, awful, wretched days since she’d stepped into his office and demanded a postponement. Two whole days since she’d ripped his heart out a
