by Jen Morris
“It can’t be that bad.”
I smirk. Yes, it can.
“Come on,” he urges, flashing me a flirtatious grin. “I might like it.”
My cheeks glow. “You might,” I mutter, turning back to look across the room, and beside me I hear him chuckle.
We stand side-by-side, drinking and watching the others dance. And I decide if Michael can needle me relentlessly about my romance writing, I can give him a hard time too.
“How’s the historical novel coming?”
He takes a long sip from his cup, avoiding my gaze. “It’s not.”
“Why not?”
“I told you why. My agent doesn’t want me to write it.”
I face him squarely, the alcohol giving me confidence. “And I told you to write it anyway.”
His eyes swing to me. “You did.”
“So do it. Just for fun. For you.”
He scrubs a hand over his beard, a smile peeking around his mouth. “And since when are you telling me what to do?”
“I—” I bite my lip, trying to ignore the electricity crackling between us, trying not to say something I shouldn’t. If I thought I was having fun at this party before he arrived, I was wrong. Since he got here I’ve felt alive, buzzing, drawn to him by a magnetic pull that’s impossible to fight. It’s not the alcohol, it’s him. It’s always him.
I open my mouth to tell him exactly this, when I spot Geoff and Agnes peering at us from across the room. Geoff leans close to whisper something to Agnes, and the spark inside me fizzles out.
What am I doing? I shouldn’t be over here, flirting with Michael. We agreed to be friends and I’m behaving like this. Drinking or not, there’s no excuse.
“Um, I’m just going to mingle for a bit,” I mumble to Michael. I weave across the room to where Agnes is nestled on the sofa with Geoff perched beside her. “You two okay?”
Geoff grins over his drink. “How’s Sexy Michael?”
“What?” I glance at Agnes but she just sips her drink as if she hasn’t heard. “Geoff,” I mutter, giving him a subtle cut-it-out motion.
But not subtle enough, apparently, because Agnes says, “Don’t worry about me, dear. Your friend Geoffrey has already filled me in on everything.”
“Everything?” I repeat, my gaze darting back to Geoff. I told him about the kiss at Rockefeller, and the fact that Michael was prepared to wait until I found out what was happening with this job opportunity. I thought I’d told him all that in confidence, but trust Geoff to make a beeline for Agnes and spill his guts.
Geoff shrugs innocently. “I was just making conversation. Besides, you two looked pretty cozy over there.”
I glance back to where Michael is still leaning against the wall, watching us with interest. My heart does an involuntary flip and I turn back to the others, forcing a neutral expression. “We’re just chatting,” I say with as much disinterest as I can muster. “That’s all. Nothing is going on.”
Agnes frowns. “You could do a lot worse than Michael, you know.”
I let out a sigh, gazing down into my slushie. “I know. He’s… really great.” As I say this now, I realize I can’t think of a single thing I don’t like about him. It’s amazing how kind and genuine Michael is, given how attractive he is. Most guys with looks like his think they’re God’s gift and are absolute shitheads.
Come to think of it, that in itself feels like a bit of a red flag. What do they say, that if something seems too good to be true, it probably is? I remember my mother telling me that I’m always dreaming of Prince Charming and feel a ripple of unease.
No. I straighten up, pushing the thought from my head. It’s New Year’s Eve. I don’t want to think about the shit my parents have said to me, the career I’m trying so hard to build, the questions Agnes and Geoff are asking. I just want to party and have fun, maybe flirt a little—not worry about these tiny inconvenient details.
“Can I get anyone another drink?” I ask, giving Agnes and Geoff a sunny smile. And when they shake their heads, I turn and stride back towards Michael, determined to enjoy myself for the rest of the evening.
29
“That’s the most fun I’ve had in ages,” Michael says as we lean against the wall, catching our breath.
I suck back some slushie, pressing a cool hand to my warm cheek. Michael took Henry up to bed a while ago, then Agnes went up, offering to keep an eye on him until Michael was ready to go home. I was on the dance floor when Michael returned, and I managed to convince him to join me. I didn’t expect much out of him, but all it took was one song before he completely let loose.
