Shades of Pink

by 33 authors

  “Oooh, full naming me, I’m scared.” He reached out and steadied her shoulder. His hand was warm and big, covering most of the space between her shoulder and her neck. She wanted to tilt her head to the side and pin it in place, but she had an answer to demand first.

  “Don’t avoid the question. Clubbing. You. Me. Is that going to happen?”

  “Sure.”

  She reared up on unsteady knees and waved a finger in his general direction. “I don’t think that means what you want me to think it means.”

  He laughed hard at that, and reached with his other hand to link his fingers around her accusing one. “I don’t even know what that means. I do know, though, that you are the cheapest drunk I’ve ever met.”

  She pouted. “And we didn’t even crack the tequila.”

  “I’m not drunk yet. We still could.” She was still on her knees, facing his side, but he’d twisted toward her, holding her upright, and all of a sudden, she didn’t want either of them to move. Didn’t want to get the tequila. Didn’t want to sober up. Didn’t want anything other than this moment to last forever, his hands on her body, his gaze pinned on her face. Looking at her like he’d give her the moon if she asked.

  “Gage,” she whispered.

  He blinked, and the look was gone. “Yep?”

  She pulled back. This was probably a really bad idea. “Go get the tequila. I’ve got a lime in the fridge.”

  * * *

  Gage pressed gently on Ember’s shoulder, easing her back to the floor. The tips of his fingers were touching soft, bare skin where her shirt dipped down, and it took all of his self-control to stand up once she was settled.

  Adding shots to the wine already coursing through her system was a terrible idea. Just one or two. He probably didn’t need to be muddled any further, either. The fact that he almost pulled her into his lap just then was proof of that.

  But he wanted to celebrate. When Jay got the call from the producer that afternoon, they’d each let out an expletive-laden howl, then exchanged a fist pump and a bro hug before agreeing that they needed to head to the city a day early. The city where their dreams were going to come true.

  Jay talked about hitting a couple of clubs, but as they headed down the southbound freeway, Gage knew he wanted a more private celebration. Jay’s brother lived downtown, so he didn’t feel guilty tapping out at the subway line. He told his drummer they’d catch up the next day for sound check, and grabbed the next westbound car toward Ember.

  His best friend. His first crush. There was no one else he wanted to share his news with.

  “Gage? Do you need a hand?” She was steadier on her feet than she’d been on her knees. Maybe the wine had just gone to her head for a minute.

  “I got it.”

  She leaned across the peninsula that separated the small kitchen from the living room of her equally small apartment. He ducked his head into the fridge, ostensibly searching for a lime that was right in front of him. He actually needed a minute to talk himself out of proposing body shots. Fuck, he’d been spending too much time with musicians lately. One glimpse of her cleavage and his mind was in the gutter.

  Liar. He didn’t need a revealing t-shirt to think of Ember and sex. When she’d answered the door, all soft and comfy in sweats, that did it for him too. When she’d hugged him, her soft breasts pressed up against him without any stiff barriers, he’d wanted to slide his hands up her bare back, then curve around and cup—

  “Are you sure?” All of a sudden, she was right there beside him, her soft, small hand on his arm, and he jerked his head up, smashing the top of his skull against the freezer door handle.

  “Motherfucker!” He stumbled back, bumping into the fridge door with a loud clatter, and clamped a hand to what felt like a suspiciously wet spot on his head.

  “Oh my god, your head.” Ember followed him the short two feet across her galley kitchen, pressing up against his side to look at the wound. “Shit. Double sh—you need a bandage. At the very least.” She winced. “I’m so sorry.”

  Not her fault he’d wandered into a distracting fantasy moment. Maybe her fault for being so completely uninterested in him that all he had was said fantasy, but it’s not like he’d ever tested that question. He wasn’t willing to risk their friendship. “It’s okay, baby girl.”

  She bit her lip.

  “Okay, no nicknames, got it.”

