by Jenn Hype
Beer breath’s hands immediately disappeared. For the second time that night, Liam rescued me from a jerk. This time, I wasn't mad. Not at him, anyway. At myself? Yes. Those pretty drinks definitely hindered my ability to protect myself.
“You okay?”
Feeling a little ashamed of myself for getting so drunk, I couldn't look at him. Instead of giving me a hard time or making a big deal out of it, Liam leaned in close. The booze gave me courage and before I could think better of it, I closed the distance between us. My arms wrapped around his neck, my mouth pressed against his ear.
"Thank you."
I expected him to gloat or rub my thanks in my face. What I didn't anticipate was his hand sliding up my side and around my back, pulling me closer. His other hand gripped my hip and squeezed. All doubt about him finding me attractive vanished at the feeling of his erection pressing into my stomach. I hadn't imagined it. He wanted me.
Me arching my back to get even closer to him instead of trying to run away could be blamed on the alcohol. But only partly. I'd been drunk before and never tried to rub myself all over a man. No, Liam deserved a lot of the credit. The man himself was intoxicating. Alcohol or not, being this close to him would make any woman feel a buzz.
Using his grip on my waist, he spun me around until my bottom once again got up close and personal with his erection. He buried his face in my neck, his nose skimming up and down my skin. Chills shot up my spine and I shivered against him. One hand slid around to my front, his fingers splaying over my navel. His nose moved to trace the shell of my ear and I could smell his minty breath when he exhaled. The man could win awards for his unique brand of sexual torture.
My hands lifted, reaching behind his neck at the same time he bent his knees, his hand moving away from my stomach and down my thigh before trailing back up, taking the skirt of my dress along with it. My heart pounded in time with the fast beat of the music. I sent up a silent prayer of thanks that I’d decided to wear a dress that wouldn’t require me to go panty-less. I was so wet from our dirty grinding, if it weren’t for my panties, I would have had my arousal dripping down my leg.
Ew. Kind of a gross visual.
That roaming hand of his skated up my stomach and stopped just short of my breasts. My breath caught and held. It would be obscene for him to grope me in public. Somewhere in the bar my brother lurked. For all I knew, he already saw the live porn show we were giving everyone. Couldn't bring myself to care, though. With my eyes squeezed shut and Liam's body moving in time with mine, it felt like we were the only ones in the room.
Just as things started to get really good, Liam pulled away. My eyes shot open and I spun around to scream at him for teasing me without any follow through. Paige strutting over with a bottle of water and a knowing smirk on her face shut me right the hell up. Excuses, lies, different ways to deflect all her questions spiraled through my mind. I looked at Liam to see if he could back me up, but the coward had already slinked back over to the table.
Paige fanned her face after handing me the water. "Whew, lawdy. I think I orgasmed just watching you guys."
I scrunched up my nose in disgust. "Gross."
Her head fell back, her laugh so loud I could hear it over the thumping bass. "Kind of bold, though, with CJ right over there." She jerked her chin in his direction. "Good thing Blake was running interference. She kept him distracted so you could get your freak on."
"From the man at the bar," a waitress interrupted, handing me another pink drink. Paige gave me a side-eye but I couldn't bring myself to waste the pretty. It deserved to be loved and appreciated. Right?
"Last one," I promised her before smiling my thanks across the room to the rando who'd sent the drink over. In two big gulps, the yummy fruity liquid was gone. "Ahhh. Refreshing."
A remix of my favorite Chainsmokers song came on and I squealed. "I love this song! Dance with me!" Grabbing Paige by the hand, I dragged her further onto the dance floor with me.
I was officially drunk. Like, the kind of drunk that makes you do crap you'd never, ever do sober. Afraid I'd wind up on top of the bar, I figured the middle of the room was safest. Until I twirled. One twirl led to two. To three. And the total just kept climbing. It was like I got caught in a revolving door.
I called out for Paige to help and when her arms gripped me and I finally came to a sudden stop, I wished I hadn’t. My body had stopped spinning, but the room had kept right on going.
