Cassandra
Crayvin hands me my drink and takes a seat next to me on the couch. He sits so close that my feet brush against his leg, and shamelessly, a spark of electricity runs up from my aching toes to my heart.
Did I mention my heart is stupid? Seriously, it needs to stop involving itself in all things Crayvin.
I raise a glass and welcome that delicious burn of whiskey on my tongue and down my throat. A faint taste of honey lingers on my lips from the honey-flavored whiskey and I close my eyes, imagining that this is how his lips would taste right now, but somehow better.
"Is the honey-flavored whiskey okay? That is all I had left."
My eyes shoot open and I raise my glass to take another drink, praying the glass will hide my burning cheeks.
I clear my throat after swallowing the
