Familiar Strangers

Drunk

I was almost completely drunk by the time Sebastian called a driver and sent me home.

When I walked in, Marissa was in the living room, like she had just returned as well. She turned to look at me, and strangely, a sliver of sobriety hit the moment our eyes met. I straightened without thinking.

“Did you drink?” she asked.

I studied her properly then. She looked better than she had that morning. Lighter. Less distant.

“Have you eaten?” I heard myself ask instead.

She smiled, the corner of her lips lifting. “If I haven’t, would you cook for me?”

I had no answer for that. So I muttered a quick “Good night” and went upstairs, annoyed with myself and even more annoyed that I had let alcohol do what it did.

Inside my room, I took a cold shower. As I dried my hair, a knock sounded at the door.

There was no one else it could be.

I tied the towel around my waist and opened it, bare-chested and confused about why she would be here.

“Hey, sorry to disturb you,” she said softly. “I also had a little to drink. Do you mind sobering up with me?”

“I’ll be down in a bit,” I replied.

After throwing on some clothes, I went downstairs to the dining room. She had already set the table and was busy on her phone. When she noticed me sit, she dropped it and picked up her spoon.

I looked at the bowl in front of me. “Soup?”

“It’s supposed to be pepper soup,” she said casually, scooping some into her mouth. “But you don’t like spice, so I made it neutral.” She dropped the spoon and lifted the bowl, drinking straight from it.

I tasted mine. It was hot, warming as it slid down and settled in my stomach. Comforting.

Out of curiosity, I asked, “How did you know I don’t like spicy food?”

“I’m very observant,” she replied between sips.

“Since when did you notice?”

“Since we first met.”

My brows lifted. “So the other day at the restaurant…”

“Yeah. That was on purpose,” she said, completely unfazed.

I stared at her. She avoided my eyes.

Just then her phone rang. She set the bowl down, answered, and walked into the kitchen to give herself space.

As I took slow sips of the soup, I heard her laugh from the kitchen. It was light, genuine, and loud. I frowned slightly, wondering what or who could make her laugh like that when only hours ago she had looked so distant.

When she returned, there was a small smile on her face. She sat back down and, in one long gulp, finished the rest of her soup.

“I’ll be going to see Grandpa tomorrow,” she said.

“Oh,” I replied.

I had nothing against that. If anything, it made sense. Those two had somehow become best friends already.

Marissa’s POV

As I got home, I walked into silence. Antonio wasn’t around—though, honestly, it wasn’t like his presence made much of a difference anyway.

I’d had a little to drink, so I went to the kitchen for some water. On my way back through the living room to head upstairs, the door opened and Antonio walked in, trailing a strong wave of alcohol.

“Are you drunk?” I asked.

Instead of answering, he asked if I’d eaten. Typical. So I decided to tease him a little.

“If I haven’t eaten, would you cook for me?”

Of course, the log of wood just muttered a “good night” and headed upstairs, leaving me standing there by myself.

Given the smell of alcohol—and the way he was moving—I figured he’d had more than just a little to drink. Since I wasn’t completely sober either, I decided to make soup for us.

Once it was ready, I marched up to his room and knocked. He opened the door with just a towel around his waist, bare-chested. Well… I won’t lie—the man has everything, and that physique? Yeah. But it wasn’t like I hadn’t seen better, so I got straight to the point.

“Hey, sorry to disturb you. I also had a little to drink. Do you mind sobering up with me?”

He said he’d be down in a bit, so I went back downstairs to dish the soup. Not long after, he joined me.

The way he stared at the bowl, you’d think he’d never seen soup before. He even asked if it was soup.

I didn’t know what to say, so I just told him it wasn’t spicy and went ahead to drink mine.

Unexpectedly, he started a conversation—asking how I knew he didn’t like spicy food.

“I’m very observant,” I told him.

“Since when?” he asked.

“Since we first met.”

Then he mentioned the other day at the restaurant, when I’d ordered all those spicy meals for him. I told him plainly that it had been on purpose.

I could feel him staring, but I ignored it. Just then, my phone rang.

It was Jackson calling. I picked up and headed to the kitchen.

Jackson and I go way back—our bond is tighter than family—so when he called earlier that morning, he already knew I wasn’t okay. He’d even asked if he should cut his trip short, but what he went for was important, so I told him not to.

Now he was calling to tell me the trip would take a little longer.

One thing about Jackson—he knows how to lighten my mood. Not always, though, because sometimes he’s a complete pain in the ass. Still, just like that, before ending the call, he said something ridiculously stupid that had me bursting out laughing.