"I can't remember the last time I drank this much." She abandons the railing and drops down beside me instead of on her side of the couch. Again. "I feel so loosey goosey."
I have scooted to the absolute edge of the cushion. Every time she stands up, she comes back a little closer, like the couch is shrinking by degrees and neither of us is acknowledging it.
"Loosey goosey," I repeat.
"Loose." She nods seriously. "Like a goose."
I look at her. She looks back at me with clear-eyed earnestness, extremely committed to her point.
I nod and take another sip of my drink.
"You wanna know something?" she asks.
"No."
"I've never had whiskey before." She says it anyway, and then I watch in slow motion as she sticks two fingers into my glass and puts them in her mouth and sucks them dry. Her eyes never leave mine.
"Let's uh—" I shift in my seat and run through every unsexy thought I own. "Let's call it a night."
"Nooo. Please, Bennet. One more hour?" She presses her hands together.
Are you fucking kidding me right now?
She squeezes in closer and her breast presses against my arm, the distinctive feel of her hard nipple right there against my bicep like the universe has a personal vendetta against me. Her perfume hits next, which yet again has my head swimming with thoughts I have no business entertaining.
"I'll be a good girl. I'll be such a good girl."
Then her hand lands on my thigh, and I feel the immediate, traitorous response of my cock pressing against the fabric of my pants.
Absolutely not. We are not doing this.
"One more hour," I hear myself say.
Traitor. Absolute fucking traitor.
She leans over and kisses my jaw. "Thanks, Bennet. I'm having a really nice time."
Because you're three sheets to the wind and torturing me as a direct result.
"Sure."
"Can I get you two anything else?" The waiter pauses at our table.
"I'm good, thanks." I hold up my glass.
"Yes! I want something fruity. Ooh — a margarita. A peach margarita!" Blaire bounces in her seat like the decision is the best one she's ever made.
"I gotcha." The waiter types in the order and heads toward the stairs.
"You're such anamazingkisser, Bennet. Has anyone ever told you that?"
"No."
"Also, a man of very few words unless you're angry." She tilts her head. "Should I poke the bear? Maybe you'll have more to say." Then she starts poking me. My chest, my stomach, my arms, inside my ear.
"Stop it." I swat her hand away.
She giggles. Actually giggles.
