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fivesecondmemory · 6 years ago

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all embarrassment aside I’m just postin’ this thing cuz I like it and idk anymore

original fiction, super short, probably not gonna end up as more than this but it was just stuck in my head

---

It’s been a good night. Not the normal kind of work party, not really. There were a lot of us. It had become kind of a cascade, people who got off at the same time inviting their friends who had gotten off earlier. We had to jam two tables together to fit us all in one place. It was fun. Always somebody to talk to, or some conversation going on, always laughter and drinks being passed around. Jenny and Ehsun had gone off to play darts halfway through and we’d all watched, cheering them on and jeering when they missed. Billy failed hard at pool, lost some cash to a guy he’d just met, and we all ribbed him as we covered his drinks. Even Liz put her phone away and started talking to people. It was nice to see her grin again, freed from all the bullshit in her family life.

Of all the people, I hadn’t expected Roman to be there, though. He wasn’t the sort of person I’d ever imagined at a work outing, or, honestly, at a bar. He wasn’t the kind of person who fit in with the salespeople; he was too tall, too awkward, too quiet. Though he was smiling and laughing with the others, he wasn’t talking, not really. Just listening, appreciating other people’s stories.

It wasn’t uncomfortable, though; it didn’t feel socially awkward, or like people were purposefully excluding him. Even though I hadn’t expected it - even though I’m pretty sure nobody expected Roman to show up - it seemed like everything was fine, like he was happy just being there. Just listening.

I admit, I was watching closer than I should’ve. I kind of had a crush on him, a secret thing I kept locked away from everyone. He wasn’t the kind of person most people had crushes on, the same way he wasn’t the sort of person you’d expect to be at a bar with a bunch of salespeople fresh off of shift.

Roman worked in the back of house. He wasn’t a salesman; he wasn’t maintenance, not like I was. He worked in the mail room. Before now I’d only ever seen him there, working through piles and piles of mail, organizing endless stacks of things and humming to himself as music played from the little bluetooth speaker he kept on the highest shelf.

But he was sweet. I’d heard him talking to other folks, people who had been there longer than I was, people he knew. He joked, too, softer jokes, gentle ribbing, like he was afraid to step too far and hurt somebody. He talked to the deliverymen who came and dropped off packages and picked up what was going out for the day, made smalltalk and smiled back whenever anyone smiled at him. When he started smiling at me, too, that’s when it broke me a little.

We weren’t strangers when my stupid crush started to grow. There had been a few times when things had been slow and my boss sent me to the mailroom. We didn’t talk a whole lot, then. He asked me to deliver mail, and I did, wandering across the store to deliver things to the salespeople and HR. It was like a game. And when I came back he’d make little comments, or I’d ask questions, and he was always kind when I didn’t know something. It was good, and it grew. We worked with a lot of the same people. He’d tell me stories, sometimes. Things that had happened before I worked there, and those made this stupid crush get worse. The way he smiled when he told me something funny, like he was trying to hold back laughter, the way he gestured when he tried to explain. And then the ways he’d come back to himself. It was weird. Maybe just because I had this crush, because I was watching him, I noticed the ways he’d fold in on himself. Hunch his shoulders, cross his arms, like he’d realized he’d been too open and wanted to hide away as quick as possible.

He had been doing that less and less around me, in the past few weeks. It really made me happy. The same way he smiled when he caught me looking from across the bar, and the little wave he gave me when he noticed. That smile on his face - there wasn’t any way I could stop the smile I gave him in return.

We didn’t get to talk, not then. Too many people in between us, the tables too loud. But it faded quick enough. Ehsun and Jenny peeled off not too long after that. They left, coats on, to head out for the night. That triggered a couple others: Sam and Briar, they split next, giggling amongst themselves as they did. Liz ran out after them not long after that. It got quieter and quieter, people leaving in ones and twos, and soon it was just Billy and Roman, Harriet and Emily, and me.

“Let’s go somewhere else,” Harriet says, frowning at her bill tab. “This place is too expensive.”

I swear, my heart nearly falls out of my chest when Roman speaks up.

“I don’t live too far from here,” he says, glancing around the table. “Maybe fifteen minutes’ walk, If you want to come by.”

