He lifts his glass and I follow. This is going to be nasty and we’re going to need a chaser, which means I’ll have to just grin and bear it. I won’t be the first to grab my drink. I refuse to lose this competition.
We take the shots, anddammit to hell this shit burns all the way down. I don’t know what bottom shelf means here, but this tastes like sewer water. Austin immediately grabs his Sex on the Beach to chase it. Just after he takes a swig, he looks over at me, and I smile. I might puke all over him, but I smile.
“You’re kiddin’ me,” he says.
I take my drink and guzzle it down like he is, but I let him finish first, so he can take that bit of pride home with him. As soon as he places his empty glass down, he waves Jack over. “Put it on my tab.”
“No problem, bro. Enjoy your evening, ya crazy kids.”
We leave the bar, and I’m drunk. Like,I shouldn’t have had the second shot kind of drunk. I’m not a big person, and I don’t have a high alcohol tolerance. I’m usually able to hide it well, except I didn’t down any water in between my fun tonight.
Austin seems unaffected by the alcohol since he’s walking in a straight line and all, which means it won’t be long until he figures out my state of mind. “You—” he says.
“I’ve been called worse,” I reply.
“You’re fucking hot as hell.” I wasn’t expecting that. “No chick has ever out drunk me like that.”
“That’s sexist,” I tell him.
“I know. Sorry.”
“It’s fine. I’ve met a lot of the ladies down here. They’re all sweet like delicate flowers.”
“That’s why I like you,” he says.
“You like me, huh?”
“I like you a lot.”
“Good,” I reply.
“That’s all you’re going to say? Good?”
“Tell me what you’d rather I say?” I counter.
We’re coming to the end of a block where a small alley leads off to the left, or we can continue in the same direction to where everyone in the town lives. I’m not sure where Austin lives, but he pulls me onto the dark street. With a hand on my good arm, he shockingly pulls me into him, lifting me up so my legs tangle around his waist. “I’ve never needed anything so badly in my life,” he says with a guttural rasp.
“That’s what you’d rather I say?” I ask in a hushed whisper.
His lips are on mine, and I taste the tartness of his drink, the bite of the tequila, and the fresh scent of his skin. He’s holding me so tightly, I feel like I’ve molded to his body. His breaths are erratic, completely out of control, and I give in. I don’t think I can be any other way but weak within his hold. I like him. I realllly like him. The way he kisses is like the way I’d imagine he’d lick whipped cream off a strawberry—craving the sweet before the tart; the sensation that makes a mouth beg for more. Everything outside of our kisses is gentle, but this is far from being careful. This is a matter of feeding hunger. His hand caressingly slides up the back of my shirt, and the heat from his hand sends shivers through every sparked nerve ending in my body.
He parts his lips from mine with a look of aggression dancing through his eyes. “You think everyone is slow moving down here, don’t you?”
“A little,” I tell him.
He carefully tosses me over his side and onto his back, making sure my arm is protected from the movement. “There’s no way in the world you’d move fast enough for me right now, and if you tried, you’d probably fall into a hole or something, so we’ll go back to my house my way,” he says.
“Horseback?”
“Shush your mouth, smarty pants.”
