My lips quirk up into a half-smile. "I'm thinking… you look beautiful," I whisper. I'm too close to her, and I'm fighting to say in control of my emotions, of my intense attraction to her.
"Carl and Tina did a good job makin' me up," she replies hoarsely.
I bite my lip to stifle my grin at her naivety. I have that thought every goddamned day – that she looks beautiful.
"Not just tonight, Rory."
Her breathing has grown shallow, but not in panic, and I realize the alcohol has warped her judgment, because right now, I want to kiss her more than I want to breathe, and I'm pretty fucking sure she would let me.
The valet opens her door behind her and she yelps in surprise. I hadn't even realized we'd arrived at the hotel. I slide away from her and open my door, but by the time I get around the car, she's already stumbling out of it.
"Hold on there, Ror." I rush to her side and sling an arm around her. "I got you."
Neither of us says a word as we make our way to the elevators and upstairs. I feel a strange sense of melancholy. It's irrational, of course, the night has gone as well as I could have hoped. But it's not the night that has me feeling defeated. It's the whole situation. It's the irony. That the one girl I could see myself really being with, has no interest in being with me. I bet there'd be a line of girls who would be deeply satisfied to see me being so damn pathetic.
"Come on, give me your keycard, I'll open your door," I tell her.
"But I'm not tied," she pouts again.
I brush my thumb over her bottom lip, feeling the soft, damp plumpness against that small bit of my skin. It doesn't help my growing lust.
"I told you not to pout," I warn her. Because her lips are too damned enticing, and we're just friends, and she's drunk, and there are a million and one reasons not to kiss her.
"Okay," she breathes. I need to get her in her own hotel room so she can go to bed.
"Give me your purse," I tell her, and she hands it over immediately. But there's nothing in it besides a loose credit card, some cash, her cell phone and a lip-gloss still in its original packaging.
"Where's your room key? It's not in here."
She slaps her hand to her forehead. "I may have left it on the writing desk… in my room."
Shit. I sigh. "This is why we should have left our adjoining doors open." So she could just go to bed, and we wouldn't have time alone in my hotel room while we wait for someone to come open her door for her.
She follows me into my room, and it's all I can do not to fantasize about throwing her onto the first flat surface we can find and lifting that cute little skirt up around her hips.
Fuck. I need to get ahold of my thoughts. It's been way too long since I've hooked up with anyone, and this girl inspires serious fucking lust.
"I was worried we might end up in bed," she says, and I stop in my tracks.
What the fuck?
She can't read my thoughts. So how could she think such a thing? That I'd, what? Sneak into her room in the middle of the night and take advantage of her?
Her hand flies to her mouth, as if she hadn't meant to say it at all, but all that means is that she was really fucking worried about it. I walk right up to her, horrified at her thoughts, and at myself for getting carried away with my own fantasies. I've been nothing but a respectful, supportive friend to her, so why would she think such a thing?
"I would never take advantage of you like that, Ror," I swear to her. "Jesus, how could you think—“
But she presses her fingers to my lips, stunning me back into silence.
"No, Sam, I wasn't worried about you, I was worried about me."
I frown – what the fuck is that supposed to mean?
"You look so cute when you do that." She moves her fingers to the crease of my brow, and strokes it gently, but I try to ignore it. I'm not sure I can handle affection from her right now, I'm so fucking bemused by the last two minutes I don't know which was is up.
"What are you talking about?" I ask her. "What do you mean you were worried about you?"
She stares at me, too close, and I can do nothing but stare back.
Then her fingers move again, trailing down my jaw and around to the back of my neck, and she leans up on her tip toes, and presses her lips to mine.
For one split second I'm frozen in shock, and then my body takes over.
I kiss her back, slowly, gently, pushing all of my emotions into a kiss for the first time in my life. Her lips feel better than I even imagined, soft and plush, and they fit against mine as if they were molded specifically for one another. I've been turned on all night, but right now I'm harder than I've ever been, straining against the fly of my jeans with intense need.
