Tequila Tequila

by Emma Hart

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Notice

  Tequila Tequila

  CHAPTER ONE – ASPEN

  CHAPTER TWO – ASPEN

  CHAPTER THREE – LUKE

  CHAPTER FOUR – ASPEN

  CHAPTER FIVE – ASPEN

  CHAPTER SIX – LUKE

  CHAPTER SEVEN – ASPEN

  CHAPTER EIGHT – ASPEN

  CHAPTER NINE – LUKE

  CHAPTER TEN – ASPEN

  CHAPTER ELEVEN – ASPEN

  CHAPTER TWELVE – LUKE

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN – ASPEN

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN – ASPEN

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN – LUKE

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN – ASPEN

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN – ASPEN

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN – LUKE

  CHAPTER NINETEEN – ASPEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY – ASPEN

  CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE – LUKE

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO – ASPEN

  EPILOGUE – ASPEN

  The End

  Catastrophe Queen

  About the Author

  Books by Emma Hart

  TEQUILA TEQUILA

  EMMA HART

  Copyright © by Emma Hart 2018

  First Edition

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  Cover Design and Formatting by Emma Hart

  TEQUILA TEQUILA

  EMMA HART

  CHAPTER ONE – ASPEN

  Tequila Te-Tap-Tap

  It was a universally accepted truth that sleeping with your best friend was a very, very bad idea.

  Just because it worked out for Chandler Bing and Monica Geller didn’t mean it was meant for everyone.

  Of course, not that I was thinking of that right now.

  Nope.

  At this moment, I was pressed against the rock-solid body of my best friend. His fingers were wound in my messy hair, making it even more of a disaster, and mine were scrunching his shirt up.

  And yes, we were kissing.

  I know. I got nothin’.

  It was all the tequila’s fault. We’d had too much, and what had started as an attempt for him to help me to bed had ended up with me falling into the doorframe, giggling, and him…

  Well, kissing me.

  I was fuzzy on how it happened. In fact, given the sheer amount of tequila I’d consumed tonight, I was fuzzy on just about everything.

  The one thing I was perfectly clear about was that I was kissing him back. Very enthusiastically.

  And, you know, I couldn’t even stop it. I wasn’t entirely sure how it started, but it was a pretty damn good kiss. A bit sloppy, sure, but then we were both drunk. It wasn’t going to be a soul-stealing kiss now, was it?

  Let’s face it—kissing was kinda messy, even when you were sober, never mind when you were stupid drunk and lacked the most basic coordination.

  Luke pulled away from me and looked at me with bright blue eyes. “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?” I asked.

  Look at that. I didn’t slur my words. Go drunk Aspen!

  “Kissing you.” He bit his full bottom lip. “It was an accident.”

  I snort-giggled, falling forward into him. I smooshed my face into his chest as the giggles took hold of me, making me stagger forward.

  “Whoa,” he laughed, holding me up even though he was unsteady himself. “Why are you laughing?”

  Craning my neck back to meet his eyes, I pressed one finger to my lips. “Shh,” I whispered. “Because I can feel that you’re not sorry.”

  He stared at me, blinking so that his thick, dark eyelashes cast little shadows over his pretty little cheeks.

  Wow, yeah. I was hammered. Pretty cheeks? Was there such a thing as that?

  “What?” Luke didn’t move.

  Sober Aspen wouldn’t say the next words. Sober Aspen was boring. “Your penis is very hard,” I whispered, nodding firmly. “And it wants to play.”

  “What is it? A kitten?” He laughed, taking a step back.

  “Noooo! I have the pussy!”

  Luke tripped over my hairbrush on the floor and fell back onto my bed. His laughter echoed off the walls, and he almost bounced right off onto the floor.

  I sniggered, but before I could get control of my own feet, I slipped on thin air and fell into my dresser. My hip slammed into the corner, and I screamed, “Fuck!”

  “What? Are you okay?” Luke stumbled as he stood up.

  “No! My dresser is trying to kill me!”

  He took hold of me and pulled me to the bed. It was a miracle we didn’t fall over again, to be honest. My room was a hot mess and looked like ten teenage girls lived there. We couldn’t all be perfect.

  “Here. Come here.” He lay me back on the bed and went for my shorts.

  I squirmed away. “What are you doing?”

  His eyes went wide. “Checking your hip.”

  “Oh. Okay.” I giggled again and rolled onto my side to let him check it. Pain shot through me as my hip touched the bed. “Whoops! Wrong hip!”

  “How do you mess that up?”

  “Tequila.” I rolled to face him and tapped my temple. “Very influential, but a complete asshole. It should be a politician.”

  “So could you with all the shit you talk when you’re drunk.” He chuckled and pulled up my shirt, then carefully moved down the waistband of my jeans to check my hip.

  I peered down. The skin was grazed, and even drunk me knew there’d be one hell of a bruise there in two days’ time. Excellent. That was what I needed at the start of the summer.

  A shiner on my hip.

  “It doesn’t look too bad.” Luke’s fingers brushed across the tender skin, his rough fingertips making my skin tingle.

