What a fucking tease.
He’s quiet beside me, breath coming so steadily that I’m sure he’s long been asleep. But how amIsupposed to sleep with the heat from his body crawling onto my side of the bed. Taunting me with his closeness.
My phone’s at my nose, blinding me as I scroll in an otherwise dark room.
“What are you doing?” His voice is thick with sleep.
“Sorry,” I say, locking my phone to bathe us in blackness again. I turn so we’re knee to knee and nose to nose. “But for the record, it’d been like twenty minutes from my last drink to when I left the bar. Let’s say seven minutes waiting for my ride. Then ninety in the car to get here, and you’ve been punishing me now for at least sixty or so…so that’s what? A hundred and seventy-seven minutes.”
He’s quiet as he waits for me to connect the dots. I do it eagerly.
“According to Google I could safely operate a construction crane or small aircraft by now. Pretty sure it’s safe for us to…” I trail off in hopes I’ve presented enough data for Ro’s restraint to give way.
His hand finds my waist below the covers. I toe his foot with mine. He pulls me the tiniest bit closer, and I think I’ve got him. Until laughter rumbles from his chest.
“That’s what you’re doing right now? Looking up the metabolic rates of tequila? You order a Breathalyzer off Postmates too?”
“No,” I say, poking his ribs till he squirms. “But I could totally pass a field test, you ass.”
He gently removes my hands from his body and rolls onto his back. “Okay then,” he says, pulling up on his elbows. “Let’s see it.”
I sit up, meeting his challenge eye to eye. “You want it straight up, or we doin’ thebump, bumpversion with the kick-ball-change.” I’m on my knees now, popping my hip like the drunk cowboy in question.
Ro stuffs the pillow behind his back to prop himself up and folds both arms behind his head to take in the show. “Actually,” he says, “gimme the kick step.”
I mirror his smirk before yanking his pillow away and smothering him with it. His muffled protests tangle with my laughter, but I don’t let up until his fingers dig into my ribs, tickling me into submission.
When he finally relents, Ro’s propped up on an elbow above me and we’re both breathless. His face hovers above mine, so close that if I lifted my head even slightly, our lips would be touching. So that’s what I do.
I take Ro’s bottom lip into my mouth and bite down the same way I’ve watched him do it. It’s velvety and so lush that even this nibble feels sinful. Gluttonous. A growl escapes him, and I swallow it whole. When he parts his mouth wider to allow my tongue entry, I explore every bit of him. This isn’t just a kiss, I’m inhaling Ro. Taking him all the way in. And when our lipsfinally part, my greedy fingers find his damp mouth—tracing it, memorizing it, claiming it.
Ro watches me with an intensity I’d usually run from, but I’m here.
I wait for him to kiss me again, for his tongue to line the veins at my neck, for his fingers to seek out my nipples, budding beneath the thin fabric between us. Instead, he drops his head to the pillow with closed eyes and a heavy exhale.
The air that rushes to fill the space he’d just occupied is colder than it had been before he touched me. I want more of him, and when he was on me, I could feel that he wanted more too.
My chest rises and falls with unfulfilled want, but when his lips find my shoulder, I warm some. Settling into him with a sigh.
“Good night, Kaia,” he says, without removing his mouth from my skin.
And he keeps it on me, all night, as we sleep.
22
I still argue I wassober last night. Soberishat least. Sober enough. But when the sun rises and snakes in through a crack in the blinds, I’d pay the universe a small fortune to extinguish it entirely.
I bury my head under the covers, but where my cocoon effectively blocks out the light, I’ve also inadvertently engulfed myself in Ro’s uniquely clean scent. While his is a smell I’ve come to appreciate, right now it’s a noseful of rejection that does little to unscramble my brain or calm my churning stomach.
We’re not having sex tonight.
I wince at Ro’s words, sharp in my memory. They stab at my aching brain, quite literally adding insult to injury. At least he had the decency to leave so I don’t have to face him this morning. What was I thinking showing up here like that? Drunk and horny and shameless.
We’re not having sex tonight.
Zola was right, I am a cautionary fucking tale. Andthisis why I stay on the apps. If it had been anappguy, expectations would’ve been set before we even bothered with hellos. I would’ve been fucked and back home in my own bed, without wondering or caring what he thought of me.
This is what I get for drinking half a bottle of Casamigos and letting my guard down around some real-life guy. This is what I deserve.