I groan when her fingers find their way into my hair, and I take hold of her perfect face, holding it at the perfect angle, as I tease her perfect lips with my own. My thumbs brush back and forth over the soft skin of her cheeks.
Fuck, she feels amazing.
I've fantasized a thousand times about just this – just kissing her – and even the fantasy doesn't compare. It's her reactions that are killing me. Her soft moans and whimpers, as if she's just as desperate for me as I am for her.
I need more.
I lick the seam of her mouth, and she opens immediately, welcoming my tongue, and I waste no time tasting and exploring. I feel the skin of her neck, her shoulders, wanting to touch her everywhere at once, but forcing some semblance of awareness, because I can't let this go too far.
My hand slides into her hair, holding her mouth to mine, and the other pulls the rest of her body until we're flush against each other, her soft breasts pressed against my chest.
Her tongue dances with mine, and I love her eagerness, it's the hottest fucking thing, and I suck her bottom lip into my mouth like I've been imagining all night.
Fuck she's amazing, and the moan that slides up her throat and into my mouth chips at my control until I'm moving us to the desk behind her. I lift her and press against her, kissing her harder.
Her legs open in welcome, and God do I want between them, but my control is a tenuous thing right now, and I hurt for her. But she isn't having any hesitation. Her legs wrap around my hips, pulling me where I belong, and she pins my erection right between her sweet, soft thighs. She moans again, and runs her hands up the front of my shirt, tormenting me beyond anything she could possibly fathom.
And then she moves her hips against me, and I'm done. I have a choice. Because I'm either going to fuck Rory on top of this desk right fucking now, or I have to stop this immediately.
The thought stops me cold.
I tear my mouth from hers and take long steps back from her so we can't touch again, and I try in vain to catch my breath. I inwardly chastise myself. What the fuck was I thinking?! Did I really just consider taking Rory on a fucking hotel room desk? We've never even kissed before, and I somehow thought it was okay to take advantage of her drunken lack of judgment?
I drown in self-loathing, still trying to get ahold of my raging lust, because Rory sits on that fucking desk, leaning back and panting like a goddess, her legs splayed and her skirt hiked up, and it's all I can do not to tell my conscience to go to hell, and pounce on her.
I promised to protect her, to look out for her, and as it turns out, I'm the asshole she needs protection from. How the fuck could I have let this happen? I need to make this right.
"God, Ror, I'm sorry. I—“
"I kissed you," she interrupts.
I stare at her. She's right. She did kiss me. But that's not the fucking point, is it? She's drunk, and I almost took serious advantage of her. Shame floods my chest, pounding me with well-deserved guilt.
"Rory, you're drunk," I remind her. "Whether you kissed me first or not, I shouldn't have let that happen, you're my friend." And if she wasn't drunk, she never would have kissed me.
She slides off of the desk and saunters over to me, and I wonder if she has any idea how fucking sexy she is, how dangerous her pr
oximity is right now.
"Please, Sam. So, I'm drunk. So what? Half the girls in Miami hookin' up with strangers tonight are drunk. And you ain't a stranger, you're my friend. I trust you." Her voice is breathy and seductive, and she slides her hands up my shirt, shaking my resolve beyond my capacity for restraint.
But how doesn't she get that she's not half the girls in Miami? She's Rory. And the same rules don't apply.
"It's not like I'm a virgin. You don't need to worry. I've never felt this way before, please, I just wanna know what it feels like to do it because I wanna do it. Because it makes me feel good. Please, Sam."
She's fucking killing me.
She leans up and kisses me again, and in my head I'm pulling away, being responsible. But in reality, it takes too long to send the message from my brain to my lips, and I kiss her back for long torturous seconds before I stop her hands from exploring any further, and wrench my mouth from hers.
Because I've finally registered her words, and they don't make sense. I'd assumed she wasn't a virgin, though I hadn't known for sure. But considering she'd been in what was presumably a serious relationship with that bastard ex of hers, I figured they'd had sex. Not that I like hearing it confirmed, though.