I’m gonna puke…
My face must’ve turned green or something, because Paige suddenly jumped back and to the left. Like she knew I was about to hurl and didn’t want to be in the line of fire.
Time for a bathroom break. And that switch to water.
"Want help?" She offered when I started to stumble towards the bathrooms. I waved her off. I didn't need an audience for whatever would happen behind closed doors.
Turned out, I should have taken her up on the offer. The booze combined with the spinning did a real number on me.
The nausea passed but my bladder was suddenly about to explode. I gave up and left the stall door wide open, because who the hell invented those freaking complicated latches? In a place that serves copious amounts of alcohol, they need to make the damn doors easier to lock. Who has time to keep trying to get the little bar in the tiny slot when their bladder is threatening to empty itself whether they’re perched over a toilet seat or not?
Getting my panties down took coordination I didn’t have, so the tiny scrap of material masquerading as a thong got ripped off. Not that I cared. The damn thing had been a nuisance all freaking night. Seriously. The strip digging into my asscrack could double as a torture device.
My butt cheeks hit the cold seat just as I started peeing. Somewhere in the back of my mind I knew I was sitting on a public toilet with no barrier, but the possibility of getting crabs or a staph infection or whatever types things you can get from a public toilet seat didn’t mean a damn thing to me. Not when emptying my bladder felt so good that I let out an actual moan. The stream just kept going. At one point I worried the toilet might overflow, I'd peed for so long.
Miraculously, I managed to wipe, flush and wash my hands without incident. Go me! Two drunken girls stumbled in, holding each other up, and it suddenly made sense why women always went to the bathroom in pairs. Peeing, once a solo act, becomes a team sport when alcohol is involved.
By the time I pushed the door to exit, I felt a tad soberer. My legs weren’t as wobbly and I was no longer seeing double. Which is how I knew I hadn’t walked into a wall. The wall jumped out at me.
Hey, it could happen.
An ‘oof’ escaped my lips on impact, but the breath didn’t leave my lungs until I felt strong hands grip my waist. Hands I recognized without having to see his face. Hands I wanted to be touching me in much less innocent places.
Those giant man hands made me question why I'd waited so long to let a man go exploring my motherland. Between those hands and his cologne - because, seriously, did it have some kind of pheromone in it that'd been designed to drive me specifically insane? - Liam could have looked more like Quasi Modo than James Dean and I'd still have wanted to hump his leg. I wanted to find out what kind of cologne he wore and douse a body pillow with it and snuggle it while putting some of those unopened sex toys to good use.
“I’ll be sure and let the manufacturer know how much you enjoy their product.”
Shiiiiiiit.
CHAPTER SIX
Liam
We lasted another thirty minutes at the bar before heading out. And when I say we, I mean myself and Clara. Why did we leave together? Because I volunteered to get her home safely. Duh. Why did we leave so quickly? Well, as amusing as I found drunk Clara, with her inability to keep her thoughts inside or her hands to herself, alcohol gave her the balance of a newborn foal. Getting her home before she fell and broke her ankle became imperative after the third fall.
"Why do you smell soooo good," Clara slurred, nuzzling her nose into my shoulder in th
e back of the cab. The driver shot me a worried look in the rearview. Like he worried I'd take advantage of a clearly drunk woman and start fucking in the back of his car. I gave him what I hoped was a reassuring smile.
"How are you feeling?" I swept her hair off her face, cupping her cheek and trying to get a good look at her. She couldn't even hold her head up on her own, so when I let go, her head just fell right back down to my shoulder.
"I feel great. Like butter on a freshly baked biscuit."
Uh. What?
"Does that mean you're hot?"
She scrunched up her nose adorably. "That doesn't even make sense."
Right. She made total sense, and I was the one not speaking logically...
The cab pulled up in front of her building and after paying the driver, I wrangled her limp-noodled body out of the back, dragging her up the sidewalk.
"Could you maybe try to help me out a little here?" I asked on a laugh. I thought about just lifting her up and carrying her, but she had on a dress and I didn't think she'd appreciate me letting her flash people in her building.