  “You think?” I tilted my head up to meet his eyes and froze.

  His face was right there. The lips I’d been kissing just minutes ago were close enough to mine that one twitch, and they’d be touching mine again.

  Maybe I was crazy. Maybe it was the tequila.

  No, it was definitely the tequila, and I was definitely crazy, but for the purpose of what I was about to do, it would be easier to use the tequila as an explanation.

  I kissed him.

  I kissed my best friend square on the lips. Deliberately.

  I thought he’d pull away, but he didn’t. His gentle touch on my hip became a hard grip as he yanked my body into his. He was most definitely still hard, and I was damn glad we’d had enough tequila that this would be forgotten in the morning.

  Because if there was anything you wanted to forget, it was making out with your best friend.

  And him touching your boob.

  Which he was doing right now.

  Oh, sweet Jesus. This was happening.

  I decided to stop thinking. Thinking wasn’t going to change this, and hell, it was my fault. I’d kissed him again.

  I fell into the kiss. And him, literally. The next few minutes was a mess of awkward touching and kissing and getting more turned on than I had any right to be by my best friend.

  Before my drunken brain could compute it, we were both removing our clothes, stripping ourselves down to be totally naked. Then we were kissing again, our teeth almost clashing as I slipped when we came together. Giggles were drowned out by moans as Luke slipped his hand between my legs and worked my clit with his fingers.

  I reached toward him and took his hard cock in my hand. His teeth grazed my lips
, and when his hips bucked, he pulled away from me and met my eyes.

  “Condom?”

  I pointed in the general direction of my nightstand.

  What?

  Just because I hadn’t been laid in six months didn’t mean I wasn’t optimistic it could happen at any time.

  I giggled at that thought. Who’d have guessed it’d be my best friend who’d end my sexual drought?

  Luke staggered as he got to his feet. I hiccupped, clapping my hands over my mouth when he laughed and rummaged through my top drawer. Coming up empty, he moved to the second draw, and my eyes widened as he plucked my little purple bullet vibrator out and held it out with a questioning eyebrow.

  Inside, Sober Aspen was dying of embarrassment.

  Drunk Aspen laughed her ass off.

  Sober Aspen was going to hate Drunk Aspen in around twelve hours.

  He dropped it back into the drawer and plucked out a box of condoms. Like I said; I was forever optimistic that a deity would drop a porn star or someone equally as talented on my doorstep for a quickie.

  Another giggle erupted from me when I watched Luke fumble with the condom. He almost dropped it before he finally managed to roll it on himself. It was like watching a cat try to open a door or hold onto something.

  “Shut up,” he muttered, holding the condom in place as he came back to me.

  I laughed, lying back. He slipped easily between my legs, and he kissed me several times before he tried to push inside me.

  I jerked back up the bed like his cock was on fire. “Luke, that’s my ass.”

  He stopped, stepped back, and bent down. “Whoops.”

  “Whoops? You nearly impaled my ass and you say whoops?”

  “Shh.” He touched a finger to my lips and tried again.

  Thankfully, this time, he got it right.

  His pushed his cock inside my pussy slowly, leaning forward to kiss me again. I gripped his shoulders as he started to move. Within three thrusts his cock fell out, but he slipped it back inside me—after a second, that was.

  I wrapped my legs around his waist so it didn’t happen again. We kissed hard, and I tilted my hips so he could thrust deeper.

  It was a mistake.

  He groaned.

  And I knew.

  I just knew what was going to happen. He was going to come, and I wasn’t even close. Not even warmed up. The key was in the car, but the engine wasn’t revving. No sir, not even close to it.

  So, I did the only thing a self-respecting twenty-four-year-old woman not about to orgasm could do.

  I faked it.

  Moan. Clench. Grab. Moan. Arch. Writhe.

  And moan again.

  Just as I suspected, Luke came.

  And it was goddamn miserable.

  Tap tap squirt, indeed.

  He collapsed on top of me for a minute, and I faked that post-orgasmic haze of heavy breathing and random twitches of muscle.

  Luke pulled out of me and rolled away, reaching immediately for the condom. I took my chance and got up, pretending to be on shaky legs until I left the room.

  Then I ran to the bathroom and locked myself in there.

  Dear God, what had I done? Thank God two minutes of bad sex didn’t make me sober. Nobody needed to be sober after that.

  I peed, washed my face, and grabbed this morning’s tank top from the floor. It proclaimed me to be a people hater—accurate—and I made my way back to my room, using the door to help me stay upright.

  Apparently, the tequila was getting its second wind.

  Pausing outside the door, Sober Aspen broke through just long enough to convince Drunk Aspen to go into the kitchen and take some aspirin and drink some water.

  Drunk Aspen was smart. She listened.

  Aspirin and water down my throat, I finally reached my destination: my bed.

  And someone was looking down on this idiot because Luke was already fast asleep. Thankfully, he wasn’t on my favorite side of the bed, so I didn’t have to attempt to shift his naked ass over.

  Let’s be honest. I’d probably break my ankle trying to do it after this much alcohol.

