The whiskey burns, but it burns like him, and right now, this is what she needs. What they need. Maze sits at the bar next to her, matching her shot for shot, and even though Chloe knows she could handle the whole bottle herself, it’s nice. She’s trying. They both are. Coping, waiting to take that first step toward moving on. Chloe doesn’t know much, but she knows that they both have been abandoned, even if the word weighs heavy on her mind and seems irrational. Linda would say it wasn’t, not really. But Chloe doesn’t want to ask.
She feels just past tipsy and aches for something more. Some connection that wasn’t the people around her walking on eggshells, unwilling or unable to ask about… Tonight, she thinks as her fingertips dance across the counter, tonight that connection was Maze. The demon is warm beside her, and Chloe briefly wonders if it had always been like that. She hadn’t noticed. Or rather, she hasn’t cared to notice.
It’s hard to keep her balance completely when she leans over to press her lips against Maze’s. And oh it also burns, but not like the liquid courage that has settled within her. The look on Maze’s face makes her flush when she pulls away. “What the hell, Decker?” But the words aren’t harsh, not at their core.
“ Please,” she says, trying to erase the memory of those words ghosting across his lips before he… “Please, Maze, I just…”
Maze’s hands are gentle on the side of her face, and Chloe doesn’t care that she feels like the other woman is looking into her soul. Maze must see something that checks out, because then she slides off her stool and pulls Chloe to the edge of hers. “Whatever you need,” Maze says after a minute of silence. She is strong, because of course she is, and Chloe lets herself be pulled from the stool even as her lips crash against Maze’s again. She lets herself be lifted onto the bar when they take a moment to breathe, and she doesn’t remember much between that and coming undone with Maze’s head between her thighs. But she does remember falling into bed, his bed, her fingers between Maze’s legs, her teeth scraping across the skin of Maze’s shoulder.
It’s desperation, she knows, and yet she doesn’t care. The taste of regret never graces her tongue, not even when she wakes in his bed with heavy limbs and Maze is there. “Had to make sure you weren’t dead,” she says, and if Chloe didn’t know her, she would have missed the fondness that crept under the demon’s words. “And I should’ve made that bet with him when I had the chance.” As the fog of her hangover crawls into her head, Chloe finds herself laughing.