I push open the door and the bells chime in the pizza place as I enter. The place is empty except for one booth in the back. I stumble a few steps from the snow on my heels, then rush up to the counter and point at the mushroom pizza behind the glass. “Can I get two slices and can you throw some extra cheese on them before you heat it up?”
“No problem, I’ll bring ’em over to you when they’re ready.” The guy slices into the pizza. I stop at the refrigerator on my way to the table for a Snapple.
Two men are wrapped up in conversation in a back booth; neither of them look up and notice me as I drop into the booth in front of theirs. I pop open my Snapple and read the fact. Only male turkeys gobble. I laugh and for some reason think of Matthew and how he blurted out that random fact at the hospital. If I hadn’t just been through one of the worst nights of my life, I probably would have found his awkwardness a little more endearing and taken more than a few quick seconds to admire the body I had gotten very familiar with on Halloween. But given the circumstances, all I had wanted was to get the fuck out of there. Stupid-ass Nick.
Steam rises from the pizza that is placed in front of me. I’m anxious and fold up the first slice, shoving it into my mouth. The hot cheese burns my entire mouth and grease goes sliding down my chin to the front of my sweater. Shit! The silver napkin holder on my table is empty. I plop the pizza back down on the plate. “Hey, do you guys have a napkin?” I call out to the back of the head in the next booth. A bearded guy turns, sees my greasy mess, and grabs for a bunch of napkins and politely gets up from the table to walk them over to me. I rub the napkins down my chest, sopping up whatever grease I can. It doesn’t do much good. I have a feeling I just ruined my favorite sweater.
“Holly?”
I look up and see Matthew. But I know it’s not really him. The Snapple thing made me think of him, so between that and the booze, I just think it’s him.
“Holly?” the guy questions again.
“Matthew?” Wait. Is it actually him?
“Holly?”
“Matthew?”
“Holly?”
“Matthew?”
“Okay, let me see if I can help you two figure this out.” The bearded guy steps in. “Is your name Holly?” I nod. “Good, we’re getting somewhere.” He laughs. “And yes, this is Matthew. We’re all clear on this? You’re Holly.” He points to me then moves his extended finger over toward Matthew. “And this is Matthew.”
I stare at Matthew’s lopsided grin and messy brown hair. He adjusts his glasses, forcing me to zero in on his hazel eyes. All the alcohol coursing through my system can’t stop the heated pink tint from staining my cheeks.
“I’m Jeremy,” bearded guy introduces himself. “Holly, why don’t you come sit with us?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer, just scoops my pizza plate and Snapple bottle up from the table and places them down on the table next to Matthew. “Have a seat.”
I slowly slide out of the booth and go to take my new place next to Matthew. He’s frozen, stuck at the end of the booth, leaving no room for me to sit.
“Matthew, scooch over so Holly can sit.” Jeremy swooshes his hand to the right, motioning for Matthew to move over. “You’ll have to forgive him, we hit the bar pretty hard tonight and over the course of the night we learned a few things about each other.” He strokes his beard. “For example, Matthew learned that I’m gay, and I learned that he’s a lightweight.”
Matthew’s drunk too? That makes me feel a million times better. He moves over in the booth and I sink down next to him. Really close. We both look down at our thighs pressed up against each other’s. A jolt of electricity sizzles through me as memories of our night together play out in my mind. I hold my breath while Matthew does the opposite, exhaling a long stream of air.
“How are you?” Matthew immediately starts running a nervous hand through his thick hair. “I mean… how are you?”
We’re so close. I have to keep reminding myself to breathe. “I’m good… ya know, good.”
“You look good,” he says, giving me a side glance.
“So do you.” My eyes try to stay set on one place on his handsome face, but a surge of adrenaline combined with the gallon of alcohol I consumed is making my eyeballs bobble around.
“I can’t believe you’re here.”
“Yeah. Weird.”
“Very.” He leans in, bringing his face up close to mine. I can smell the pizza on his breath. His tasty lips are gleaming from the grease. If I was sober, this image would probably send me running. “Maybe it means something.”
I wish he hadn’t said that; it plays right into my superstitious side. My horoscope did mention something about romance returning. Is this romance? Or is it just drunken pizza lust?