And I don't want her sleeping with me because she wants to try a casual hookup and she happens to trust me, because there's nothing casual about this for me. But it's that last thing she said about doing it because she wants to that's got my hackles up. Is there another reason to do it? I don't understand.
She stumbles a step, and I'm reminded of how drunk she is – how fucked up it is that I let this go as far as it did.
"What do you mean you want to do it because you want to do it? What other reason is there? I ask her.
She shrugs, and she's starting to look a little out of it, like she's even drunker than I realized, and I feel like an even bigger piece of shit.
"You know, because. Because I had to. It ain't like I always got a choice," she murmurs almost absentmindedly, like she's still just trying to get to the part where we hook up, and I'm not sure she even realizes what the fuck she just said. "But now I want to. I've never wanted—“
"What do you mean you had to? That you didn't have a choice?" I cut her off. Is she saying what I fucking think she's saying?
She blinks in consternation, as if she's trying to work out what I'm asking her, but they were her words. I curse the alcohol in her system, because this is fucking serious, and I need her to focus right now. Because if she's telling me she was forced to have sex with her ex, then... fuck. Fuck, fucking fuck!
I take deep breaths and try to focus myself. "Rory. What did you mean?" I ask her slowly, carefully.
But she doesn't answer, instead, her eyes roll and she sways on her feet.
"I just meant… that right now, drunk or not, I know what I want, and I want—“ but she gags, and even though I know she's backtracking, that she's trying to cover her confession with bullshit, I'm now worried she's going to be sick and that becomes my first priority. I ignore the fact that my whole world is spinning. That Rory unwittingly just told me her ex didn't just hit her, that he fucking raped her.
Motherfucking fuck!
"Ror? Ror, are you okay?"
Her eyes roll back and she squeaks out "sick" and then she's fucking stumbling to the ground, and I grab her just in time to stop her from falling.
I pick her up and carry her to the bathroom, checking to make sure she stays conscious.
I'm such a fucking bastard. I was supposed to be looking out for her. And I let her drink herself sick, and nearly took advantage of her.
I set her down on the edge of the bathtub, and make sure she's steady before I get a washcloth and run some cool water over it. I press it to her forehead.
"Fuck, Ror, you only had three drinks at the bars. You didn't take any drinks from anyone else, did you?"
She shakes her head. "No, you told me not to," she says shakily.
I rake my finger through my hair. Even for the most inexperienced drinker, it shouldn't be enough to get her sick. "How much sangria did you drink at dinner?"
She shrugs. "Two glasses?" It's a question, and it doesn't leave me with too much confidence.
"Fuck, Rory." And then I'm hit with a scary thought. I narrow my eyes at her. "Did you take a pill tonight, Rory?"
I know immediately that I'm right, even before her slow nod. Goddamn it, doesn't she know how dangerous that is?!
"Damn it, Rory! Don't you know you're not supposed to drink on those?!"
But she looks so adorably contrite that I can't even stay mad. "I... I didn't think about it. I didn't want to freak out and ruin everyone's night. I just wanted one night to be normal. I took it before we went out, I… forgot."
There's that word again. Normal. She doesn't even see the irony of the most incredible, extraordinary girl wishing she was just like every other girl who barely ever even turned my head.
I can't even hide my affection for her when I'm still kind of mad. Well, congratulations, Pine. You took drugs and drank and now you're sick. Welcome to teenage normalcy," I tell her.
I get up but she grabs my hand to stop me, and she looks almost frightened.
"I'm just going to get you some water. Look, Rory, you should probably throw up. I think you probably will anyway, but either way, you should make yourself," I tell her.
She makes an adorably repulsed face and I can't help but crack a smile.
"Stop being cute, I'm still mad at you."
I go and grab some water for her, and hand her the bottle. She looks at it dubiously.
"I can't. My stomach," she croaks.
Yeah, she needs to puke.