There’s a part of me that’s worried somebody is going to laugh at him. Emily might. I know she doesn’t know him that well, and the way her brow arches when he offers says she thinks he’s trying to pull something. But Harriet grins, and I feel a little bit better, because I should know better. Harriet’s been working at the store as long as Roman has; she knows him, knows he’s sweet.

“I’m up for it,” Harriet says. “Casa del Roman? I’ve never even been there.”

That makes him grin, and maybe I’m imagining it, but his gaze flickers over to me. It makes something hot flush up my neck, and I feel like a high school freshman with a crush again, soft and stupid. “It’s nothing to write home about.”

“Yeah? I’ll be the judge of that. How much alcohol does it have?” Harriet asks, jabbing her pen at Roman.

“More than enough to keep you busy, Harriet,” Roman teases, and it sets the mood a little easier. Emily’s back to being okay with it, and Billy’s grinning as he goes to close out what’s left of his bar tab.

It’s when Roman glances back at me that I freeze like a fucking deer. “Are you coming too, Erika?”

“Yes,” I say, maybe a little too fast. It makes that little smile on his face - too fucking cute, I hate it - grow a little bigger, and I scramble for something else, something that’s distracting. “I mean apparently this offer is a rare one. Can’t pass up.”

“Yeah,” Billy calls from the bar, “gotta see where Roman’s luring us all. What kind of lair does the guy have?”

“Ew! You make it sound so creepy!” Emily says. She picks up a cocktail straw somebody had left on the table and flicks it at Billy.

“This lair has free booze, though,” Harriet says with a grin, and she gathers up her purse. “So let’s go.”

When I stand to follow, there’s a little bit of wobble in my step. I probably shouldn’t have done that last tequila shot with Liz before she left. I hold steady though, grabbing my hoodie as Harriet ushers Roman to the door. Billy is teasing Emily again, and for a moment I feel like the odd one out. I shouldn’t be here, not really. They all know each other, have been working here for ages. I still feel like a new hire. But Roman glances over his shoulder, his eyes skimming over Billy, and Emily, and then… me.

Odd one out or not, I feel like making a dumb decision tonight. I pull on my hoodie, which is a good plan; soon as we step outside I’m buffeted by the cold, and I eye my car across the parking lot. The furthest space from the door, hiding out by the dumpster. We wait for a moment as Billy pulls out a cigarette and lights up, and Emily frowns at him with the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth; she’s going to fall to his charms someday. Still, I’m staring at my car. In the dim light from the bar’s exit sign, the old honda civic seems like a bad omen, that dent in the bumper from when I backed into a pole on a night a lot like this. Especially if we’re going to Roman’s to drink more, I shouldn’t drive home.

I’m still staring at it when I feel somebody wrap an arm around my waist, and I jerk out of my thoughts as Roman tugs me away from the door. His hand is on my waist, fingers curling around my hip, and the touch is like electricity bursting through me. I freeze, just for a moment, completely uncomprehending; I stare up at him, his soft eyes meeting mine. Why would he grab me?

But then the door to the bar behind me bursts open so hard that the rush of air from the swing plays with my hair. Two drunk idiots come stumbling out, and one of them is the guy Billy lost money to. They shout and wave at him, and Billy waves sheepishly back, and Roman’s pulling his arm from around my waist. It happens so quick, and it’s like nobody even noticed. Even without his touch, though, that electricity still dances over my skin, and now there’s this infernal little secret smile on his face. Like he’s figured something out, or like he’s pleased. It feels like my cheeks are on fire, like my face is broadcasting it to everyone just what happened, but nobody’s looking.

“So, where to, Roman?” Harriet interrupts, and that is that. Roman’s attention is drawn elsewhere. He points north, across the street, and we all start moving.

The world still seems to wobble around me. Or maybe that’s just me, tilting a little and thinking about that soft touch, the curl of fingers against my hip and how quickly that made my skin go hot. It’s getting bad, this crush, and I am not equipped to deal with it.

