“You were so good, Fish.” She sighs like she’s remembering a holiday. “Like, really, really good.”
“Oh, I know. Thank you?”
“But I woke up before the best part.” She pouts. “I was so frustrated.”
“The best part?”
“Before I could see Big Fish.” She gestures vaguely downward. “I’ve been thinking about it all week. It’s very annoying that it was just there and …”
I am going to die in this elevator. My face feels like it’s on fire and my dick is at war with my brain. She’s telling me she’s been having sex dreams about me and is frustrated she didn’t get to see my dick in them, and I’m supposed to just stand here and bea gentleman about it. The doors open, thank fuck, to her floor, and I gently take her arm and guide her out. She leans into me as we walk down the corridor, and she’s still talking.
“I bet you’re incredible in bed. All those Reddit reviews can’t be wrong,” she mumbles.
“Please stop talking. For the love of hockey, please, no more,” I tell her.
“I mean, the outline of your dick is impressive, but sometimes guys with big dicks don’t know how to use them, and that is such a shame.”
“Collette.”
“What?” She looks up at me as if I’m the one with the problem.
We reach her door, thankfully without incident. “We’re here,” I tell her. She stops in front of the door and turns and looks up at me. The drunk haze shifts into something else. Her hand comes up and touches my face, her thumb running along my jaw, just like I did in the corridor.
Shit.
“You have the most beautiful eyes,” she says quietly.
The corridor is empty, and she’s looking at me like I’m the only thing in the world. Her hand is on my face, I can smell her perfume and the tequila on her breath, and every single wall I’ve built is cracking.
“You’re so fucking beautiful, Lettie.” It comes out before I can stop it. Low, honest, there’s nothing cocky about it.
Her eyes widen, then soften, and the next thing I know she grabs my shirt, pulls me down, and kisses me.
Fuck!
Not a peck, not a drunken accident. A real, full, deliberate kiss. Her mouth is warm and tastes like tequila. Her hand is still on my face, and I know I should stop this. I should absolutely stop this. She’s drunk. This isn’t real. She won’t remember.Except I don’t.I kiss her back. I kiss her because I’m weak and she’s beautiful, and her lips are soft, and she’s making this sound against my mouth that is going to haunt me for the rest of my life. My hand finds her waist, pulling her closer, and for five seconds nothing exists except her mouth on mine, her body against me, and the absolute certainty that I am fucked.
She pulls back just enough to whisper. “Come inside.”
Fuck. Um, no. She’s drunk. This isn’t how it happens for us.
“Lettie …”
Laughter erupts from the end of the corridor as a group of people spills out of the elevator, and the sound shatters everything. She blinks, startled, and the moment fractures.
“Shit,” she curses.
I take a step back, giving her space. “You’re home,” I say softly so as not to spook her. “Get some sleep.”
She stares at me for a second, confused, like she’s not sure what just happened, then she nods, fumbles with her key card, and disappears inside.
I stand in the hallway staring at her closed door, my lips still tingling. My heart is slamming against my ribs. She kissed me. She kissed me, and I kissed her back. She asked me to come inside, and I said no because it was the right thing to do, and I have never hated the right thing more than I do right now.
In the morning,I’m outside her door with two coffees, this is either brave or stupid, probably both. We need to talk about that kiss. She opens the door looking like death in an oversized hoodie, with a messy bun and sunglasses indoors. “Why are you here?” she says grumpily.
“Morning to you too. I brought you coffee.” I hold it out.
“You’re a saint.” She takes it and drinks like it’s medicine. “I’m so embarrassed,” she declares.