The same ache he provoked last time returns. I squeeze my legs together, hoping to squelch the ache; the only thing this accomplishes is to send a rippling shudder up my spine and cause my nipples to stiffen against the smooth satin of my bra. It’s official, the combination of white wine and Fireball is the equivalent to female Viagra.
He licks his lips in a delightfully sensual way. I lick mine. And next thing I know, I’m tasting his delicious lips. Did I lean in and start this kiss or did he? I get a taste of pepperoni as his tongue swirls over mine possessively. It makes me hungry… hungry for him. My hand wanders up to his thick hair and tugs.
Jeremy clears his throat. “Wow, this is incredibly uncomfortable.” We break apart, both of us startled by what just occurred, and Jeremy laughs. “I don’t know what’s happening here or how you two know each other, but I think this is my cue to leave.”
“No, you don’t have to go. This is just, we just….”
Matthew doesn’t do too well explaining, so I jump in. “We just, this is just….” Fucking-A, I don’t do any better.
“No worries, while you two were ‘just-ing,’ I called for a ride, and shockingly they’re already here.” He slips into his coat. “Good night, hope you have fun. Something tells me you will,” he mumbles under his breath with a grin. “Matthew, good time tonight, I’ll see you at work, and Holly, it was nice meeting you.” He makes a quick exit out the door.
“I didn’t mean to kiss you like that.” Matthew moves over a few inches. It actually helps not having his body touching mine.
“Me either.”
“I drank a lot, and you’re so pretty, and I just reacted impulsively,” Matthew says, staring down at the table. “It’s been a really weird night.”
“It’s been a really weird night for me too.”
He takes a large bite of his pizza. “I thought the pizza would help to absorb some of the alcohol.”
“Well, then I guess I should have some too.” I giggle, pick up my slice, and shove it into my mouth.
“It’s just… you really are so beautiful.”
I swallow my pizza. “Stop.”
“I’m serious. Absolutely gorgeous.”
Even though I know it’s the booze, he’s just so damn sexy and I devour his sweet words. After a night like this, hearing someone say those things is exactly what I need. I forget about all the awkwardness of our first encounter. This time I know it’s me who leans forward and initiates the kiss. And it is no little kiss. My tongue parts his lips, fighting its way inside, desperate to get another taste of him. His hands stay at his side, unsure at first, but then he relents and the tips of his fingers reach up to my cheeks. I pull my mouth away from his to whisper, “Come home with me again.”
“What?” His hand latches on to my backside and pulls me in closer. “Are you sure?”
“Positive.” Just like last time, this is crazy and moving way too fast. But I don’t give a shit.
“Hey, guys, get a room!” the guy behind the counter shouts over to us.
Matthew loosens his viselike grip on my ass and backs away. “Maybe we shouldn’t.”
“Whyyy?” It comes out whiny. “’Cause of the pizza guy?”
“No. You’re drunk…. and I’m dr
unk. My mom said this is the wrong way to treat a girl.”
“Your mom said?” My mouth drops. There’s no way I heard that right. “As in like, your mom knows? You told her about our night together?”
“No. Yes. No.” His hand rakes madly over and over through his hair. There’s a dazed drunken look on his face. “I don’t even know what I’m saying.”
I’m drunk but not too drunk to know that he’s adorable. I link my hands behind his neck, his addictive lips dangerously close to mine. “You’re a weirdo.”
“I know I am.” He nods in agreement, which only adds to his adorableness.
He has no choice in the matter. I’m drunk. Horny. And I want to do dirty, dirty things with this adorably sexy weirdo.
“Matthew, you’re coming home with me.”
I STRUGGLE WITH the key to my apartment. I used my app to call for the ride this time, using my address as the destination. Holly’s drunken giggles and teasing insinuation that I still lived at home had provoked me to prove to her that I didn’t. Why did I make that asinine comment about what my mother said? Why?
Ha! If she thinks that’s bad, you should tell her some of things I’ve said.
Terrific. Here’s the Peen-nut gallery. Because my judgement isn’t skewed enough right now.
Please, you’re lucky I’m here at all after what went down earlier with that bearded dude. Thank God this chick showed up, or you might have never heard from me again. Now, let’s get her out of those jeans.