I only sort of listen to Emily and Billy snipe at each other, and beyond that there’s the low murmuring of Harriet and Roman at the head of the group. I slow down after we cross the street, lagging at the tail end. I’m almost jealous, for a moment. They get to talk, nice and quiet at the front of the group. Emily and Billy have their will-they-won’t-they thing. And here I am, trailing behind like a lost dog. I stuff my hands in my pockets, remembering the promise of more alcohol, so at least then I can drink the anxiety away.

It’s closer than fifteen minutes’ walk. More like ten. It’s a little complex of condos, one right against the other, all painted brown and with their garage doors shut tight. I gaze at them all, glancing at the things on the porches and guessing which one belongs to Roman. It’s not the one with the faded rainbow flag over the balcony, or the one with fifteen different potted plants that are trying to take over the front door. It’s not the one that’s empty of everything, although I linger at that one for a minute, wondering. Roman wouldn’t be the type to have a whole lot in front of his place, but it wouldn’t be blank, either, I don’t think.

We come to a condo with a welcome mat and a cat statue that looks like it was sculpted by somebody who had never actually seen a cat, but had once had a cat described to them and wanted to give it a go. It has wide, mournful staring eyes that look like they’re facing opposite directions; its little mouth stuck in a perma-frown and its ears a little too low on its head, almost bear-like Like a grandma’s porcelain collection, but on the edge of nightmare-inducing. It’s about as funny as it is creepy. I want to laugh at it, but Emily butts in first.

“Where on earth did you get that?” she asks, some disgust in her voice. It almost makes me annoyed with her, just because I’m close to drunk and Emily doesn’t need to be so goddamn judgmental all the time.

Roman shrugs. If he hears Emily’s disgust, he doesn’t acknowledge it. “Somebody left it on my porch at my last apartment. I figured I’d bring it with me.”

It’s just outlandish enough that my annoyance with Emily vanishes and a laugh escapes me. Because of course he’d just bring something somebody left him; it would be too rude to throw it away. Emily gives me a look like I grew another head, and I shrug. “I like it. Guards the door. Keeps out evil spirits.”

“I’m just surprised nobody’s broken it yet,” Emily says, though the tone of her voice says that she still thinks it’s creepy as hell. “Where I live, the neighborhood kids would just kick it over.”

“Good thing Roman doesn’t live there,” Billy says. “Emily, your place sounds like a shithole.”

“You’re a shithole,” Emily mutters, shoving Billy’s arm as he laughs. Roman’s got the hint of a smile on his face as he unlocks the door to his condo, and Harriet is the first one in, flailing her arms in the darkened doorway and yelling for a lightswitch. Emily follows soon after with a toss of her head, and Billy follows like a dog.

Like it’s an afterthought, Roman leans in, flicking on the light. It makes Harriet cry out in victory, even though she’d done nothing at all.

“Are you sure you want to let them in there?” The words slip out before I can think about it, and I feel like slapping a hand over my face when they do. Did I really just say that? Jesus. But it makes a smirk cross Roman’s face, and I am so glad he’s watching Harriet make her way through his house, because that way he doesn’t see how I’m staring at him.

“Harriet won’t do any harm,” he says, voice low and pitched just for me. Then he darts a look at me, almost mischievous, like we’re sharing a secret joke. “I’m not so sure about the other two, though.”

I am so fucking sure that I’m red in the face but I’m just tipsy enough that it’s a little easier to play along. “Emily’s the one you really want to watch out for. She’s dangerous.”

“Then I hope you’ll help me keep an eye on her,” Roman says, that mischief so fucking clear in the glint of his eye. He motions for me to step inside, and I do, thinking only of the way his hand had curled around my waist not ten minutes earlier.

Roman’s condo is about what I would have expected. The walls are still the same characterless beige that condos come with, but the living room is nice, clean and well taken care of. The couch is majestic to me, half drunk and already wondering how the hell I’m going to make it home - it’s a plush, well worn leather, sitting in front of a television that looks massive from where I’m standing. Billy has already walked over, staring at it with hands on his hips, and Emily is looking through the shelf of dvds next to it. I swear I hear her say something about who even has dvds anymore, but I leave it alone. For now. She’s getting on my nerves.

