It’s not like Reed didn’t know that alcohol led to piss-poor decisions. It’s one of the few things he did know and one of the many truths that Reed ignored. Besides, sometimes, it was fun to be contrary just for the sake of it when Emma was around. He found that, normally, it kept her around longer so she could prove her point. So maybe he liked taking advantage of that. “Split-second decisions aren’t all bad. Maybe some people spent too much time thinking and not enough time doing.” He wanted to ask if that was why she was there, if she’d realized she spent too much of her time cooped up in her thoughts, in her readings. He refrained from questioning why she was there only because a tiny part of him worried it may make her leave sooner, make her go back to her books where, too often, she seemed beyond his reach, even if that didn’t stop him from trying.Â
She could feel the words as they hit her. There was no denying that he wasn’t just talking about some people. He was talking about her, and her ambition that never seemed to die out. Every day she wanted more, and the only way to get more, was to push herself. She could feel other people in her field gaining on her, biting at her ankles, waiting for her to stumble. But she wouldn’t fall, not now. Especially not for a boy that preferred the bottle to a pen. “Maybe some people should actually think.” Emma watched as the man that had been in the middle of this started to shy away, drink in hand. This wasn’t what he had signed up for.