  “It’s not any nickname. Just that one. I’m not that tiny girl in grade nine anymore.” She turned and disappeared into the hallway for a second before reappearing with a first aid kit. “I’m a grown up. With skills and everything.” She shrugged. “I don’t like that you still see me as a kid.”

  Wow. She had that all wrong, but he couldn’t very well correct her without opening a can of worms. Instead, he quietly braced himself on his forearms and ducked his head so she could use those skills to quickly and efficiently nurse him back to health. He hissed when she swiped an antiseptic pad over the cut, but quieted immediately when she pressed her fingers on either side of the stinging spot. He loved her hands on his head. There was something just right about her touch, an innocent intimacy that promised she’d always be there for him.

  He didn’t have that from anyone else. His mom had been the only other person in his life to love him without reservation, and she was gone.

  “All better. It’s actually just a little scrap, but it bled like a…well, that’s better left unsaid.” She took a deep breath. “How about that drink now?”

  “We don’t have to.”

  “Are you kidding me? Yes, we totally do! The pizza’s absorbed the wine, I’m feeling good, and the night is still young. Let’s do this.” She reached into the fridge and grabbed the lime from the top shelf. “I was going to make Mexican tomorrow night, but drinking Mexican tonight sounds like a way better plan.”

  She moved around the kitchen with remarkable agility for someone who had been quite tipsy just a few minutes earlier, taking a knife from a drawer and a cutting board from beside the microwave. A few chops later, she proudly presented eight thin lime wedges on a plate in her right hand, and in her left, she brandished a salt shaker. Above them both, her smile glittered like a thousand fairy lights on a midsummer night.

  “You’re on.” He added the silent baby girl in his head. “Grab some shot glasses.”

  Her smile wavered for a second. “Uhm. I don’t think I have any.”

  That shot glasses made up most of the glassware in his cupboard, in the basement apartment he occupied in his grandmother’s house…that was reason enough that he shouldn’t be thinking about messing around with Ember.

  It wouldn’t be messing around. The thought thundered through his head before he could re-focus on the task at hand. There wasn’t much of Gage that was angelic, but that sliver of his personality managed to rear up to push back against the rest of his being. Yes it would, dipshit. And it wouldn’t get that far anyway, because you’d just freak her out.

  Which is what he was already doing, by the look on her face. Her brow pulled together, and up as well, as her lips parted as if to ask—

  “What the fuck, eh?” He laughed, pushing as much carefree distraction into his voice as possible. “We don’t need shot glasses.”

  “No, it’s okay, I think I have one somewhere.” Ember shot him one last confused glance before turning to rummage in a different cupboard. “Ah ha!” She held up a garish souvenir from Niagara Falls. “We can share, right?”

  “Sure, why not.” He willed his dick to pay attention to the teensy tiny angel on his right shoulder.

  “You want to go first?”

  He nodded, and reached for the glass. His fingers drifted around hers, and she took a deep breath at the same moment. He squeezed her hand before lifting the glass out of her grip. “You don’t need to do a shot, you know.”

  This time her look was more startled than confused. “That wasn’t—okay. Come on, let’s do this.”

  He sprinkled salt on the beefy
part of his hand between his thumb and forefinger, and poured himself a shot. Up and over and back it went, and he neatly reached for a lime wedge as he tapped the glass back to the counter.

  Excitement spread across Ember’s face as she reached for the glass. “Nicely done, hot shot.” She prepped her own hand, then paused with the glass halfway to her wide, happy mouth. “Here’s to this guy I went to high school with, who’s going to be a rock star.”

  He watched as she licked, then swallowed, her shoulders squaring against the bite of the alcohol as it burned a path to her bloodstream. Fearless girl. Woman. Damn, he needed to stop doing that. He watched as she licked lime juice from her lips, inhaled a happy breath, and reached for the bottle again.

  “Whoa there, Em—”

  She winked. “Who says this is for me?” The tip of her tongue darted between her teeth as she carefully measured an ounce of the clear liquid. Her gaze flicked up to meet his and white hot want flooded his chest at her expression. Like she was offering him so much more than a drink. She swallowed hard and reached for the salt shaker, blindly laying out a line on her skin. Without breaking eye contact, she lifted her hand.