There’s a couple of family pictures on the walls and I don’t look too close, mostly because I feel like it would be awkward to stare. I almost do, until Harriet emerges from what I assume is the kitchen, holding up a bottle of whiskey with a triumphant cry.

“Let me know if you need glasses, or ice, like a civilized human,” Roman says, though there’s no animosity in his voice, just amusement.

“What, you don’t want to go old school college and just pass around the bottle?” Harriet asks, flouncing back to the couch as she uncaps the whiskey. She sticks her nose in the neck of the bottle and makes a happy noise before knocking back a hefty slug.

“The glory days,” Billy says with a grin. “Miss drinking frat boys under the table, Harriet?”

Emily doesn’t join in with the teasing. She goes to Harriet, holding out her hand silently, and Harriet deposits the bottle in Emily’s hand with a big stupid smile. The pull that Emily takes from the bottle is a lot longer.

“Do you want a glass, or do you want to take it straight from the bottle like the rest of these heathens?” I can feel the vibration of Roman’s voice and I nearly jump again. I don’t know when he got so close, and I can’t look straight at him. Looking at his shirt collar isn’t any better, though - I can see his throat and just the quirk of his lips. He’s smiling at me again, that same sort of smug smile as before, and my cheeks are hot.

“Glass.” I have to force the word out. “You want me to share mouth germs with Billy?”

It’s loud enough that Billy goes “hey!” from where he stands by the tv.

“It’s alcohol, it’ll disinfect him,” Harriet says, blasé. It makes Roman smile again, and he brushes past me, into the kitchen.

God, I feel like a loser. I feel weak, and I can still smell whatever cologne Roman uses on the air, just a hint where he’d passed me. Swallowing hard, I try to focus on the room, try to focus on teasing back, because if I don’t they’ll realize something is up and I’m being such a dipshit. “Do I want to take that chance, though?”

“What, afraid you’ll catch suave from me?” Billy asks, making some hand-sliding-through-the-air gesture that must seem suave to him.

It’s too easy; Billy’s good at making himself a target, but hey, that means I can draw attention away from me. “More like that bad luck you had at the pool table, but sure, if that’s what we’re calling suave now…”

Harriet gives an amused hiss, and Emily ooohs as Roman comes back into the room. When Roman reaches for it, Emily gives up the bottle without question, and he pours into two cups clutched in one hand.

I take the glass when it’s offered, and I don’t mean to brush his fingers with mine but I do. How the hell is nobody else noticing this? It feels like the tension fills the air, like the tension is all there is. Admittedly that’s probably just for me, because Roman doesn’t look like he feels any tension at all. He just hands the bottle to Billy.

“Here,” he says, “if it keeps going the way it’s going, I think you’re going to need this.”

Billy’s “Thanks,” is flat and sarcastic, but he takes a long drink anyways, giving me a look after he lowers the bottle. His eyes flicker back to the shelves that the tv is perched on top of, dancing up and down. “I can’t believe you have board games.”

Roman shrugs. “A few. They’re entertaining, and they distract my niece when I’m babysitting. If you want to play something, feel free.”

I’d heard a couple stories about his sister and his niece, and I look at the board games shoved beneath the TV. There was a fair amount, enough that it would keep Billy busy for the next two days.

It’s the first time that Emily perks up, and she looks at the pile again, her eyes jumping from the board games back to Billy. She points one manicured finger at Billy, her eyes going wide and serious. “I will trash the shit out of you in Candyland, salesboy.”

“That is salesman to you,” Billy says, taking one last chug and shoving the bottle unceremoniously into Harriet’s hands. He practically dives for the Candyland box after that, and Harriet gives a hoot of encouragement.

I just take another drink. This is going to be a long night, and I need to be a little bit more drunk if we’re going to play Candyland.

---

Against all odds, Harriet is the one who beats the shit out of everyone in Candyland. Three games running, to the point where Billy quits and accuses her of cheating, and Emily can’t stop laughing. Roman sits back and grins at it all, and then he helps Billy pick out something else that he thinks he can win.

Somewhere around the emergence of that second boardgame, I retreat to the furthest corner of the couch and curl up. I can feel my heartbeat from my head to my toes, and the world is soft around the edges, and I really should not have had as much as I did to drink. I close my eyes so things will stop spinning, maybe a little, and I listen to them argue.

