True to his word, Sam has barely left my side all night. As Carl had predicted, I have garnered more attention than usual from the opposite sex, but I'm confident it has more to do with the amount of alcohol they've consumed and their desperation for a random hookup than with my appearance tonight.
The few guys who had the nerve to hit on me in spite of Sam's bodyguard-like proximity all night were let down easy either by me or Sam. The one guy who took hold of my arm and almost caused me to panic nearly got his ass kicked before I could talk Sam down, which in itself distracted me from panicking.
Bottom line: I'm having fun. Other bottom line: I'm drunk.
It turns out that new Normal Rory goes out and gets drunk with her friends. I giggle at the thought and Sam gives me an inquisitive look.
"You, my friend, are drunk," he observes dryly as he leads me out of the bar to hail a cab and I giggle again. Who knew I could be so giggly?
In fact, I'd probably be even drunker... more drunk? Whatever, I'd be completely hammered if Sam hadn't cut me off and insisted I'd had enough about thirty minutes ago. Instead, I'm delightfully tipsy.
"So are you," I reply as he slips an arm around my waist to help me walk straight. I cuddle into him and inhale his scent, now complemented with a little liquor and smoke from the bars.
Sam chuckles. "Actually I'm not. I only had a couple, and I can hold my liquor better than some people," he teases. Sam helps me into the cab and slides in behind me and I look him over. No, he's right, he does not appear to be especially drunk, and I giggle again. Sam grins. "You're a cute drunk," he murmurs.
"You're cute all the time," I counter. I'm vaguely aware that I shouldn't be saying this out loud, but right now, I just don't care.
"Yeah? You think?" he asks and I narrow my eyes at him and purse my lips exaggeratedly.
"You know you're gorgeous. You ain't foolin' me," I assert, holding my chin high in challenge. He's not going to trick me into showering him with compliments. He's an Adonis, he knows it, I know it, and I know he knows it. He's not blind, after all.
Sam laughs a full, head thrown back, eyes closed chuckle and I giggle in turn, not even knowing what's funny. "I didn't know you thought so, Rory. Anything else you want to share while you're feeling generous with information?" he asks, eyebrows raised.
I bite my lip and think a few moments. "I love Carl," I say.
Sam's eyebrows shoot into his hairline. "Is this where you tell me you like girls?" he asks and it sounds like he's only half kidding. "Cause I won't judge-"
"No, shh, don't interrupt!" I whine.
Sam makes a gesture like he's locking his lips and throws away the invisible key, still making an only vaguely successful attempt to hide his amusement.
"I love Carl, she's been a real good friend to me, but... you're my best friend. Not her, you," I confess. Sam's face softens, draining of mirth, and he smiles warmly. He opens his mouth, but before he can respond, I blurt out "and you're super hot", and we both laugh again. I realize my accent is also extra prevalent when I've been drinking and make a mental note to try and remember that.
"I like drunk Rory," Sam says with another chuckle, and I scowl at him.
"And what? You don't like sober Rory?" I reply with a pout.
Sam's face suddenly gets serious and he leans into me. Holy shit, he's close. It suddenly feels real hot in here. Is it hot in here? I feel hot.
"Oh, I like sober Rory a lot. I just like hearing you tell me what you're thinking. And I told you, don't pout, it's too adorable," he says softly, not more than a couple of inches from my ear. His fingers inch up toward my shoulder and he twists a lock of my hair between his thumb and forefinger before tucking it behind my ear.
"You think I'm adorable?" I practically gasp.
Sam smirks. "You know you're gorgeous. You're not fooling me," he whispers my own words right back to me. I swallow anxiously.
"I tell you what I'm thinkin' all the time," I counter his earlier comment. "I tell you all kinds of things."
"You tell me things," he agrees. "But usually not what you're thinking. Not in the moment, anyway. It's refreshing."
"Tell me what you're thinkin'," I challenge. "Drunk or not, it's only fair." I bat my eyelashes at him and wonder where this bravery is even coming from. Oh right, the alcohol.
