The Broken Hearts' Society of Suite 17C

by LeighAnn Kopans

  For the first time in months, a clear prayer rang through her heart. Let him still want to be with me, too.

  A couple drinks within half an hour made Amy feel warm, fuzzy, very aware of her feelings and not caring at all about her worries. After another half hour, though, her eyelids grew heavy and seemed to drag her head down with them. She felt it loll against the back of the couch, then slump onto Matt’s shoulder. The voices all around her, telling stories from the last few months and trading good-natured ribbing about whatever sports, subjects, and relationships Matt’s friends were in at their various far-flung colleges, became thick, slow in her ears. The last thing she heard was, “Hey Matty, I think your girl’s ready to get to bed,” before her eyes closed all the way. Matt’s shoulder under her cheek felt solid, and his friend was right—she did want to get home—but she was also newly aware of exactly how much she liked touching him. If he took her home, they’d be in the car, and then he’d help her in the house, and then she’d see him tomorrow morning, and be totally embarrassed that she’d draped herself all over him.

  And possibly never have the chance to be so close to him again.

  If he took her home, she’d fall asleep, and tomorrow morning she would have lost all the bravery she’d somehow found tonight. So, she managed to say something. “No, I’m good. I’m very comfortable, right here.”

  “That’s exactly right, Ames. And if you get any more comfortable, you’re going to fall asleep on Alex’s couch, and there’s no way I’m going to be able to carry you out of here.” His arm nudged at her back, so firm and steady. How had she not realized how strong he was?

  “You could,” she mumbled, fighting to keep her eyes open, struggling to lift her head off his shoulder, given that she really, really didn’t want to. “You’re a lot stronger than I thought you were.” Finally, her head came up, and she was looking right into his warm brown-green eyes, which danced with amusement.

  “Okay,” he said with a chuckle. “You definitely need to get home, if you’re giving me compliments like that.”

  In the background, or maybe it was right beside her, one girl whispered to another—“I told you he was taken.”

  “Neither of them said anything!” the other responded.

  A smile crept onto Amy’s face and she shook her head lazily. She wanted to tell the girls that no, Matt wasn’t taken, but they still couldn’t have him. That he was hers, hers to kiss, hers to say yes to, even though he wasn’t her boyfriend. For the first time in her entire life, Amy knew, with absolute certainty, that she belonged to Matt just as Matt belonged to her. She also knew that when they left this party, he would kiss her, and she would kiss him back, and everything would be perfect, because he was gorgeous and this night was beautiful and she was so glad that she had come home with him and stood her ground against her parents. Yes, everything was perfect. Or would be, once she got out of here.

  Matt’s arm nudged up and in on her back, giving her the support she needed to stand. The dizziness that swept her head was gone in a few seconds, and she smiled indulgently at Matt’s friends, these beautiful people who had given her an adult beverage for the first time in her life. She wasn’t a little girl, and she didn’t have to follow rules, and she could choose her own friends. They’d reinforced all these things tonight, and she loved them all for it. Loved them so much.

  “Thank you so much,” she managed, despite her thick tongue and fuzzy lips, as Matt led her to the door. He held her coat out for her, but she didn’t want to move her arm from around his shoulders, so she only slipped one arm in.

  “See you soon, Matty boy!” one of the guys yelled as they stepped out the door, and it was followed by whoops, claps, and giggles from the rest of them. Amy didn’t really understand what was so funny, but she beamed back at them, because she wanted to be part of the joke too.

  “Idiots,” Matt muttered as he waved over his shoulder at his friends. The cool air wrapped around Amy as they walked, pricking into her skin and leaving goose bumps behind. She shivered and turned into Matt, slowing him down for the rest of the short walk to his car, loving the feel of being held up by him. After all, he’d been holding her up since she met him. This was just a natural end to the process.

  Amy shivered against the car’s chilled upholstery, and curled in on herself as Matt shut her door and then started the engine once he’d ducked into his. He looked over at her, put the car in drive, and reached over to pat her knee. More warm electricity bled up Amy’s leg, and she surprised herself by darting her hand out to keep Matt from pulling his back to the shifter.

