Page 28 of Crazy About Love (All About Love)

“Jewelry,” she says when I get hold of her wrist. She twists the ring from her sort-of-boyfriend that she wears on occasion, which I’m relieved to say isn’t as often as it used to be. “One day you’re going to give a girl jewelry, Alec, and she’s gonnadieover it.”

“I’m sure she will.”

Her dress bunches around her upper thighs, and I quickly tug it down for her before she flashes me another glimpse of the red lace underwear she’s wearing.

“I mean it.” The surprisingly hard pressure of her finger pushes against my bottom lip. “You’re gonna luversoooomuch. And she’ll luvu back.”

I wrestle her leg down and look up at her. She gives me a very alcohol-induced smile and taps my lip again.

“I got jewelry once. It didn’t…it’s not going so well.”

My throat constricts, and I watch as her eyes drop to her finger on my mouth. I hear her breath catch, feel her relaxed body twitch. The desire to hold her, comfort her, and erase the sadness that’s creeping through her drunken stupor floods through me. I let go of her leg and hold her hand, being careful not to pull it from my lip because I like it there.

“I know,” I tell her, then drop a small kiss to her fingertip. Her eyes meet mine again, and whatever she sees there…she thinks is funny as hell. Her lips open and her stomach quivers with laughter. I let out a sigh and try to get her into a seatbelt; she doesn’t want to cooperate.

After finally getting her into a semi-normal position (she’s tucked her knees under her, ass up in the air and face stuffed into the upholstery), I pull back onto the road and try to get us home in one piece.

A very long twenty minutes later, I’m helping her into the elevator and down the hallway to her apartment. Her lips have becomereallyfriendly, kissing up my shoulder and neck and sliming up my ear, which I try to wipe off discreetly as Theresa attempts to get her key in her door. I eventually do it for her.

“Okay, do you need help getting into be—”

She lunges at me, her hands flopping over my shoulders, and I stagger backward, involuntarily slamming the apartment door shut. “I want you in me.”

“Theresa,” I manage to say around her eager mouth. “You’re drunk.”

“Yep.” She leans back and smiles at me. My entire world rocks underneath my feet with the realization that she’s just kissed me. That we basically had our first kiss and I’m not even sure if she knows it.

Her nails scratch the back of my neck and she pulls me in, I think to whisper in my ear, but the alcohol has taken her volume control.

“Take advantage,” she says, and there are several parts of me that want to take her up on it. “Because this won’t happen when I’m sober.”

And there it is. The sobering shot straight into the vein that makes me pull away from her advances, no matter how much I ache to accept them.

“Come on, drinky,” Iactuallywhisper. She hangs on me willingly, and I’m not sure if it’s because she thinks I’m taking advantage or if she needs my support in order to stand upright. That’s the cold, hard truth of this night—there’s a good chance she won’t remember a thing tomorrow morning because she’s so blissfully unaware of anything right now.

Her lips are still fighting to get hold of mine, and they succeed a few times, but not for long. She giggles and makes noises that weaken my resolve as I unfold a towel and try to get it on the bed while she’s still in my arms. I end up falling to the mattress, taking her with me. Her body relaxes under my full weight, and…two seconds. Two seconds pass while I fight the temptation to stay right here, and it’s both the longest two seconds and the shortest two seconds of my life.

“Wait,” she says as I push up on my arms. Her knee slides up my thigh and rests against my hip.

“What?”

“It feels good,” she says, warm breath washing over my face. “You on top of me.”

“Theresa…” I want to tell her that she feels good under me. I almost do. But she leans up, and instead of fighting her off, I pull her in. I need a kiss between us that says everything I feel. I kiss her with passion and heat and conflict and confusion and words that I can’t say out loud because I’m terrified of getting hurt again. I know this won’t go anywhere, yet I kiss her anyway. She’s no match for my enthusiasm; in her drunken state she’s blissfully unaware of the repercussions this will have.

“Take them off.” Her hands have found my jeans, and she’s running her palm up and down. I beg some of the blood to come back to the brain in my head. Because this isn’t how I want to do this. And most important, if this did happen, things would change for the worse. I can see it all—her waking up naked beside me, confused and full of regret, while I’d feel like absolute shit for taking advantage of one of my best friends when I knew—Iknowshe’s too drunk to do this right now.

“Theresa…,” I say, shaking my head and easing her hand away.

“Stay.”

I clench my jaw, push myself off her, and opt for sitting on the edge of the bed so I can tuck her in, prying her wandering hands off me.

“You need…you need to sleep.”

She lets out a long sigh and her arms grow lazy. Her body melts into the bedding and her eyelids start to droop. I quirk a half smile at her before planting a soft kiss on her forehead.

“I like this,” she says so softly I’m not even sure if I hear it. “I like the feel of…of you.”

My beating heart crashes behind the wall I’ve put up tonight, and I run my thumb over her cheek as her eyes fall all the way closed. The paint from my thumb stains her skin, which is beautiful and imperfect, just like she is. I’m tempted to lie down next to her, sleep in the same bed, and breathe in her scent and her everything before she wakes up and regrets what she’s done tonight.

Her chest rises and falls, her painted and curled hair tumbling over the pillow. I still love her, and I don’t know if I can ever stop loving her. Distance only makes the times when there is absolutely no distance that much harder. And I don’t want to just love her. I want to fall in love with her—dating her, kissing her, sleeping next to her, making love to her. I want to do all those things, and not just with anyone. I just wish she wanted those things too—when she’s sober.

Something creaks by the closet, breaking me out of my reverie. I reach over and click off Theresa’s light, letting her disappear into the blackness so that it makes it easier to leave. I lean down, tuck a pink-stained piece of hair behind her ear, and tell her what I can’t say when she’s awake.

“I like the feel of you too.”

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