  “Ember…”

  “Take the shot, Gage.”

  He cleared his throat and leaned forward, bowing his head over her hand. His nose grazed the skin on her hand before his tongue reached her, and she sucked in a breath. They’d hugged, snuggled and even slept in the same bed together, but never had he been so aware of her bare skin. Because he was about to lick it. Because he wanted to lick a hell of a lot more than just her hand.

  He wished he could smell her, instead of the overwhelming combination of alcohol and citrus. He let his tongue go soft and wide as he took his time laving her flesh through the salt, regretfully pulling up at her knuckle. If only he could do that again and again, without the drink.

  But that was the point, and if they weren’t both intoxicated, it wouldn’t have happened at all. He accepted the rim of the glass against his mouth. In the background, a fuzzy Ember licked her lips and concentrated hard on the angle of the glass. Too hard, and not quick enough. He reached up to help her tip it back faster. The shot burned, but it wasn’t his first time drinking tequila. He didn’t need the lime. Wouldn’t have taken it if it wasn’t right there, balanced on her fingertips.

  This was a dangerous game. He shook his head, knowing he needed to stop, but then her touch was on his mouth, and all thoughts ceased.

  “Open up,” she breathed, and he did. She pinched the citrus wedge, spritzing a bit of juice on his face, and her giggle made him laugh. “Sorry.”

  “It’s oka—” The words caught in his throat as she leaned forward and swiped at the drop of lime juice on his cheek with the tip of her tongue.

  “Yummy.” She pulled back just enough to look at him. Breath puffed over her swollen pink lips, and he had to agree, that was probably the right word. But he couldn’t be sure…

  “What does it taste like?” A stupid line. Surely she’d laugh.

  But she didn’t.

  “You tell me,” she whispered, closing the gap again, this time settling her lips on his. With cute hesitation, she paused there for a moment, then edged her tongue out to share the lime juice.

  With a groan, he flexed his hands in the air behind her back. He wanted to haul her hard against his body and claim her mouth, but she was drunk. This was a terrible idea.

  “Gage?” His name on a reedy, uncertain breath, and he was done. He hoped she just didn’t hate him in the morning.

  He threaded one hand into her hair and stroked the other across the small of her back, seeking out the patch of bare skin that had tantalized him for far too long. He pulled her close, making his interest obvious, and pressed his mouth hard against hers.

  He savoured the taste of her lower lip for a moment before pulling back just enough to mutter a question he needed answered. “Are you sure?”

  She nodded and opened for him, wordlessly begging for his tongue. She got that and more as he swept into her mouth, kissing her with the fervour of the high school boy that never got to taste his best friend, mixed with the grown up knowledge of how to make a kiss into a promise of more to come.

  His back rocked against the edge the counter as he curled himself around her small body. She arched into him, meeting him stroke for stroke, with her tongue and her hands and her raw desire. It wasn’t until her knuckles grazed his abs and her fingers dipped below his belt that he managed to stop himself. With a growl, all of him protesting except the angel on his shoulder who was half wasted on tequila himself, Gage released his hungry hold on Ember and wrapped his hands around her wrists instead. “No.”

  “What?” Her eyes were glazed over, unfocused, and he wanted to believe it was lust, but he knew better.

  “Come on, baby girl. Let’s get you to bed.”

  “No.” The word ripped out of her like a sob. “Gage, it’s okay. I want to.”

  “Oh, believe me, I do too. But not like this.” He took a deep breath and lifted her hands, kissing first one palm and then the other. “Come on.”

  Before he lost his resolve, he marched her into her room, then turned back to the hall closet in search of a spare pillow and blanket. If he was lucky, it would be the last night he’d sleep on her couch.

  “You don’t need those,” she whispered behind him, her soft hands pressing against his back. “Come sleep with me.”

  They’d done that before, during house parties, when the couches were otherwise occupied, but never like this. “We shouldn’t.”