"Come." I hold out my hands to her and she trembles as she slips hers into mine. I guide her down in front of the toilet and gather her hair away from her face. I rub up and down her back. "You need to throw up, Ror. Trust me, you'll feel better," I encourage her.
She gags, but she isn't listening, she's still trying to hold it in.
"Go... away," she chokes out.
"Rory…" I chasten her. Why won't she just listen to me for once?
"Please. Don't... want you to see me throw up…"
Oh. Well that's just stupid. Doesn't she know I already find her irresistible? A little vomit isn't going to change that.
"Yeah, well I don't want to see you in the hospital. So I need you to throw up for me, okay?"
"I'll do it if you leave."
But I'm not leaving her, and she hasn't got a choice in the matter. She wretches into the toilet a moment later, and I sit beside her, holding her hair and rubbing her back.
"There you go," I encourage her.
When she's finally emptied her stomach, she sighs with relief and sits back, resting her head against the toilet seat.
"That's my girl," I whisper. She's not, of course. But it's this moment – when I've just witnessed her throw up more than I ever thought could fit inside her little body, when her head is pressed to the fucking toilet – that I wish she could be. Not just something more than friends, but my girl.
It's the first time I've ever actually wanted a girlfriend. But I would do anything for this girl. And I'd rather spend an evening stuck next to a toilet with her, than anywhere else, doing anything else, with anyone else.
And I know, somehow, that given the chance, I could feel this way forever.
She asks for privacy again, which I refuse.
I tell her I want her to stay in my room so I can keep an eye on her, and then help her get cleaned up. She rinses her mouth thoroughly with mouthwash and washes off all that makeup, revealing the Rory I know and… love?
I shake the thought out of my head. It's too much to think about right now.
I finally leave her alone in the bathroom to finish up, and get my damned head on straight.
I grab the extra pillows and blankets from the closet and make up the couch for myself, knowing I'm not going to get much sleep tonight anyway.
&nb
sp; "Sam, I think I'm okay, I just wanna get to bed," Rory murmurs when she comes out. What did she think I had planned? A round of monopoly?
"That's the plan," I assure her.
I wash up in the bathroom, but when I come out, Rory's laying on the couch.
"What are you doing?" I ask her, and she blinks at me. God, she must think I'm a real asshole if she thought I meant for her to sleep on the damned couch. "You're not sleeping there."
She sits up, and I realize she still doesn't get my meaning.
"The couch is for me, Rory. You take the bed." I know she's about to argue, and I hold out my hand to stop her. "Not a chance. Come on, Ror, let me be a gentleman."
"I wish you were less of a damn gentleman," she mutters under her breath, and I laugh. She means for stopping our… whatever that almost was. And it shoots a thrill through my bloodstream. I love that she still wants me even though she's sobering up, and I wonder what it means.
She takes my hand and I help her up.
My breath catches. Holy fuck, she's wearing my boxers. Why is that the hottest thing I've ever fucking seen?
"Sorry," she offers. Unless she's apologizing for my raging hard-on, I have no idea why she's sorry.
"Help yourself," I say with a chuckle. I also love that she felt comfortable enough to borrow my underwear without asking, and I want her to keep them. I want to imagine her wearing them to bed at night long after we return from break.
I follow her into the bedroom and she climbs under the covers.
"You gonna tuck me in?" she teases me.
"Something like that," I tell her. In truth, I want to climb in behind her and hold her all night. I don't even care about hooking up. But of course, that's out of the question. Shit, I hope she's not nervous being alone in here with me right now. "You're okay, right? That I'm here, I mean."
She lies down and rolls to face me. "Yeah, Sam. I've told you, I trust you. I'm pretty sure you can't trigger me anymore. Not unless you did something intentionally to."
"I would never—“
"I know."
I sigh, and sit down on the edge of the bed. I love hearing that from her, but I'm not sure I'm worthy of that trust right now. Not after my behavior tonight. I'm reeling with everything that's happened, from the intensity of our kisses, but most of all, from her revelation.
ReCAP: A NORMAL Novella Page 8