“Thanks for making me dance.” He angles his body towards me, grinning. “You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Make me do these things I think I don’t want to do. And then I’m always glad I did.”
I smile, remembering his words on Christmas. I like the thought of him having fun because of me.
His gaze rests on me for a moment, then slides across the room. He watches the dance floor, sipping his piña colada, then asks casually, “What are your plans for midnight?”
I give a baffled laugh. “Um, I’ll count down, I guess. That’s the usual tradition, isn’t it?”
“Yes. It is.” He chuckles self-consciously, raking a hand through his hair. “Any other traditions you might be interested in?”
I scan the room for clues, wondering what on earth he’s talking about. Then it hits me. Surely he can’t be referring to the midnight kiss? But when I dare to glance at him, I know that’s exactly what he means. He’s looking at me almost hopefully, and butterflies swarm in my stomach.
I pull in a breath, trying to regain control of my escalating pulse. I know I wanted to have fun tonight, but I didn’t mean that much fun. “Is that something friends do?”
The side of his mouth lifts into a smile. “I don’t know. I’ve never had a friend like you before. But I figure it’s New Year’s Eve and it’s a tradition to kiss at midnight. Maybe tonight”—he gives a little shrug—“the usual rules don’t apply.”
I raise my eyebrows, battling a smile, half wanting to laugh at his hopefulness and half wanting to tell him off for putting ideas in my head. My heart is thundering now at the prospect of kissing him again, even if it’s a terrible idea. I try to find some words but all I manage to do is gurgle out an incomprehensible, “Uhhrm.” I tear my gaze away as my body flushes with heat, and when I glance back at him he’s still gazing at me, his mouth tilted up in a suggestive smile.
Holy hell.
But… let’s be rational here. Is he right? Of course the usual rules don’t apply on New Year’s Eve. I could kiss him, it wouldn’t be the end of the world. It would just be one little kiss. One delicious little kiss.
But as I take in his playful expression and the way it makes my whole body tingle, I realize that while his logic is sound, I don’t have the kind of self control required for it. Because if I kissed him tonight, it would be game over. I’d wake up tangled in his sheets, and I don’t see myself coming back from that to write about how blissful it is to be single.
No. Best to put that idea out of his mind right now.
I lean forward, so that my mouth is right by his ear, and before I can stop myself I inhale a lungful of his woodsy cologne. It makes me dizzy with lust and I have to grip onto his arm to keep myself steady. All the alcohol isn’t helping, either. It’s such a powerful combination that I’m too light-headed to think straight, too intoxicated to prevent the next words from leaving my mouth.
“Michael,” I say, my voice low and husky, “there is no way I would be able to stop at just a kiss.”
He turns his head towards me ever so slightly, so that his beard scratches against my cheek, and gives a grunt in my ear. All of a sudden I’m imagining what that beard would feel like against my thigh, if he had his head buried between my legs, and I feel a throb right where I want him so badly. At this point I have to physically pull myself away from him, an
d I suck my whole slushie back in one gulp, giving myself an ice headache so bad that all the heat drains from my body.
Just as bloody well.
I notice Geoff waving to me across the room and with an exasperated sigh, I excuse myself.
“Are you going to kiss Sexy Michael at midnight?” Geoff asks when I approach.
“Why?” I say wryly. “Because if I don’t, you will?”
He licks his lips, eying Michael across the room. “It’s worth a shot.”
I give a faint laugh and look down at my drink, feeling myself sag. I’d give anything to kiss Michael tonight, but I know it’s not a good idea.
Geoff tilts his head. “You okay?”
“He did kind of suggest we kiss.”
Geoff’s eyes widen and he almost squeals. I have to whack him on the arm to keep him in line.
“I’m not going to. God, I want to, so badly. But I can’t.”
“Oh, just live a little!” Geoff cries, and I give a melancholy little chuckle.
“I will, one day. But not tonight. Please keep me away from him at midnight.”
“Really?” Geoff’s shoulders slump. “Are you sure?”