They argue a lot. But I think, at least based on the noise, Billy wins a game.

It kind of blurs together. Murmuring and soft sounds, people talking, and somebody giving a sharp laugh. I don’t know when I fall asleep, but I know when I wake up with a jerk, disoriented and scared because suddenly it’s gotten a lot quieter.

I nearly jump out of my skin again when Harriet comes over, kneeling in front of me. Somewhere along the way I laid down on the couch, sprawled out from armrest to armrest. Emily’s standing with Billy in the corner, and they’re both talking to Roman, and they both have their jackets on.

Panic erupts in my chest and I try to scramble up. We’re leaving. I should be ready to leave. I’m not - what am I going to do, pass out in my car by the bar until I’m good? But Harriet puts her hand on my shoulder and I take a breath, a big gulping thing, staring at her.

The smile she gives me is soft and genuine, surprisingly nice all things considered. “Hey, calm down. You don’t need to run out with us. I can stay until you’re ready to go, but Emily and Billy are taking off.”

“What?” It comes out mealy-mouthed and stupid, and I want to smack myself. Instead I rub a hand across my eyes. “What time is it?”

That makes a little smirk cross Harriet’s face. “Four in the morning. Can you believe how late these assholes were playing board games?”

Oh my god. I drop back to the couch with a groan. “Holy shit, we were here all night?”

“Roman doesn’t mind,” Harriet says, “thank god. But yeah. Do you need me to call an uber for us?”

I stare at the ceiling, dropping my head to the couch with a thump. For us. Harriet lives on the opposite side of the city, and it’s already so goddamn late. I shake my head. “No,” I say, and then a little louder. “No. If it’s cool with Roman I’ll just stay here until I get myself together enough to call an uber.”

“You sure?” Harriet asks, arching her brows and giving me a searching glance.

I dare a look at Roman. He’s ushering Billy and Emily to the door, that same little smile on his face, maybe more tired than before. I want to make sure it’s okay with him, I really do, but if I ask him directly…. “Can you ask Roman for me?” The words come out small, and I feel every inch a coward.

“Sure!” Harriet pops up, too steady on her feet for somebody who had drank as much as she had. She flounces over to Roman just as Billy steps out the door with Emily at his heels, and she looks up at him, asking the question.

I freeze like a rabbit when Roman glances back at me. That look, though. That makes heat rush to my face, that look, soft and searching. But he nods, and he smiles, and he glances back at Harriet.

“Of course.” I hear it, soft even from across the room. “Do you need an uber too?”

Harriet shrugs, then nods, grabbing her phone from her pocket with a hum and pulling up the app. “I’ll be out of here soon. Thank you so much for letting us come over.”

“It’s no problem,” Roman says. “Be safe. Let me know when you get home.”

“Absolutely.” Harriet grins her sunny little grin, and she turns back to me to wave before she steps out the door.

Roman stays with her just outside the door, leaving it open. I can’t quite hear what they’re talking about, but I can hear the rise and fall of their voices, and I can hear when Harriet says something that makes Roman laugh. My pulse is jumping in my throat. I drop my head back to the couch and jam the heels of my palms into my eyes.

What the everloving fuck am I thinking? I’m going to be alone with Roman. In his house. I am not prepared for this. I’m going to become a blushy useless mess, and I’m almost definitely still drunk, and I don’t know what I’m doing.

I hear it when the door shuts, but I don’t take my hands from my eyes. God, I don’t want to see him. I don’t want to stare and see his face. I’ll turn red.

“Are you feeling okay, Erika?” His voice is soft, sweet, and it makes me want to sink into the couch and never speak again.

“I’m okay,” I mutter. I’m not trying to sound sullen but I think I do anyways, which I hate. I don’t want him to think I’m upset about being here.

“Would you like water?”

Water is probably a good idea. I nod, the palms of my hands still ground into my eyes. I hear him step away, and that’s when I pull my hands away, blinking away the blurriness. I stare at the ceiling, imploring some kind of act of god to save me. Nothing’s even happening and my cheeks are flushed.