  The ten-minute ride back to his house was a beautiful mosaic of street lights and headlights streaking against the cool, slightly damp dark. Amy pressed her forehead to the glass and watched the colors bleed into each other, trying to hold on to some of the warm, fuzzy sleepiness that had already started to leave her.

  They pulled into the garage and the automatic lights made her wince. Her eyes pressed shut, she turned to Matt. “Where are your moms?”

  “Oh, they have a dessert reception after the services. They said the church ladies wanted to express their gratitude, but I know for a fact that Mrs. Schnuck is trying to show up Mrs. Haffner for the best pumpkin pie.”

  Amy laughed lazily as she let her eyes open a little. “You are so funny. Have I told you that? So…” she trailed off as his hand cupped her face and he looked into her eyes again. “So great. You’re great for bringing me to that party. For bringing me home. For being my friend.”

  Matt shook his head and smiled at her. “And you’re drunk. Let’s get you up to bed.”

  She wanted to protest—she wasn’t drunk, exactly. Sure, she was falling asleep, and everything looked and felt and sounded so delicious, so perfect, but she was thinking clearly. More clearly than she maybe ever had before. But before she could even get a fraction of those thoughts in any cohesive order, Matt had already come to open her door and was offering her his hand.

  “I’m not drunk,” she protested as he slid his arm around her back again, making her close her eyes with how absolutely perfect his body felt against hers.

  “Okay,” Matt replied as he guided her to the stairs. “Then why do you need me to hold you up?”

  “I don’t need you to,” Amy said, making sure to turn her own blue-green eyes to his at that moment. She meant every word, now, and she didn’t just want him to hear it. She wanted him to feel it, and to know that she felt it, too. “I want you to, though.”

  Matt swallowed, hard, and blinked once, slowly. He barely broke contact as he shrugged out of his jacket, leaving it on a hook just inside the front door. Matt’s grip drifted fractions of an inch lower with every step, until they reached the top of the stairs and his fingers wrapped around her hip. A sliver of extra-intense warmth told Amy his hand was touching her skin, just a tiny bit, and her head swirled all over again. How had she possibly gone this long, knowing him and not touching him like this? How had she never noticed how gorgeous he was?

  “Help me to bed,” she said, hearing that her words were already clearer, feeling a small pang of awareness that what she said wasn’t exactly the kind of thing that would typically pass between a girl and a guy who were just friends. Her heart twisted—was she going to ruin something before it even started? How did you get one of your best friends to kiss you without losing his friendship?

  “You’re serious,” Matt said, and Amy just nodded, taking advantage of the fearlessness the spiked sticky drink had left coursing through her body, making sure her eyes never left his. In the guest room, with the dim light from the bathroom across the hall slanting onto the bed, Matt led Amy to sit down on her bed, then helped her pull her own puffy coat off, letting it drop to the floor. He had to feel her shiver as his fingers brushed down the length of her arm, slower than they had to. He had to want to touch her, too.

  “I’ll get you a glass of water,” he said, half question, half statement.

  “Shoes?” she answered.
>
  He swallowed again, and a deep satisfaction settled in Amy’s core as he knelt in front of her, his face inches from hers, and silently unzipped her boots, pulled them off, and set them right in front of her nightstand. His fingers brushing down her calves was almost too much, and from the intense look in his eyes as he asked her in a whisper, “what else?” it affected him too.

  Be brave, Amy Bauer. You have never told anyone what you want. You have never really known for sure what you wanted, until this minute. Say it. Tell him. You have to.

  She may have had a little too much alcohol in her system, but her thoughts had never been clearer. “Kiss me.”

  He sucked in a breath. “Amy, I—”

  “Please. You have to.” Fear started to wrap around her, the purest kind of terror that maybe, just maybe, he didn’t feel the same way.