Sam's lips twist up into a half smile. "I'm thinking... you look beautiful," he whispers, and I can feel my heartbeat speed up, but not in panic. My whole body is heated, and I feel it - that unfamiliar feeling. Desire.
"Carl and Tina did a good job makin' me up," I whisper back.
Sam bites his lip to suppress his laugh. "Not just tonight, Rory."
I'm gazing in his eyes, breathing so hard my chest is practically heaving, when we arrive at our hotel and the valet opens my door.
"Oh!" I yelp in surprise, and quickly compose myself as best I can as I climb out of the car. I stumble. Damn, I'm drunker than I thought.
"Hold on there, Ror," Sam says as he rushes around the car and slings his arm around me. "I got you." Sam guides me into the elevator and doesn't let me go as we ride up to the top floor. "Come on, give me your keycard, I'll open your door," he offers.
"But I'm not tired," I grumble with another pout.
Sam brushes the pad of his thumb across my bottom lip and a shiver shoots through my entire body. "I told you not to pout."
"Okay," I breathe, not sure what I'm even agreeing to. I'll agree to anything he says right now.
"Give me your purse." I hand it over without question and watch as he digs through it. "Where's your room key? It's not in here."
Oh, shit. I slap my hand to my forehead. "I may have left it on the writing desk... in my room."
Sam sighs. "This is why we should have left our adjoining doors open," he says as he starts leading me one door over and opens his own room. I follow him in.
"I was worried we might end up in bed," I admit without thinking, then slap the same hand that just smacked my forehead to my mouth. Did I just say that out loud?
I peek over at Sam and he looks horrified. Oh, shit. He thinks I meant sex.
Did I mean sex?
He walks right up to me, and I may be drunk, but it seems like he's mad. "I would never take advantage of you like that, Ror. Jesus, how could you think-"
I press two fingers to his lips to stop his words. "No, Sam, I wasn't worried about you, I was worried about me," I admit. Sam furrows his brow. "You look so cute when you do that," I add, moving my fingers to the small crease between his eyes, gently feeling the soft skin.
"What are you talking about, what do you mean you were worried about you?"
We stare at each other, barely a few inches apart.
I want him. I can't help it. I've never felt this way before - emotionally, physically - and I doubt I ever will again. I'd only ever felt anything close once, and I never explored it, I never had the chance.
My fingers move of their own volition from Sam's brow to the back of his neck, I lean up on my tip toes, and before my intoxicated mind can remember why this isn't a good idea, I press my lips to his. After a gasp of surprise, Sam responds almost instantly.
His lips move over mine, slowly, gently. God, they're soft, and somehow also firm. I push my hands up, into his hair, and tug lightly, like I've wanted to for so long. Sam moans, the sound rumbling from deep in his throat, and it's an incredibly sexy sound.
I'm on fire, like I'm possessed, wanting like I've never wanted before. Sam grabs my face and he takes control, picking up the pace of the kiss as his thumbs tenderly brush over my cheeks. His lips tease mine, and when his tongue licks the seam of my mouth, I open for him, welcoming more. Desperate for more.
Sam's tongue works its way into my mouth and I revel in it. Having a part of him in a part of me. His hands caress down my neck and shoulders until one is gently gripping my hair, holding my head to his, and the other slides around my waist until he's pulling my body flush against the hard planes of his own.
/> I tentatively move my tongue with his, twisting and licking, loving the exploration of his mouth, the taste of him - a delectable mixture of mint gum and scotch.
He sucks my bottom lip into his mouth and I moan, unabashed. The sound encourages Sam, who takes two steps forward toward the wall and I move with him until I feel a desk or table of some kind behind me. With no effort at all, Sam lifts me and places me seated on its edge and presses himself against me, still kissing me. I open my legs so he can get closer. I need him closer. He complies, but he's being careful, and I can feel him everywhere except the one place I really need him. I wrap my legs around his hips and pull him as close as physically possible, and I moan again as I feel confirmation that he really does want me.
