“Three, two, one, down and done,” I mouth back. We cheers and slam our shots down. He hands me my beer and drags me into the middle of the crowd, the two of us taking healthy gulps of our drinks so we don’t spill any on ourselves on the way over.
The band isgood, amazing, really, a rhythmic and melodic blend of soul, jazz, funk, and hip-hop. I understand the dancing with the limbs all over the place. The music just makes you want to do that. They play through a few songs, the crowd jostling us left and right with their movement and energy, and I love it.
Suddenly, they break into a cover of an old song from the eighties. One that I, that we, know very well.Sweet Dreams, by Eurythmics. The first few notes play, and Elias and I whirl around to stare at each other, breaking into grins at the same exact time. I probably scream. We both chug our beers to free our arms up, and then automatically, simultaneously, we break into the dance we choreographed to this song when we were kids. I’m almost crying with laughter, as neither of us misses a step, all angular vogueing and head bobbing and walking like an Egyptian. We crash into each other ononemisstep—“you’resupposed to go that way,” our elbows and knees smacking into one another, and I’m dizzy and breathless by the time the song ends.
“I can’t believe we remember that,” he tells me, his green eyes radiant and shining and also a little bit glazed, his face one big Dimple.
I push it with my finger. “I’m not.”
He takes my finger. “Drinks?”
“Let’s do it,” I say, and he drags me to the bar by the finger.
He’s ordering us another round when I remember Cute Elevator Ben.
“Elias,” I try very hard not to slur at him. “Let’s text our new friends.”
Something flickers behind his eyes, but maybe we’re just wasted. He shrugs. “Okay.”
I close one eye to see my phone, squinting the open one.Meet me at le boss temps route,it says, but I think that’s AutoCorrect fixing all the French. “I can’t see my phone,” I tell Elias. “Can you do it?”
Elias takes my phone, but I think he puts it in his pocket. He hands me another beer. I take a gulp, and Elias is suddenly the only thing in my vision. A tunnel. Tunnel vision. His green eyes and crow’s feet and fading freckles and Dimple and full, beautiful mouth.Fuck it, I wanna hear you, I think, as he smooths his thumb across my lips, and that’s the last thing I remember.
Even through the nails currently being hammered into my brain, I am acutely aware of where I am. Or, at the very least, of who is holding me.
It’s still pretty dark out, but I know whose Hercules chest my face is currently mashed into without needing to open my eyes. I know whose strong arms are wrapped around my entire body, whose abs my bare boobs are pressed against. I know whose tree trunk thigh is wedged firmly between my legs, against my…
…fuckingpanties,thank god. I know whose dick is pressed against my stomach. Still clothed in boxers, thankfuckinggod.
Through sheer force of will, I manage to open my eyes, almost crying from the pain of my eyelashes dragging against his chest.
“Elias,” I whisper into his chest hair.
He grumbles. “Mia,” he says, squeezing me impossibly closer.
“We’re naked.” I inform him of the news.
“Not entirely,” he murmurs.
Did we have sex?I wonder in my head, or maybe I do out loud.
“I don’t think so,” he rasps, voice like sandpaper. “Is your vag sore?”
I focus what little energy I have down there. “No.”
“Then, no,” he says. “Too hungover to panic,” he mutters into the top of my hair. “Sleep.”
“Okay,” I say, and I fall back asleep.
It’s way brighter in the room when I wake up again. We haven’t moved positions. The only difference now is that Elias’s massive erection is pressing into my stomach.
“He’s extremely happy to see you,” I feel Elias murmur into my hair.
My headache has improved a bit. Now it feels like the blunt force of a hammer into my brain, rather than the sharp stabbing of nails. “What happened?” I whisper into his chest hair.
I try to get my addled brain to remember. I get flashes of a full mouth dragging across my skin, of muscle under my fingertips. Strong hands. Whispers across my body.
I focus on my vagina again. She’s definitely untouched.Damn.