  He leaned in closer to her, planted his hand beside her on the bed, made knees go down and her shoulders go forward. They were centimeters apart, and his breath mingled with hers, a feeling so intimate and so perfect she could hardly stand it. Her eyes fluttered closed. “Please,” she repeated in the barest of whispers.

  And then, thank God and Jesus and all the angels, his lips were on hers. Every bit of heat she’d felt when his skin touched hers combined and exploded inside her, only quelled the slightest bit when his fingers brushed the back of her neck, bringing her back to herself. Her hands lifted to the sides of his face, her fingers shaking as they found his hairline, then drifted down his neck.

  She desperately wanted that feeling of his body against hers again, and she didn’t care how she got it. Instinct took over, and she leaned back, begging him to follow with the slight flick of her tongue against his. Her arms went around him, pulling him down on top of her, and her entire body sang with relief at the pressure his body on top of hers. Her hands slid up under his shirt, and she was acutely aware of every single sharply defined muscle on his back, his sides, and, as her thumbs swept down, his stomach and ridge of his hip.

  She sighed happily into his mouth, and he responded with a soft moan and an even harder kiss as his fingers tangled in her hair and his legs tangled with hers. She felt the quick movements as he kicked his shoes off, heard the thud as they landed to the floor. One more big scoot back and her head sunk into the pillow as Matt’s lips moved, hot and hungry, to her throat. She tipped her head back, aware she was about to taste victory, and took the risk of moving her hands from under Matt’s shirt to grasp at the bottom of her own. In an instant, it was over her head, and her copper waves spread around her head on the pillow.

  Matt, having been interrupted, looked at her in awe, shaking his head. “Amy, I thought—I mean, you told me you didn’t—”

  “I didn’t want to date,” she said, biting her lip, the sensation coming back to it bit by bit. “But I realized something. I want you. I want this,” she finished, edging her hands under his shirt, too, trying to keep control of herself when she finally saw what she’d only just now felt. He may have been thin, but his muscles were clearly defined and absolute perfection. His lips were full, and now that she knew how amazing they felt against her own, all she wanted to do was touch them, kiss him again. And he still had his glasses on, which somehow added to the intensity of his eyes as they stared into hers. She’d never thought guys looked good in glasses—not until she met him.

  She raised herself up and gingerly pulled the wire frames off with one hand while cupping the back of his neck with the other, pulling him back down to her and finally, finally getting what she wanted. His skin against hers. Her breasts looking so sexy pressed up against his chest, and even better when his lips trailed down her shoulder, his strong hand slid up her back and under her bra strap, and his other hand slid down her stomach, his little finger grazing the waistband of her panties.

  And then he moved back up her stomach again, then rested on her hip again. His lips back on hers, he kissed her softly, patiently, like they had all the time in the world.

  But through the fuzz and fog of the lingering alcohol, Amy knew one thing for sure—they didn’t have all the time in the world.

  They only had tonight.

  If Amy threw herself into a relationship with Matt, she’d never, ever be able to drag herself back out. What she felt for him was ten times stronger than the strongest thing she’d ever felt for Adam, and he’d nearly ruined her.

  The only way she was going to be brave enough to show him was if she was drunk. Maybe she’d known it all along, or maybe it was just becoming crystal clear now. Matt was perfect for her, and that was exactly why she couldn’t fall for him. Drunk sex was the closest she could let herself get.

  So she wedged her hand down between them, straight down the front of his jeans. He was hard as a rock, which only ignited something even more desperate inside her. She smiled against his lips, then swept her tongue along his, savoring the taste of him. But as she pulled her hand back out and grasped for his zipper, he grabbed her wrist, tugged it away, and rolled off of her with a grunt.

  “What’s the matter?” Amy asked, her voice breathy and her head spinning.

  Matt stared at the ceiling, his jaw clenched hard. The muscle just above it jumped as he tugged his hand back through his hair.

  Amy turned to him, propping herself up on one arm, but when her head spun out of control again, she had to stare at the ceiling too. And then the tears started to come.

