“My bra. Can’t get comfortable.” She then contorts her arms, but huffs. “Still can’t get the hooks off.” Then she turns to me. “Hey, can you do it? The underwire is digging into my chest.”
A fireball seems to explode in my heart. I try to swallow, despite my parched mouth. Alcohol has made her not only uninhibited, but sadistic. But when she looks at me with eyes that shine with trust, I go ahead and reach under her shirt. My body grows hot and tight at the feel of her smooth skin against my tingling fingertips. If only she weren’t drunk…
If she were sober, she wouldn’t have asked…
I unhook her bra and immediately pull my hand back so avoid temptation. She sighs as she wriggles and drops the bra on the floor, then presses tighter against my side. Her breasts feel as soft as marshmallow, and my blood flows to my cock despite all my honorable intentions.
She shifts, and her hair falls over my hand, which is currently stroking her back. I clench my teeth and try to think of leading economic indicators and what I suspect will happen with the labor market in the next two quarters.
It’s not enough. My blood flows south and a sharp prickling spreads all over my body. My cock’s impossibly swollen, but I move slightly to ensure she won’t feel it.
This isn’t the moment.
Her breathing begins to grow slower and deeper. Suddenly, she whispers, “My mom’s ghost could be watching me right now.”
I pat her comfortingly. “Yeah… She could.”
“Do you think she’s wondering why I’m not cool like her?”
“Half of you is her, Molly. You’re more alike than you think.”
“No. She was beautiful and smart and popular. She was everything I could never be. Not even my grandfather likes me, you know. He was devastated when Mom died, and never got in touch with me or Dad.”
I put a finger underneath her chin and lift her head. Look into her alcohol-blurred eyes. She might not remember this—but I need to tell her.
“Molly, you don’t have to be like your mom. You don’t need your father or anybody else’s approval. You’re perfect just the way you are. I’d give up everything I have if I could make you see yourself the way I see you.”
She blinks a few times. “Nicholas?” Her breath fans over my lips, and she’s now half over me.
My mouth dries. “Yes?”
“You’re the nicest fake boyfriend in the world. I wish you were within my reach so I could hold you and know you were mine forever.”
A sense of triumph fills me—she doesn’t just see me as that nice brother of her friend! But it’s followed by a grim letdown—she also doesn’t think I can be hers. Even through her drunk rambling, it’s obvious that people have done incalculable damage to her tender heart. I wish I’d met her earlier, when it wasn’t so bruised and hurting, so I could’ve protected her—and made her believe I’d be hers forever.
But it’s never too late. I’m going to have to prove to her that everyone else is wrong about her. She deserves respect, kindness and love.
“I am within reach, Molly. I’m right here, and you are holding me.”
“Yeah,” she sighs, and her eyelids droop closed.
She’s worthy of a happy ending. With me.
Chapter Twenty-One
Molly
If you gathered a bunch of five-year-olds and set them loose in a drum factory, the ruckus they’d make would be something like what’s going on in my head. The last thing I remember is having a ton of ice cream and wine coolers, then being unable to stop crying over the K-drama.
I squint. The room is dark from the blackout curtains. That’s nice…
Wait. This ismy room. On the second floor.
How did I get up here? I don’t remember…
Something pulses underneath my palm. I shift my hand and realize I’m not touching a cotton sheet. The fabric is different.
And the mattress underneath me is too hard. And lumpy.