I’m alone. In his apartment. Of course I’m blushing. I hate this stupid crush.

There is the distant clink of a glass, the soft hiss of a faucet filling a cup, and then Roman pads back in. It trembles through me, the surge of adrenaline, the hot flush of embarrassment, and he hasn’t even done anything yet. I’m drunk. I’m going to say something, do something. He’s not interested. He’s not going to be interested. What am I doing?

While I’m drowning in my own thoughts, he steps over, and he kneels next to the couch. That I don’t expect. He gives me a soft smile, holding out the glass, and I jerk myself up into a sitting position, scooting back a little.

He’s so tall, even kneeling on the floor I’m not that much taller. And god, he’s not looking away. I want to dissolve. Before I can fall too deeply into self loathing, he holds out the glass of water.

I reach out to take it, and again, our fingers brush. My heart beats double time. The moment feels like forever, like he’s doing it on purpose. Or maybe I am, because I’m not sure. His fingers are cool but not cold, and irrationally I wish he would put a hand to my face. I know I’m flushed, too warm. I want to feel that cool touch.

“Thank you,” I murmur before I take a long, long drink. Mostly to keep myself from saying anything stupid. I needed it, though; the water washes down my throat, reminding me that I hadn’t been drinking half as much water as I should have been throughout the night.

“You know, you don’t have to go,” Roman says. I nearly choke on the water. He continues, I assume completely unaware of the vivid and sexy thoughts that rushed through me, made parts of me throb. “You can sleep it off on the couch. I don’t mind. Don’t you have tomorrow… well, today now, I guess… off?”

“Yeah,” I mumble, nodding. I don’t think to ask why he knows my schedule. “I always do. Are you… do you really not mind?”

He arches a brow at me, and the smile looks more affectionate than I expect. The heat in my gut is still so, so warm, and the alcohol isn’t helping. Fuck, I want to kiss him. “Erika. Do you really want to spend money on a ride just to come back tomorrow to get your car from the parking lot? I don’t mind.”

“If you’re sure.” It’s barely a murmur.

“I am,” he says, that little smile still there. “Really.”

“Okay,” I murmur, like a little kid being reassured by an adult. And then, of course, it slips out; “You’re amazing.”

I swear I might as well catch on fire. But that smile on his face widens and he sits back, the softest little chuckle escaping him.

“No,” he murmurs, “You are. Let me get you a pillow before you go back to sleep.”

“Thanks,” I say, more out of habit than anything else. I’m still absolutely mortified. But he just keeps smiling, like I’d said something incredible instead of just being a moron, and he stands. I stay on the couch while he putters around, curling up and wondering what I’d done to get here.

There’s a part of me that feels like I should be helping, not that I could. What would I do, get in his way while he finds his stuff in his condo? But the boardgames are still sitting on the table, pieces scattered like junk. That, at least, is something I can do.

I’m a little slow getting everything back in the boxes. It takes a minute to figure out which way the boardgame folds down, and then where to put all the pieces. The tokens and the actual player pieces got all mixed up, and I don’t know why there’s more than four dice. There shouldn’t be, should there? But I get one halfway into the box before Roman gets back, a bundle of pillow and blankets in his arms.

“You don’t have to do that,” he says as he sets the blankets on the couch. He steps closer, and because the world is still hazy and soft with alcohol, it feels like he’s suddenly kneeling next to me. Our knees are bumping, and he reaches out, taking the figure I have in my hand. It’s some weird little ghost character. I don’t even know what they were playing, now that I think about it. It definitely wasn’t something I ever played as a kid.

“I just want to help clean up,” I mumble. Again, I can’t look at him, and my fingers burn where he’d touched me taking the figure. I clutch my hand to my chest, staring at the games. “I feel like I should do something.”

He tosses the little figure into the box, where it lands with all the other little plastic guys. “It can wait until tomorrow.”

I do it. I can’t help it. I glance up at him.

He’s right here. Looking at me, soft, caring. Maybe a little flushed. Had he had more to drink after I passed out? He’s right in front of me, so close, and that stupid drunk urge to kiss him is back. It wouldn’t take much. He’s taller, sure, but I can lean up. And he could lean down. I want to feel his cold hands touch my face, touch me, until I’ve cooled down and he’s warmed up and we’re the same.

