“You’re so nice,” Cheryl mumbled.
“Yeah, I’m a real saint.” He walked a little further down the road, scanning desperately for the promised vehicles.
“You are.” Cheryl nuzzled his neck. “You’re soooo nice.”
Goosebumps ran down his back and arms and he held his breath, trying not to smell or feel or think.
“Why don’t we just stay at the par-tay?” Cheryl mumbled
“Because you’re drunk,” he told himself as much as her.
“So? I like being drunk.” Her lips brushed his jawline. “Don’t you like me being drunk?”
Patrick closed his eyes and begged God, Jesus, and all the dead football players for mercy. “KitKat…”
“Yes, KitKat,” she gave a husky giggle. “I’m your sexy little kitten, Pat-trick. I want to climb alllllll over you…”
She shifted, her legs wrapping tight around his back, hips locking to his. Their faces were level again and Cheryl’s liquid brown eyes were bright with something he’d only ever dreamed of seeing. Lust. She was looking at him the way she did when he pulled himself off to thoughts of her. She wanted him to kiss her. Every cell in his body knew it. Felt it. Was shouting at him to do it. Then she exhaled and he smelled the pure ethanol on her breath. Cursing God, Jesus, and all the dead football players, he moved Cheryl to his hip and held her fast. “Stay still.”
“But, Pat-trick...”
There they were. Three black town cars idling at the end of the road, their drivers smoking in a circle. “Gotcha!”
“Whaattt?”
“I’ve found the cars.” He moved toward them, and Cheryl tugged his shirt-collar.
“Wait!”
“What?”
She avoided his gaze and for a bloodcurdling second, he was sure she was going to tell him she didn’t like him That Way. Then she let go of his collar. “Sorry, I’m so drunk.”
Relief mixed with disappointment as he hoisted her a little higher. “It’s fine, KitKat.”
“I diddnn mean to, but you were with… that lady. And I could tell she was, like, ‘He’s mine’ and I was like ‘He’s not yours! He’s…’ I mean we’ve always been… and I know it’s not the same, but you and me…”
He turned so she wouldn’t see his elation. Ten million bucks. He’d pay Beth in installments for the rest of his life. He just had to pray Cheryl remembered saying all this in the morning.
“Everything’s okay,” he told her. “Just let me get you home.”
“Thanks,” she said in a watery voice. “Thank yooooou.”
He carried Cheryl to the cars, ignoring the feel of her legs wrapped around his waist, her barely covered tits pressing against his chest. Her nipples were hard. Her perfume smelled like pure sex.
She needs you, asshole. Be a man.
“Hey,” he called to the drivers. “Can any of you guys please take us to Footscray?”
A bearded man looked over at them and smirked, then he flicked his cigarette. “Yup. Follow me.”
Patrick tried to buckle Cheryl into the backseat, but she kept shifting, trying to slide into his arms. “I wanna cuddle. Can’t we cuddle?”
“When we get to your place.”
“Now?”
He wrapped an arm around her shoulders. “Like this?”