We managed to make it over to the bank of elevators - thank God for those because I definitely couldn't carry her up a bunch of stairs in her condition. She was tiny and holding her wouldn't be difficult, but it was late and I'd had a long day.
A few minutes later we were finally in front of her apartment door. Propping her up against the wall, I pulled her keys from my back pocket. In her state, leaving her in charge of things like keys just didn't seem prudent, so before we left the bar I'd stuffed her things in my pockets.
The apartment was dark. Once the door closed behind us, I gave my eyes a second to adjust. I'd been inside her place a couple times briefly, but never long enough to know where light switches were, especially in the dark.
"You gonna take me to bed?" Clara slurred. The way she said it made me think she was trying to sound seductive, but with the slurring it was hard to tell. Probably wishful thinking on my part. Not that I'd act on anything regardless. Hooking up with Clara? Bad idea in general. Hooking up with Clara when she's so completely wasted she can't even stand on her own? Grounds for murder at the hands of her brother. Plus, I'd never take advantage of a woman in her state. Assholes who did that shit deserved to be castrated.
"Can you help me find your room?"
With her head pressed up against my chest, she nodded slowly, her nose rubbing my sternum with each pass.
"You smell so good. Like a sexcicle."
"A sexcicle?" I laughed.
"A sexy popsicle," she explained. Sort of.
"Bedroom?" I prompted when she made no move to point me in the right direction.
"That away, good sir! To the hall!"
She tried to march away, but her ankle rolled. I dove, narrowly catching her before she made contact with the hardwood floors.
"Slow down there, drunky. You're gonna hurt yourself."
Her nose scrunched. "That's a horrible nickname. Do not start calling me that."
"Noted."
Since her place was small it only took a few steps to find her bedroom. The curtains were pulled back on the small window, letting just enough moonlight filter into the room to be able to see. Not wasting any time, she fell gracelessly onto her bed.
Chuckling to myself, I kneeled in front of her, slipping one of her shoes off at a time.
"I don't like this. Don't be nice to me," she whined, catching me completely off-guard.
"What? Why wouldn't you want me to be nice?"
She huffs, scooting her body up her bed with a wiggling, squirming motion. Like a snake.
"It's hard enough to want you so bad when you're a jerk. How am I supposed to deal with all the feelings when you're nice?"
Well, fuck.
Her confession is like a slap to my face.
She wants me?
The cocky asshole inside of me wants to roll his eyes and say 'duh.' I suspected as much. Hell, when we were dancing it was pretty damn obvious. But hearing her say the words? It changes everything.
Guilt didn't let me enjoy the moment for very long, though. Anything Clara revealed to me while under the influence felt like a betrayal on my part. To let her tell me things she would never under any other circumstance want to reveal? She'd hate me even more for it later.
"You ever slept with a virgin?" She asked as I pulled her comforter up and over her body. My back went ramrod straight. In her sleepy, drunken state, she didn't register my shock. "Sometimes I think I should just get it over with, you know? The longer I wait, the bigger deal it is. I'll never find someone with this hanging over my head."
So many ways to respond to that, none of them appropriate.
First, my teeth clenched so hard I swear I felt a tooth crack. What kind of fuckhead makes a woman feel like being a virgin is a flaw? Unconventional? Yes. Shocking as hell, given how fucking hot Clara was? Hell Yes. But being a virgin wasn't something to be ashamed of. With her inhibitions so low, her face gave away everything she was feeling. The most predominant? Shame. Fury vibrated through my veins. It took every damn ounce of self-control I possessed to keep from throwing my fist through a wall.
Second, after the anger subsided just a fraction, lust fiercely took hold. A woman like Clara deserved to be worshipped. And I knew, without a speck of doubt, that I could give her all the pleasures she deserved. To be the first one to show her just how amazing sex could be with the right partner? Fuck. My jeans could barely contain my dick. He was eager and valiantly trying to volunteer as tribute.
"I think I need to just pick up some random guy and let him pop this girl's cherry before my vagina is sealed shut permanently."