I must be drunk.

And then I realize something. I realize he’s leaning in. Except he can’t be, not to kiss me, that’s my fucked up thought process. He can’t be trying to kiss me, I’m just some new kid from work. I’m just a drunk girl crashing on his couch. I’m nothing. I jerk back, sucking in a little sharp breath, my hands clutched tight to my chest, and he goes as still as a statue, something in his face going cold, scared, like he realized he’d done too much.

“Did I misinterpret?” He asks, half a sigh in his voice as he rocks back.

“What?” It escapes like a squeak. “Misinterpret what?”

“I thought--” he pauses, waving a hand, and then he shakes his head. He’s doing it again, the thing he does sometimes. He’s trying to make himself smaller. He looks away, and his shoulders hunch, like he wants to fold in on himself. “I thought you were… interested. In me.”

“What?” I squeak again. Not because he’s wrong, no - oh, my god. I wasn’t wrong. The touches. Grabbing me by my waist, earlier, at the bar. Offering me a place-- oh my god.

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he moves to stand. “I’ve been creepy, haven’t I? I’ll get you a car--”

Oh my god. I fling out an arm, grab him before he can stand all the way. I don’t know what I’m going to do until I’m pulling him over, and I am so, so drunk, because as I pull him down I’m pulling myself up, grabbing his arm, his shoulder, a hand on the back of his neck as I pull him down to kiss me.

“Erika--” he has enough time to get that out before my lips are on his, oh my god, my lips are on his. He’s warm, and soft, and his lips are still moving mid-word but he realizes what I’m doing and after a moment of shock his hand goes to my waist and the other to my cheek, cold fingers against flushed skin. And then he pushes back, kisses me again, a real kiss this time, not some awkward drunk thing. Gentle, from him, but I’m so hungry for this. I nip his lip, gently, then bold and stupid I slip my tongue into his mouth and really taste him.

We both have to taste like that whiskey. I know I taste it on him. Smokey and sweet and I have my tongue in his mouth, what the fuck am I doing? I won’t stop. Can’t stop, though. And he makes this soft noise I can feel in his chest, rumbling up through his throat, and he kisses back.

When I pull back I’m a little breathless, and I just want to do it again. I want to kiss him again, taste him again, but the reality is sinking in a little - I just kissed him. Halfway to making out. God, I wouldn’t mind if we made out on the floor of his condo. What was happening, was I sixteen again?

“Wow,” he says, and there’s the rumble of a laugh beneath his words. “I guess I didn’t misinterpret, then?”

“No,” I say, and I can’t help it, I pull back a little to cover my face with my hands. “Oh my god, no, you did not misinterpret at all. I can’t believe I just did that.”

“Well, I was going to kiss you,” he says, some humor in the timbre of his voice. He takes the hand on my waist and loops it around, bringing me against his side, and yes, he’s tall, but it turns out I fit pretty well.

My hands are still over my face, butterflies warring with complete mortification. “I’m sorry. I’m drunk. I--if I had any guts at all I would’ve asked you on a date before I stuck my tongue down your throat--”

I can feel him laugh, the soft chuckle as he tightens his arm around my shoulders. “We can still go on a date, Erika.”

“Can we?” Suddenly I’m trying to imagine it, us out at a restaurant. And then like a snap I’m worried about being caught by our coworkers, although I kind of don’t care at all. I want to go on a date. Not like a restaurant with fancy tables and candlelight or whatever. A nice date, a quiet date, where I can just keep listening to him tell stories and watch him talk. “Can we go on more than one?”

“As many as you want to,” he says. With his other hand he reaches over, tucking a finger under my chin and lifting my head up, and I want to melt like butter under his gaze. “But I want to kiss you again first. Is that okay?”

“Yes,” I say, the stupidest smile on my face. “Please. Lots more.”

That makes him smile again. This soft, warm smile. The kind of smile that made me pay attention in the first place, and he leans in, and he does.

#original fiction #my writing #i want to hide under a rock tbh #but I also am hoping somebody will like it too

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