“Yes,” I say resolutely. I take a long slurp from my drink. Michael is across the room chatting to one of our neighbors, and longing tugs at me as I watch him.
I wrestle my gaze away and turn back to Geoff, begging him to distract me. We down some tequila shots and talk for a bit, but I can’t quite follow what he’s saying because I still have one eye on Michael, and I’m struggling to focus on anything at this point with all the booze in my system. Then before I know what’s happening, we’re counting down. The room spins around me as we count, as everyone hugs and cheers and, as if on a timer, Auld Lang Syne plays through the speakers.
I catch Michael’s eye across the room and he tilts his head to one side, smiling, raising his glass to me.
But I can’t bring myself to respond. Instead, I feel a surge of misery.
This fucking sucks. All I want is to kiss him but I’ve quarantined myself on the other side of the room, for reasons I’m struggling to even recall. This isn’t a happy new year. This is a crappy new year.
I push my way past a few people and stumble into my bedroom nook, yanking the curtain closed behind me, frantically trying to remind myself why I shouldn’t kiss him.
“Hey.” He pokes his head in through the curtain, his face drawn with concern. “Are you okay?”
I pull off my party hat and slump onto the bed. “Not really.”
He hesitates, then slips in through the curtain and pulls it closed behind him, removing his own hat as he sits beside me. “So this is your room,” he says, looking around in the dim light. “I like it. Very cozy.”
I can feel the heat from his body next to me. It takes all my strength not to lunge at him, not to tell him that I’ll give up everything if I can have him. Somehow, I manage to keep it together, staring at the floor and trying to make it stop spinning.
Michael heaves out a sigh and pushes to his feet. “I should go.” He rubs the back of his neck, a deep frown etching itself across his brow. “I don’t think you want me here.”
“I do,” I say hastily. I stand and put my hand on his chest, meeting his gaze. I can feel the thrum of his heartbeat against my palm and it’s hypnotizing. His eyes are dark and fierce, almost dangerous in the way they pierce through everything, straight into me. I let out a helpless little whimper, sliding my hand up around the back of his neck and stroking my fingertips over the soft, warm skin at his nape. He swallows visibly, the muscles in his neck flexing beneath my hand, and heat races up my body.
Fuck.
I give him a pained look. “I’m trying to stay away from you. We agreed to just be friends, but you’re making it impossible.”
“I know. I’m sorry.” He grimaces, staring down at the floor. “This is harder than I thought it would be. I just… it’s New Year’s Eve and I wanted to kiss you.” He pulls in a raspy breath, taking a step back, and my hand falls to my side. “But you’re right. It wasn’t fair of me to ask, and if you don’t want to—”
“You think I don’t want to kiss you?!” I say incredulously. I wobble on my heels and steady myself against my dresser. “Of course I want to kiss you. Fuck, Michael, I want to get down on my knees in front of you right now and…” I trail off, my eyes dropping to the obvious arousal behind his zipper. Saliva pools in my mouth at the sight and I let out another little whimper.
“Jesus, Alex.” He grinds his jaw. “You can’t say shit like that to me.”
I lift my gaze to his. My face is flushed from more than just drinking now, but I don’t care about keeping it together anymore. “Why not?”
“Because you’re driving me fucking crazy,” he growls, reaching to adjust the bulge in his jeans. A muscle ticks in his neck and I can tell he’s physically restraining himself from reaching for me.
I stare at him, wide-eyed, breathing hard. This is a side of him I haven’t seen—this charged-up, hulk of a man who looks like he’s about to wreck me. And, oh God, how I want him to.
I run my tongue out and over my bottom lip. “Come here.”
He doesn’t hesitate to close the distance between us. I’m backed up hard against my dresser now, and he places his arms on either side of me, caging me in. His dark eyes bore into mine but he doesn’t try to kiss me. Impatience burns hot between my thighs, melting away every single one of my vows to stay away from him, and I know I’ve lost the battle. Hell, I’ve lost the whole war.
“Michael,” I say hoarsely. “Kiss me. Now.”