"No," I snapped, the word harsh and my anger obvious. Misunderstanding the emotions and desire warring inside of me, Clara struggled to sit up. Once her back was flush to her headboard, she fidgeted nervously with her blanket, her eyes avoiding mine.
"I know you wouldn't want me, Liam. I wasn't trying to hint that it should be you. I'm not stupid. I-"
My finger pushed against her lips to silence her. Those bright blue eyes swam with questions, none of which I could - or would - answer. Not while she was drunk. Not when there was a chance she wouldn't even remember anything we talked about.
"This isn't the time to talk about this, Clara. You've had a lot to drink. Get some sleep."
I could see rejection written all over her face. My arms itched to wrap her up and hold her to me. To reassure her that I wasn't rejecting her. Not in the least. But I couldn't touch her. If I let myself touch her at all, I wouldn't be able to stop. I was spent and honestly, I didn't trust myself. If she made any move whatsoever or gave any indication of wanting me to touch her in less than innocent ways, it would be too fucking hard to say no.
"I'm going to get you some water. Try to rest," I told her, leaving the room and not turning back to make sure she'd listened.
Having some distance from her, I took a few seconds to calm myself down. My head couldn't decide what to fucking focus on, anger or lust. It was confusing and my temple started to throb, warning me of an impending headache.
With my hands braced on the sink's ledge, I breathed in and then out, over and over, until my pulse evened out. The lust dissipated, rage winning out. I wanted to track down every guy she'd ever dated and beat the living snot out of him. Or maybe it was just one guy. That would save me a lot of time and energy, only having to kick one ass. For some reason, though, that didn't make me feel any better. For one person to have made such an impact on her would mean she'd had to have had strong feelings towards him.
Jealousy, hot and fierce, sent my heart rate skyrocketing once again.
I had no damn clue if I was good at relationships. I'd never had one. Never had the desire to try. But I did now. Somehow Clara had burrowed herself deep inside of me and I knew I'd never forgive myself if I didn't at least give it a chance. It would be hard to convince her to trust me, to trust my intentions. I'd have to venture incredibly far out of my
comfort zone, making myself vulnerable, face my demons and really put myself out there for the first time in my life. No joking around, no playful pranks. It was time to show everyone a new, different side of me.
The side of me that fucking got the girl.
❖
"Morning sunshine," I greeted cheerfully.
Clara, or a zombie-looking version of her, stumbled into the kitchen where I stood over the stove.
"Arghughhh."
"Hungover?" I asked, trying to keep the smile out of my voice.
"Unghhrmmm."
Reaching into the fridge, I pulled out the orange juice and filled a glass I'd already pulled out of the cabinet.
I'd stayed up most of the night coming up with a game plan. I was going all in. Fully committed to making Clara mine. How could I not? Even with her hair smashed flat on one side, pillow creases marking her cheek and her lipstick smeared down her chin, she was the most beautiful woman I'd ever laid eyes on. I'd be an idiot to let her go.
She took a seat on a barstool at her tiny kitchen island just as I slid the glass across the surface. Already sitting on the island were four aspirin.
Clara eyed the OJ suspiciously.
"I didn't lace it with anything. I ruin your dates, not your digestive system. It's safe."
After a few more minutes of inspection, she finally downed the pills and the juice. I turned back to the eggs just in time to keep them from burning. The oven dinged. Perfect timing. Snagging an oven mitt, I pulled the baking sheet of bacon out and turned everything off. Clara sat behind me quietly while I made her a plate.
"What are you doing here?"
"Ahh! She speaks!" I teased while carrying my own plate over to join her, earning a glare.
"Seriously. What is happening? Did I enter some sort of twilight zone where you aren't a douche bag or something?"
"So friendly in the mornings," I said around a mouth full of food.
"You're wearing my apron." She pointed at the frilly pink apron with her fork.
"I didn't want to get food on my clothes," I responded with a scoff and playful eye roll. "Eat your food. It'll help your stomach. And hopefully your mood."