“Both,” I say. It’s true, isn’t it? I like topping. I like bottoming. I like whatever gets me off.
He leans back to look at me, his eyebrows go up.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah. Depends on the mood. Depends on the guy.”
“And what’s your mood tonight?”
I lean in, let my lips almost brush his ear. “Depends on the guy.”
He shivers. I feel it.
“That’s good,” he says, slipping his hand under my tank top to squeeze my waist. “Because I’d love to fuck you.”
It’s my turn to shiver.
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His eyes are almost black in the dim light. “You’d look good riding me.”
I’m tipsy, not drunk—I want to make that clear. But tipsy is enough to drop my filter and line up my bad decisions. I should probably feel some kinda way about a guy talking to me like this at a party full of people I know. But I don’t. I’m tipsy, I’m horny, and Matt’s… well, he’s hot. That’s really all there is to it.
“So this is what you want?” I ask, voice low. I’m turned-on, I realize. Turns out flirting with a guy is as easy as flirting with a girl. “What, not even gonna buy me dinner first?”
He laughs. “Yeah, that’s exactly what I want. Is this whatyouwant?”
I think about Reid watching me tonight.
I don’t know what that means. I don’t know what I want it to mean.
“Yes. That’s what I want.”
“Wanna get out of here?”
And here’s where tipsy Kit’s decision-making process gets a little compromised, because the answer my body wants to give and the answer my brain is trying to formulate are not the same answer.
I should say no, obviously.
I glance over my shoulder. Reid’s not by the window anymore.
“Yeah,” I say. “Yeah. Let’s go.”
Matt’s hand slides down to grip my hip. “Your place or mine?” he murmurs, lips brushing my earlobe.
I’m about to say his—fuck, I’mthisclose—when a loud, slurred voice cuts through the bass.
“Kit! Kiiiiit, dude, I think I’m, like. Actually dying.”
Milesmaterializesout of the crowd, all six-foot-four of him. He’s got one hand clutching his chest like he’s having a heart attack and the other gripping the counter for balance.
“Dude,” he wheezes, swaying toward me. “I think I took too much shit. Like.Waytoo much.”
Matt stiffens beside me, his grip loosening. “You good, man?”
Miles flaps a hand at him dismissively before collapsing against my side, dropping his weight on me.
“Kit,” he whines. “I need water. And like… an ambulance. Maybe.”