  She shook her head. “We won’t do anything. Just…come and hold me, okay? Promise me that nothing’s going to change because of this.”

  He jerked his head back. “Nothing…what? You know, never mind. We’ll talk in the morning.”

  She winced, but nodded and spun around, dodging into the door frame. Definitely drunk. He told his dick to pay attention and stay down until dawn. An instruction which was promptly ignored as she pulled off her t-shirt and sauntered over to her dresser. All he could see was her bare back, bisected by a thin black line of spandex and clips. Clips that would free her breasts, for him to cup in his hands, and love with his mouth. He sucked in a breath and watched as she tugged on a new, bigger t-shirt, then wiggled her arms in and out of the shirt until she accomplished what he wanted to do more than anything else in the world—her bra was off and dangling from the tip of her finger.

  “Can I take my pants off?” She glanced back at him over her shoulder and giggled. She was flipping from nervous to flirty and back again, fueled by half a bottle of champagne and a single tequila shot, which made her a pretty cheap drunk. And since she was drunk, he would be noble even if killed him. But he wasn’t dead, and she wasn’t so drunk he couldn’t have a little fun.

  “Be my guest. Can I join you?” He wrenched his belt open and flicked the top button on his jeans with his thumb.

  “No fair, you wouldn’t let me do that.” She pushed her jeans to the floor, and turned around. Her oversized shirt drifted around the top third of her thighs, high enough to tease but not show him anything good. Well, except the soft expanse of creamy thighs pressed together. That was pretty awesome.

  “If you still want to in the morning, baby girl, it would be my pleasure.”

  “Really?” Her voice lifted half a register, and he grinned.

  “Yes, really.” He crossed her bedroom in two large strides and paused in front of her. “I just want this to be…well, not a drunken mistake.”

  She reached for his belt, but he tapped her hands. “Get into bed and turn off the lights.”

  “Wait, I need to brush my teeth!” Good to the bone, even when drunk.

  She trotted past him out the door and into the bathroom. As she rinsed and spit, leaning over the sink, her shirt pulled up in the back.

  “Pink,” he muttered.

  “What?” She glanced at him in the mirror.

  “Your toothbrush.” He cleared his throat. Lam
e cover, but whatever. “It’s pink.”

  “My favourite colour.” She pulled another one out from the drawer, still in its package. “You want?”

  He chuckled and accepted it, a random thought crossing his mind that in the morning, they’d be hard pressed to know which was which. Hopefully by then, it wouldn’t matter if they shared a toothbrush.

  They drifted back to the bed, holding hands this time, and she flipped out the lights after they were both tucked in. In the dark, he reached across and pulled her against him. “My favourite too, you know.”

  “What?” Her question was mumbled into his shirt, soft and slow. At least one of them would sleep tonight.

  “Pink.” His dick flexed. “It’s my favourite colour, too.”

  * * *

  Awareness dribbled slowly into Ember’s mind. A heavy warmth surrounded her, and she didn’t want to open her eyes. This muzzy satisfaction felt way too good to wake up. Her eyelids lifted ever so slightly, letting in thin shafts of light between her lashes. The warmth shifted, and with a start she realized someone was spooning her. A male someone, who was sporting an erection.

  Gage.

  She blinked one eye open, all the way this time. His arm was tossed over her body and under her arm, his hand resting on the sheet in front of her face. His breath was steady and slow against her back.

  She’d slept with Gage.

  Holy crap, she’d kissed him. A swarm of butterflies awoke in her stomach. And he’d kissed her back.

  And when he woke up…

  She needed to go brush her teeth. And maybe throw up. She hadn’t drunk that much, but her nerves were rioting. What if he regretted it? She shut her eyes, willing herself not to panic.

  Behind her, he shifted, and she froze, which was entirely the wrong thing to do, because he pulled his arm tight around her. “You’re awake, baby girl.”

  “I am.”

  “How d’you feel?” His voice, warm and sleepy, wove its way into her heart.

  “Okay.”

  “Are you hungry?”

  “Uhm…” She considered the thought of adding food to her stomach. “Yes?”