A hand on my back shocks me back into reality. Bri dons an easy—possibly drunken—smile and starts to say something, catching the glare of a staff member before she speaks. We share a silent laugh and move farther into the crowd.
The music’s rhythm is fast and energetic, but we move on the half-beat, dancing chest to chest. Bri tugs the headphones off my ear closest to her mouth, then does the same with hers. She whispers, “This is fun, right?”
“Yeah. This whole night has been perfect.”
I wrap my other arm around her, pulling her a little closer. Her hand strokes against my back, soothing me; her other hand holds my hip, keeping me pressed against her. Conflicting messaging that I’m too drunk to make sense of right now.
“I want you to be okay when this is over.”
“The night?”
“No,” she says. “Our time here. Together.”
I don’t want to think about losing you yet.“You’re so set on wanting me to make friends, but I don’t care about that.You’remy friend. The best friend I’ve ever had. I’ve never felt so . . .”Loved.“. . . safe with someone.”
Her hand slides up my chest to rest at the back of my head. “I want that for you. Always.”
With my hips against hers, I wonder if she can feel the movement in my pants while we dance. “And what if I start to want things I shouldn’t?”
She leans in a little too close, her lips brushing against my ear when she asks, “Like what?”
I stare ahead at nothing, only feeling the buzz of the alcohol and her. “Like I want you to be my first after my first.”
She doesn’t respond immediately, her movements never falling off the beat. Finally, she whispers, “You’re drunk.”
“So are you.”
She leans away to look me in the eyes, her dark irises telling me nothing, then, with a smirk, she pulls my headphones back over my ear.
She turns around, her back facing me, picking up her pace to match the tempo of the music I had otherwise blocked out.
Her body speaks to me. The subtle way she arches when my hand grazes her waist, the way she slides her hands over mine when she wants my touch to linger. The things I could do to her. The things Iwantto do to her.
We’re two friends dancing. Yearning for my ruin is irrational. I’ll sober up by the morning, process my feelings like an adult, and make better decisions. Until then . . . I’m going to enjoy blurring this line beneath a heavy, liquid excuse.
Itwasn’tjust a kiss.
Sixteen
Bri
The wine bar was great, the silent rave a fun surprise, but what Liem said has me worrying I misled him. I’ve been so careful to keep my attraction to him under wraps, giving him space while keeping him close. Hearing him say he wanted me, inthatway, threw me.
Back at the apartment, I’m warm, fuzzy, dancing on the line between buzzed and drunk. Liem’s cheeks are flushed, flattering his already beautiful features. The walk was only a block and a half, but we barely said a word. The crackling tension felt like a static shock whenever we made eye contact.
Words hang heavy in the air. Is he regretting what he said? Is he still thinking about it? Should I say something?
Liem and spontaneity are not friends. There’s no telling how long he’s been thinking about kissing me before he finally let himself do it.
The minute we’re inside the apartment, he has that look again. A cross between wanting to apologize to me and wanting to ravish me.I swerve him again, grabbing the rest of our challah bread from the kitchen. “Sober snack?” I offer.
“Yes, please.”
I hop up onto the island countertop and wrestle with the tie of the plastic bag. Liem stands beside me, leaning his hip against the counter, his hand settling a painful inch away from my thigh. That spark crackles again, making me scared to look at him.
“I’m sorry if I made things awkward at the bar,” he says, his cadence slower than usual. “We’ve had a lot to drink. I might not be making the best thoughts or having the brightest decisions right now.” His eyes narrow as he tries to figure out his mistake.
“Try again,” I say with a laugh, handing him a piece of bread.