His mouth lands on mine before I can even take a breath, but the relief is overwhelming. And it’s nothing like the kiss at Rockefeller, which was tentative and gentle. No; this time he takes charge, pushing his hands up into my hair, tilting my head back so my mouth opens for him. Then his tongue slides over mine in a dirty, wet kiss, and my hands fist in the front of his shirt. I moan right into his mouth and he sinks against me, molding the length of his body to mine. Lust blazes through me in hot, blinding waves when I feel how hard he is.
Holy fuck, I knew it. I knew as soon as I kissed him, I’d be done for. But I don’t even care anymore. All I want is his naked body on mine—at whatever cost.
I break the kiss, grabbing his hand and tugging him towards my bed. I want to taste his salty, musky taste, to feel the weight of him pin me down against the mattress.
But he follows my gaze and laughs. “Alex, we can’t. You don’t have any walls.”
Dammit to hell, this stupid bedroom nook with no walls. What was I thinking?
I look at him desperately. “Could we… do you think Henry is asleep yet?”
He groans, pressing me back against the dresser and lowering his mouth to drag it over my neck. “I really want to take you to bed right now, believe me.”
Oh, I do believe him. The proof is in the bulge digging into my belly, making me tremble with need.
“But, honestly—” He draws away from me with a little growl. “I just wanted a kiss.”
“I warned you,” I say, stabbing a finger at him.
“I know.” He gives me a rueful smile. “But, come on. I don’t want to fuck you on New Year’s Eve because we’re drunk. I want to do this right.”
I can’t even begin to imagine what doing this right looks like anymore. I just shake my head, pulling him back to me until his mouth is on mine again, until all I can taste is the pineapple and coconut on his tongue.
I hop up onto my dresser behind me, wrapping my legs around him. He responds by grinding his hips against me and kissing me hard, his tongue sweeping over mine in long, hungry strokes, and I lose it. I paw at him wildly, my fingers clawing down his shirt and scrabbling for his belt buckle.
“Oh God,” he says in a rough, shaky voice, as if he doesn’t quite trust himself to stay in control. His big hands wrap around mine. “We can’t. I want to, so badly, but I’m not going to do it like this.”
&nbs
p; I’m about to start begging, when I hear Geoff’s voice.
“Alex? Are you in there?”
Michael draws back to look at me, and when I give one final, half-hearted tug on his buckle, he bites back a smile.
“Yeah,” I call to Geoff as disappointment settles over me. “I’ll be out in a second.” I sigh, dropping my hands from Michael’s belt.
He steps away and adjusts his pants, smoothing his hands over the shirt I nearly shredded in my fervor. He considers me for a second, then reaches out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “You’re so beautiful, Alex.”
I close my eyes, letting those words float through the drunken haze into my brain, hoping I remember so I can replay them over and over again later. When I open my eyes, he’s still gazing at me.
“If you want to do this—us—then I want to do it the right way. And that’s not tonight.”
I nod, blowing out a long, resigned breath.
“Can we talk about this when we’re sober?”
“Yeah.” I hop down off the dresser, stumbling and steadying myself against him. I hiccup loudly and clap a hand over my mouth in horror, but it’s too late—he heard. We stare at each other then both dissolve into laughter.
“Shit.” I rub my forehead. “I’m really drunk.”
“I know,” he says, somehow both affectionately and teasingly. He hooks an arm around my shoulders and plants a kiss on my temple. “I’m going to get you some water, then I’ll go home. Okay?”
“Okay.” I sink down onto my bed against the pillows. My drunk buzz is quickly giving way to exhaustion.
Michael appears with a glass of water and watches while I drink it, then he lowers himself onto the bed beside me. He smooths a hand over my forehead, gazing at me tenderly, and something in my chest breaks.
“I like you so mush,” I say, hearing my words slur as I reach for his hand and lace my fingers through his. “I feel good around you, like I can be myself and you understand me. You like me anywhere. I mean, whoops—” I giggle. “Anyway.” I squeeze his hand as the next words tumble out my mouth. “I don’t care about writing this column if it means I get to be with you.”