“Your apartment is nice. Very clean.” She shakes some snow from her hair and does a quick inspection. “Do you keep it this clean? Or do you have a little help from someone?”
I know what she’s implying. “No help from Mom. It’s all me, I keep it this way.”
She shifts her gaze from the surroundings to me and does a wobbly yet seductive walk over to where I’m standing. Her lips tease, coming in close without actually touching mine. My breath hitches with the anticipation of what’s to come.
“I need to use the bathroom,” she whispers, toying with the buttons on my shirt. She gets two undone before I break away and lead her down the small hall to the bathroom.
Once she’s out of sight, I become blisteringly aware of the bleariness lifting and my senses starting to return. Shit. I’m sobering up. Maybe not completely but enough where I’m starting to second-guess this whole situation. Holly’s still drunk, but if I’m not I can’t do this.
I will cut you!
Shut up. I need to think.
What happened to I’m in charge?
Lost in my internal struggle, I don’t hear Holly sneak back up on me. Her arms wrap around me from behind and her eager hands travel down to the front of my jeans. “Don’t tell Mommy, but you know what I’m gonna do to you?” She undoes the top button and tugs down the zipper. Her hand slips inside my boxers and grasps.
Here we go. Talk to me, baby!
“You like dirty talk, Matthew?” she murmurs into my ear, and starts stroking. My dick stiffens instantly, letting her know that fuck yeah, I do. “I need this cock, Matthew. You made me come so hard last time, I need you to do it again,” her teeth nip at my earlobe, “and again.”
Wait. This is wrong. A new voice emerges. It’s definitely not Peen, but it’s not my brain either. It’s my conscience. You know you can’t do this. Not like this.
Fuck.
“Women absorb alcohol into their bloodstream faster and metabolize it slower than men,” I say in a gravelly voice, easing her hand back up to a safe zone.
“Is that a fact?” She gives me a haughty smirk. Her hand ignores my guidance and travels right back down. “Is that your way of saying I’m drunk?”
I’m trying to do the right thing but she is making it nearly impossible. Her hand wraps around me and tugs. A long breath hisses out through my teeth. I don’t want her to stop. I want her sprawled across my bed, opening up her legs to me. But I do know this is wrong. What I need is for Peen and my brain to collaborate with my conscience to figure out a solution. Fast.
“I’m so wet.” Holly moans, not relenting on the dirty talk.
Bing. We think we have something.
I stop Holly’s wandering hand one more time. “Give me two seconds.” I wrench my jeans back up and make a beeline into the kitchen where she can’t see me. In the cabinet over my stove is a dusty bottle of Jack. I grab it and tear off the cap. Tilting my head back, I chug until I’m sputtering up the old whisky, coughing out drops of the amber booze. I grab a paper towel, wipe my mouth and wait.
Nothing.
I go back in for another long swig. This time heat settles in my stomach. I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose and eye the bottle. I’ve just consumed the equivalent of at least four to five shots. Slowly, I begin to blink in a hazy satisfaction. We’re back to a level playing field. Admittedly, I know this is not a brilliant solution. But my half-drunk, horny self isn’t looking for brilliant right about now.
I roll my shoulders and tip my head to the left until I hear it crack. Let’s do this.
“Show me your bedroom,” Holly says seductively when I return. Her jeans are already off. She tugs down the front of her sweater and tweaks her backside out, posing like an old-fashioned pin-up. Her sexiness is off the charts. She is a top-notch stunner. I hook my arm around her waist, fervently pulling her in. My mouth crashes against hers and she arches up into me. I’m tempted to lift her up and carry her into my room, but the wobble in my step makes me reach for her hand instead.
“You make me so horny, Matthew.” Yes! More dirty talk. She raises her sweater up over her head and tosses it to the side. “Why am I such a slut for you?” Oh, um. Am I supposed to answer her? She reaches back and in one quick move, flings off her bra. “You like what you see?” Another question. I want her to talk. Not me. “Come on, Matthew,” she says in a breathy voice. “Tell me what dirty things you want to do to me.”
“I’m….” Shit. I suck at this. I’ve never done anything like this before. “I’m… I’m gonna have sex with you.”
“You can do better than that.” She uses a sugary, baby-like voice, urging me to go dirtier. “Say what you really want to do to me.”