  I pulled some clean panties from the dresser and almost fell over trying to put them on, so I aborted that idea and, instead, stumbled my way over to my side of the bed and sat down to put them on.

  Mission accomplished with my poor vagina tucked away inside my panties, I tucked myself into bed and rolled over, putting my back to my very naked best friend.

  Sleep came for me in seconds, and I’d never been gladder.

  CHAPTER TWO – ASPEN

  Pancakes and Other Necessary Bullshit

  I crept out of my bed while Luke was still asleep. He’d rolled over at some point in the night and was now lying on his stomach with his bare ass in the air.

  If I didn’t feel like the walking dead, I’d have taken a minute to admire how white his ass was compared to the rest of his tanned body. Being part Mexican, he had an unfair advantage on the rest of us already when it came to a tan.

  Like I would admit part of my tan came from a bottle.

  I grabbed some bright pink shorts from the top of my laundry basket and gave them a sniff. They didn’t smell like they’d been worn—and there was a good chance they hadn’t been—so I pulled them on and quietly made my way into the kitchen.

  More aspirin and water were my first stop, and my second was to sink onto one of the stools at the little island in the middle of my kitchen and groan.

  Unfortunately, my night’s sleep hadn’t had the effect I thought it would.

  Namely, I could still remember the disaster that was last night. The two whole minutes of the worst sex of my life with one of the most important people in it.

  What a disaster. This is why you’re warned about excessive drinking, kids. Not because of liver failure. Because you might just fuck yourself up by sleeping with your best friend.

  I sighed and ran my fingers through my hair until they reached my bun, looking out of my window. I could see nothing but trees since my apartment block backed onto the park. It beat hearing kids scream every time I opened my windows—not that I did that a lot in Texas.

  That would be insane.

  What was I supposed to do now? I knew Luke well enough to know that he’d come out of my room with questions about why he was naked.

  What the hell did I say?

  Oh, yeah, we had sex, and it was fucking dreadful.

  No. I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t even say we had sex. If he mentioned it, then sure, but I couldn’t bring it up. No way.

  Let’s be honest. The sex was exponentially better for him than it had been for me.

  I’d faked more than a few orgasms in my life, but I never imagined I’d be faking one with my best friend.

  Then again, I never imagined I’d be banging him either.

  I sat up and covered my mouth with my hands. This had the potential to ruin our friendship. Good sex may not have been an issue, but bad sex? The worst sex ever?

  Yep. That meant it was a goner.

  Nope. My only option was to sit here and hope like hell he didn’t remember it. He’d been as drunk as I had, and the only reason I remembered was because I had an unfortunately good memory and drank water before I went to sleep.

  He hadn’t done that. He’d pumped and dumped and passed out.

  I needed to be normal. I couldn’t be sitting here like a loser when he woke up and came out.

  I would cook. Yes. It wasn’t the first time Luke had stayed at my place after a night out before, and I was always awake before him, so I cooked.

  Never mind the fact I had a marching band in my head, and the thought of food made my stomach roll—I needed something hot and heavy and full of carbs and grease.

  I pulled the ingredients from the cupboard to make pancakes from scratch and took bacon from the fridge. I busied myself making it, focusing on cooking instead of what had happened.

  What I really needed to do was call Blaire, my lifelong best
friend, and tell her how badly I’d screwed up. I couldn’t do it while Luke was here, though, so my best option was to feed Luke and get rid of him as soon as humanly possible.

  That was how you dealt with a man you wanted to get rid of, wasn’t it? With food. And baggy sweatpants, greasy hair, and yesterday’s mascara.

  If that was true, I had it down. My hair was a dirty bun on top of my head with loose tendrils of stupid baby hairs hanging down around my ears and neck, and my mascara was doing a really good job of getting me ready to be a panda for Halloween this year.

  As for the sweatpants… Well, that was the hangover uniform, wasn’t it? Especially if you had company.

  My bedroom door opened. “I smell food.”

  I turned around, a glass of water in hand, and look right at my naked best friend. “Luke! For the love of God! Put some pants on!”

  He looked down. “Fuck!” He clasped his hands over his cock and ran back into my room, slamming the door behind him.

  I got all of a flash of his tanned ass before the door shut, and that was enough to make me giggle.

  Two minutes later, right as I flipped pancakes, he re-appeared, wearing a pair of gray sweatpants and nothing much else.

  There were times when I hated that he left clothes in my dresser. This was one of them.

  Gray sweatpants were sexier than they had any right to be.

  “You know,” I said, flipping the last pancake. “If you need hangover clothes in my dresser, you need to drink less.”

  “You know,” he shot back, sliding onto the stool at the island. “If it feels like you’re screaming at me, you should greet me with aspirin and water.”

  “If it feels like I’m screaming at you, you should learn to control your alcohol intake.” I slid a bottle of aspirin across the island at him. “Water in the fridge.”

  “I have to get my own water?”

  “You drank your own shots of tequila, so yes. It’s not like I’m standing here asking you to cook me a breakfast casserole. I’m making you food. Stop being a giant baby.” I slid the pancakes onto a plate and checked the bacon. It was done, so I slid that onto another plate and set both on the island between us.