I'm aware that I'm "asking for it". I'm giving him more of a green light than I ever gave Robin, and though I know I'm probably coming across like some wanton slut, I can't bring myself to care. I know that come tomorrow I will be hurt. I know that I'm falling in love with my friend, and I also know nothing has changed. He doesn't return my feelings, and why should he?
This version of me - this version that goes out and gets drunk with her friends, who gives into her attraction and feelings and has the courage to kiss the boy she's been pining over - this Rory is an illusion.
I know Sam could never want the real Rory. I know he deserves more even if he could. More than a broken, damaged mess. But tonight, just for one night, I can still be Normal Rory. I can allow myself this glimpse of what it could've been like if I'd never said yes to that first date with Robin. If I went to NYU and maybe just met Sam in New York by chance. If I was really just a normal girl and he could want me.
I've never been kissed like this. Only once had it ever felt close, but it wasn't like this. And Robin - even in the beginning, before things went bad, never elicited these feelings in me, in my body or my heart. I'm desperate to know what it feels like when I'm not being forced. When I really want the person I'm with.
I kiss Sam back with all the passion I possess, running my hands up the front of his tee shirt, and I shiver again at the feel of his hard muscles. I can feel his erection firm between my legs, and a heat I've never felt before. An ache. And I know without a doubt that here and now with Sam, the act that's only ever caused me unimaginable suffering with Robin, is the one thing that can soothe that ache.
I rock my hips into him.
Sam makes a deliciously amorous sound before he unexpectedly tears his mouth from mine and wrenches from my grip. He takes two steps back from me and I sit on the table where he's set me, trying to catch my breath. Sam does the same, panting for air, and we blink at each other, like we don't know what just happened.
But I know exactly what happened. And I know before he speaks he's going to apologize, to try and back track, but I won't let him. I want this.
"God, Ror, I'm sorry. I-"
"I kissed you."
Sam stares at me, confused, like he's inwardly grappling with something profound, and I know it's that he doesn't want to lead me on - doesn't want to mess with our friendship. And I get all of that, I do. But my feelings for him, they're my problem, not his. They shouldn't preclude us from doing this, not right now when we both want it. At least I think we both want it...
"Rory, you're drunk. Whether you kissed me first or not, I shouldn't have let that happen, you're my friend," he murmurs, his words shrouded in guilt.
I slide off of my perch and cover the distance between us, looking intently into his eyes so he knows I mean what I say.
"Please, Sam. So, I'm drunk. So what? Half the girls in Miami hookin' up with strangers tonight are drunk. And you ain't a stranger, you're my friend. I trust you," I explain, as I look up at him through my lashes. I tentatively run my hands up the front of his shirt, and just feel of his body under my fingertips gets me all worked up all over again. "It's not like I'm a virgin. You don't need to worry. I've never felt this way before, please, I just wanna know what it feels like to do it because I wanna do it. Because it makes me feel good. Please, Sam," I say the last part in a whisper and lean up to kiss him softly.
When he doesn't immediately push me away I move my lips a little more firmly, but he only reciprocates for a moment before gently grabbing my wrists to stop the exploration of my fingers, and pulling his mouth away. His expression is a mixture of concern and confusion. I stumble a step before catching my footing. I really am drunk. And actually a little dizzy.
"What do you mean you want to do it because you want to do it? What other reason is there?"
I shrug. I don't understand why we're talking about this when we could be doing it, and I want to get this conversation over with quickly and see if I can get him to kiss me back again.
"You know, because. Because I had to. It ain't like I always got a choice," I murmur. "But now I want to. I've never wanted-"
"What do you mean you had to? That you didn't have a choice?" he interrupts, and he's suddenly too serious.
Did I just say something I shouldn't have?
My mind is cloudy with alcohol, and with all of the secrets I've confided to Sam, and all the ones I'm still keeping, I'm not sure which is which right now.
"Rory. What did you mean?" He asks slowly and carefully.
I don't know what I meant, I honestly don't even remember exactly what it was that I said. My stomach turns as the dizziness in my head conspires with the nausea in my belly to make me feel ill, and I close my eyes briefly to get it all to settle and try to focus on the here and now.