  “What did I do wrong?” She whispered, the swimming-drunk feeling in her head intensifying every twinge of embarrassment and rejection. Apparently alcohol amplified every emotion—even the horrible, soul-crushing ones.

  Matt blew a long breath out through pursed lips, then sat up and grabbed her shirt from where it had landed at the end of the bed.

  “Ames, please,” he said when he handed it to her and pulled her up to sitting with the other hand. The tears started to roll down her cheeks, fat and heavy.

  She couldn’t say a word for the giant lump in her throat, couldn’t look Matt in the eyes as she pulled the stretchy cotton tee back over her head. Matt did the same with his shirt, then sat cross-legged on the bed, looking helpless. It took him forever to say something else.

  “We can’t do this. I mean, I want to do this. But we can’t do this while you’re…after you’ve been drinking. I can’t do this,” he repeated, his voice trailing off as he stared at his hands, strategically folded on his lap. “I won’t do this while you’re drunk. I’m sorry,” he said, hoisting himself off the bed, stalking to the door, and letting it fall shut behind him.

  Pain flooded Amy, from too many things for her to count—embarrassment, rejection, disappointment, the realization that she’d fallen in love with someone who had probably fallen out of love with her. Or—oh, God—maybe he’d never been in love with her in the first place. Maybe she’d just been so utterly pathetic and desperate for any guy to love her that she’d imagined everything. Her lips, her arms, her entire body felt too numb to move, too stunned to cry. Eventually, the dark edged out the pain, and she fell asleep.

  Even though the sun didn’t rise until eight o’clock, it was well up before Amy’s eyelids cracked open. The only feeling less pleasant than the bright orange light piercing through the crack in the curtains was the thick, stale taste of her mouth. She groaned and made a quarter turn on her side, coming face to face with a glass of water and two small white pills.

  It only took a few seconds of her head pounding in protest to her movements that she realized what those were for.

  Just as she’d swallowed the second aspirin, there was a knock at the door that sounded more like pounding.

  She half-groaned, “Yeah?” and Matt stuck his head in.

  “Can I come in?”

  Amy almost told him to wait for her in the kitchen, but then remembered that his moms were probably down there, eating grapefruit and laughing like normal people. She also wasn’t entirely sure that she could lift her head up.

  “I guess.” Amy cupped her hands over
her face, just then realizing that she probably looked like mascara-smeared death in last night’s jeans. That’s how she felt, anyway.

  Matt stood a few feet from the bed, shifting from foot to foot and watching Amy. It took a lot of effort to wedge her elbows against the bed and push herself to sitting, then to breathe through her throbbing temples once she did. Matt eased onto the opposite corner of the mattress and let out a heavy breath.

  “I brought coffee, too,” Matt said, pushing his glasses up on his nose, something he never did. Looking closer, Amy realized they were silver wire-rimmed, not the rounded dark frames he always wore.

  “Did you get new glasses?”

  “No, um…these are old. When you pulled off my other ones last night, they, um…well, I couldn’t wear them this morning.”

  Amy closed her eyes and held back a whimper. “You’re kidding me. Matt, I am so, so sorry.”

  “I brought you coffee,” he said, still not looking at her. “Are you feeling better?”

  Amy took it and held the hot cup in her hands, not daring to put it down. It was keeping her trembling hands from shaking.

  “I’m feeling less fuzzy. Less dizzy.” Less impulsive.

  “Do you remember what happened last night?” Matt asked cautiously, only meeting Amy’s eyes for the barest second.

  Amy begged herself to pull forth the same bravery the alcohol had given her last night. Those stupid drinks may have taken away her inhibitions, but she’d loved that feeling—of being herself, of saying what she meant. She needed to do that every day. Even when she wasn’t drunk.

  “I remember that you kissed me.”

  “Do you remember asking me to?”

  Amy nodded, watching him with wide eyes.

  “Do you remember what happened after?” Matt’s voice had become low, shaky.