stands quickly. “Shit, I gotta piss.”
I stand too, feeling like I have whiplash from the fact that she can’t take a compliment. It’s kind of cute and only makes me want to compliment her more.
Smiling, I clear my throat and say, “Let me walk with you. You’re drunk and so are a lot of people here. I don’t trust anyone, plus I locked my door so no one can get in.”
“Thanks,” she says as we start to walk toward the house. “I can use the hall bathroom, though.”
“Ew, no, people have been puking in there,” I laugh and she smiles.
“Good point.”
As we walk, our hands keep brushing against each other, teasing me, and I honestly can’t handle it. We are almost to the house when I finally take ahold of her hand. I lace my fingers with hers, and when she glances over at me, I let out a breath. She looks down at our hands and back up at me.
“What are you doing?”
I shrug, squeezing her hand with mine. “I’ll never see you again, so I’m gonna touch you—within your boundaries, of course—while I can.”
She smiles. “So what’s next? You gonna kiss me?”
I feel like that’s an invitation, but I’m not one hundred percent sure.
I don’t answer her as I open the door for her, but when she glances up at me and her eyes lock with mine, I find myself one hundred percent sure that that was my opening.
Kicking myself internally, I pray for another chance as I say, “Maybe.”
When she looks back at me, a sneaky little grin on her face, I know I’ll get another chance.
And when I do, I’m taking it.
S hit.
I’m drunk.
After using the bathroom, I stand, a bit wobbly as I look at my reflection in the mirror. Thankfully, or at least I think so, I look decent. My hair is still in its braid, but my lipstick is a little smeared, so I reach for the rag I used earlier to wipe it off as my heart hammers against my chest.
I can still feel his hand in mine.
It felt so damn good. His hand was warm and so much larger than mine. My dad says that my hands are small so they are quick, but somewhere inside me, I feel like they are small just to be enveloped in Jayden’s large hand.
Oh. My. God.
The Jack has me thinking like a pathetic little schoolgirl who has a crush on the big, sexy jock. Shit. And then, that’s not all it has me doing. No, it has me wanting to touch him. Everywhere. Like with my hands, my tongue, my mouth, my body, every single fiber of my being, I want to touch him.
But what will happen if I do?
We’ll fuck. Yeah. That’s a given, but what about afterward? Do I just walk away? Never talk to him again? Or do I try? And what if he doesn’t want to try? What if he is only saying all these amazingly sweet things, baring his soul to me, to get laid? But that doesn’t seem right! I can read dudes, I’m basically a pseudo dude, and he isn’t like them. He’s nice. Caring, confident, funny, and Lord is he gorgeous, but most of all… Fuck, I think that he believes in me. That alone has me wanting to jump his bones and ride him until the final buzzer.
Which I pray never comes.
Pressing my face into my hands, I suck in a deep breath. I don’t know what to do. A part of me wants to say fuck it and wrap my arms around him, kissing him senseless in the hopes that he’ll lay me down in that bed. But the other part of me knows that’s a bad idea. I’m worth more than a one-night stand, and I’m pretty damn sure we both know that this will never go anywhere after this. We are both on two different roads. Maybe one day, we’ll come back together, but even that doesn’t feel right. We have two very different lives. This isn’t Grease . We won’t meet up again and start singing about him being the one that I want. That kind of shit doesn’t happen in real life. We can try the long-distance thing, but does that ever really work? No. It doesn’t. That’s why my mom left, because she couldn’t handle my dad being gone and raising me. Or at least that’s one of the
I stand too, feeling like I have whiplash from the fact that she can’t take a compliment. It’s kind of cute and only makes me want to compliment her more.
Smiling, I clear my throat and say, “Let me walk with you. You’re drunk and so are a lot of people here. I don’t trust anyone, plus I locked my door so no one can get in.”
“Thanks,” she says as we start to walk toward the house. “I can use the hall bathroom, though.”
“Ew, no, people have been puking in there,” I laugh and she smiles.
“Good point.”
As we walk, our hands keep brushing against each other, teasing me, and I honestly can’t handle it. We are almost to the house when I finally take ahold of her hand. I lace my fingers with hers, and when she glances over at me, I let out a breath. She looks down at our hands and back up at me.
“What are you doing?”
I shrug, squeezing her hand with mine. “I’ll never see you again, so I’m gonna touch you—within your boundaries, of course—while I can.”
She smiles. “So what’s next? You gonna kiss me?”
I feel like that’s an invitation, but I’m not one hundred percent sure.
I don’t answer her as I open the door for her, but when she glances up at me and her eyes lock with mine, I find myself one hundred percent sure that that was my opening.
Kicking myself internally, I pray for another chance as I say, “Maybe.”
When she looks back at me, a sneaky little grin on her face, I know I’ll get another chance.
And when I do, I’m taking it.
S hit.
I’m drunk.
After using the bathroom, I stand, a bit wobbly as I look at my reflection in the mirror. Thankfully, or at least I think so, I look decent. My hair is still in its braid, but my lipstick is a little smeared, so I reach for the rag I used earlier to wipe it off as my heart hammers against my chest.
I can still feel his hand in mine.
It felt so damn good. His hand was warm and so much larger than mine. My dad says that my hands are small so they are quick, but somewhere inside me, I feel like they are small just to be enveloped in Jayden’s large hand.
Oh. My. God.
The Jack has me thinking like a pathetic little schoolgirl who has a crush on the big, sexy jock. Shit. And then, that’s not all it has me doing. No, it has me wanting to touch him. Everywhere. Like with my hands, my tongue, my mouth, my body, every single fiber of my being, I want to touch him.
But what will happen if I do?
We’ll fuck. Yeah. That’s a given, but what about afterward? Do I just walk away? Never talk to him again? Or do I try? And what if he doesn’t want to try? What if he is only saying all these amazingly sweet things, baring his soul to me, to get laid? But that doesn’t seem right! I can read dudes, I’m basically a pseudo dude, and he isn’t like them. He’s nice. Caring, confident, funny, and Lord is he gorgeous, but most of all… Fuck, I think that he believes in me. That alone has me wanting to jump his bones and ride him until the final buzzer.
Which I pray never comes.
Pressing my face into my hands, I suck in a deep breath. I don’t know what to do. A part of me wants to say fuck it and wrap my arms around him, kissing him senseless in the hopes that he’ll lay me down in that bed. But the other part of me knows that’s a bad idea. I’m worth more than a one-night stand, and I’m pretty damn sure we both know that this will never go anywhere after this. We are both on two different roads. Maybe one day, we’ll come back together, but even that doesn’t feel right. We have two very different lives. This isn’t Grease . We won’t meet up again and start singing about him being the one that I want. That kind of shit doesn’t happen in real life. We can try the long-distance thing, but does that ever really work? No. It doesn’t. That’s why my mom left, because she couldn’t handle my dad being gone and raising me. Or at least that’s one of the
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