"I just meant... that right now, drunk or not, I know what I want, and I want-"
My words are cut off with a gag. Oh, shit.
Sam's face is etched with worry and I'm no longer confident that I can push this sick feeling back down.
"Ror? Ror, are you okay?"
The room spins and all I can do is squeak out "sick" before my legs give out.
Sam catches me with a muttered curse and I'm suddenly being held to his chest, my legs dangling over one of his strong arms as he makes his way to his bathroom. He sets me down on the edge of the tub and I clutch the tile edge as tightly as I can to hold myself in a sitting position. Sam's doing something, but I can't see what, I'm too busy trying to figure out if closing my eyes makes it better or worse.
Oh, God, worse. Definitely worse.
I hear the faucet turn on, then off, and then Sam is kneeling in front of me and placing a cold, wet, washcloth on my forehead.
"Fuck, Ror, you only had three drinks at the bars. You didn't take any drinks from anyone else, did you?" he asks, obviously deeply worried.
I shake my head. I didn't. "No, you told me not to," I assure him shakily. He runs his fingers through his hair, and vaguely I wonder if it's really that big of a deal. I mean it's a rite of passage for every normal teenager to drink too much and get a little sick, isn't it?
"How much sangria did you drink at dinner?"
I shrug. "Two glasses?" It comes out like a question, and really, it is. There were pitchers, people were refilling generously, but I didn't think I'd had that much.
"Fuck, Rory." He narrows his eyes at me and I see four of them. Four midnight blue eyes that have seen right through me since they first witnessed my panic attack my first day of school. "Did you take a pill tonight, Rory?" His voice is hesitant and yet accusing. Tender, and yet firm.
Damn. I try as best I can to focus on his gaze and slowly nod. His features immediately shift into a scowl. He's furious.
"Damn it, Rory! Don't you know you're not supposed to drink on those?!"
"I... I didn't think about it. I didn't want to freak out and ruin everyone's night. I just wanted one night to be normal. I took it before we went out, I... forgot," I murmur contritely.
Sam's expression softens but I know he's still angry with me. For being so careless. For being so stupid. And the fact is, he's right.
"Well, congratulations, Pine. You took drugs and drank and now you're sick. Welcome to teenage normalcy," he says sarc
astically. He stands and makes to leave the room but I take hold of his hand. I don't want him to leave me alone here. "I'm just going to get you some water. Look, Rory, you should probably throw up. I think you probably will anyway, but either way, you should make yourself."
I make an exaggeratedly disgusted face and Sam cracks a smile.
"Stop being cute, I'm still mad at you," he says before he turns and leaves the room.
He's back almost instantly and he twists the cap off of a bottle of water and hands it to me. I eye it dubiously. My insides twist. No, I don't believe I'll be drinking this right now.
"I can't. My stomach," I murmur.
"Come," he says and holds out both hands. I'm trembling as I slip my small, pale hands into his large, warm ones. I wonder if the rest of me looks this pale.
Damn, I must look awful. No wonder he broke off our kiss.
Sam guides me down to the floor in front of the toilet and gathers my hair in a ponytail secured with his grip. He starts rubbing his other hand soothingly up and down my back.
"You need to throw up, Ror. Trust me, you'll feel better," he says gently.
I can already feel that he's right. In fact, I can already feel that I won't have a choice in the matter one way or another. I am definitely going to vomit.
"Go... away," I choke out.
"Rory..."
"Please. Don't... want you to see me throw up..."
"Yeah, well I don't want to see you in the hospital. So I need you to throw up for me, okay?"
"I'll do it if you leave," I squeak, but our argument over whether or not he will be present for my impending vomiting ends as my stomach wretches and empties its contents into the toilet.
I gag again and up comes more. I want to push Sam away, want privacy for my humiliation, but I can do nothing but succumb to my own body which has other plans.
Four more times I throw up and all the while, Sam holds my hair, rubs my back, and whispers encouragements as if vomiting is some great achievement. When I'm finally sure it's over I sigh with relief and sit back, leaning my head on the cold porcelain of the toilet seat, aware that it's disgusting, but just not caring.
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