Peen, a little help.
Say fuck. That’s real dirty.
“I’m gonna fuck you.” My shirt comes off and she presses her bare breasts against my chest. The dirty talk works.
Say you’re gonna fuck her really hard.
“I’m gonna fuck you real hard.” She hooks her thumbs into her thong, lifts her hips, and slides down her last article of clothing. Peen knows his shit. The word fuck holds so much power. Fuck makes everything sound dirtier. I can do this. I can definitely do this.
“What else are you gonna do to me?” Her breaths catch in her words, making her sound desperate.
The Jack has officially soaked itself into my system. There’s no stopping me now. I use both hands to grab hold of her juicy ass. “I’m gonna get you so fucking wet. And I’m gonna slam you hard into my bed.”
“Yeah,” she continues to beg, panting as she waits for my next words. Her actions sanction me to give her a gentle push. She falls back, her curves bouncing on my soft mattress.
I lower my jeans and boxers all at once, kicking my way free of them and shoving them off to the side. My cock is rock-hard and my veins are pumping with liquid courage.
You got it. Keep going. Share a fantasy.
“Then, I’m gonna grab some lube, get that ass in the air, and split you like a fucking log.”
The heaving comes to an abrupt halt, her chest deflates, and she exhales a long stream of air into the room.
Whoa. Not that one. Too far, Dude. Way too far.
I’m frozen, a deer in headlights about to be hit by a Mack truck.
“Was that too much?” I ask. My quick-fix buzz instantly goes away. And so does my hard-on. The drunken haze that had her talking dirty and breathing heavy just moments ago seems to have dissipated as well.
“I don
’t… um. No. Just no.” Her face is pale.
“I don’t even have lube,” I blurt out quickly, scratching my nails across my scalp. I lower my chin to my chest glancing downward. Naked and flaccid is not a good look. I use my hands to cover myself and sidestep over to my dresser in search of boxers.
“Oh, God. Oh, no.” She gurgles before cupping her hands over her mouth. Her shoulders lurch forward in a heave. “Oh, no… Oh, no.” She’s gonna be sick.
I have one leg in my boxers hopping toward her. Her face contorts as she watches me. Shit. Naked, flaccid and bouncing cannot be a good look either. I hurry to get my other leg in, but my foot catches on an article of clothing and down I go. I’m tangled. Caught in a spandexy net of black lace. I look down and see her bra wedged between my toes. It takes three shakes for me to get the damn thing off. I roll onto my back, lifting my hips, finally tugging the boxers into place. In one quick movement Holly springs up from my bed, rushing past me, dashing toward the bathroom at warp speed.
And she almost makes it.
Mushroom chunks soaked with the strong scent of cinnamon splatter onto my hallway floor. She steps over the wet mess, or at least she thinks she does, and continues to barrel into my bathroom.
I’m right behind her as she falls to her knees with a thud and continues to heave out her night into my toilet. I scoop her long hair back and away from her face. I’m no stranger to vomit. On average, eight people come in to the ER with stomach issues every day. Unfortunately, aside from this small gesture, there isn’t much else I can do but wait it out with her. Thankfully I have a strong stomach, but if I hated mushrooms before, well now, I hate them even more. She heaves again and again. Christ, how many mushrooms were on that one slice of pizza?
Holly’s hand weakly reaches up and she flushes away round one. “Please go.” Her body backlashes with one last heave but doesn’t bring anything up. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Don’t be. It’s just vomit. We all vomit.” I search for the right thing to say that might comfort her. “In 1992, George Bush vomited at a Japanese banquet in front of 135 people.” A slight smile forms on her pale face before she rests her forehead back down on the toilet seat. It worked. I’m helping. I keep talking. “Some people actually love vomit. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of emetophilia, but that’s where a person is sexually aroused by watching someone vomit.” She lifts her head up from the toilet and looks back at me, her mouth drooping into a frown of disgust. Oh, fuck. Back it up. Beep, beep, beep. “Not me, though. I don’t get aroused by watching people throw up. I wasn’t turned on at all watching you puke just now.” I’m making it worse. “You looked disgusting.” Stop talking. “But still pretty.” Just shut the fuck up.
The Two-Night One-Night Stand Page 7