Page 3 of Sweet Little Lies
My throat croaks out a question of confusion, but it comes out with more bite than I mean. “What am I doing here?”
She flinches, toying with the hem of her shirt.
If it’s one thing I know with one hundred percent certainty, it’s that Mica would never let me sleep with her when I’m drunk. She’s made it very clear that she won’t tolerate my stupidity when I’m stoned or completely wasted off my ass.
But that doesn’t mean we haven’t found opportune times to make out when I’ve been sober. See, that’s the thing. I know she likes me and finds me attractive, but every time I try to move further than copping a feel, she puts the brakes on. It’s understandable, I guess. She may have some feelings for me, but there’s a lot going on in her life that she hasn’t told me about. According to her best friend, Ainsley, Cade’s fiancée, there are things related to her family life that make it difficult for Mica to get close to anyone.
Especially, me.
Mica blushes as I stare at her intently and looks everywhere except in my eyes. She pulls her arm out from my grasp, and even though I don’t want to let her go, I don’t want her to feel like a trapped bird.
Mica tugs at her dark, ink-colored braid that lays over her left shoulder. Oh, what I would do with that braid if I had the chance. Yank, tug, pull and unlace it so I could slide my fingers through her silky locks as I fucked her from behind. Or have her underneath me, spread wide open and willing.
Shit, this isn’t doing my hard on any favors.
She shrugs at my question “You were blabbering incoherently about going home, but you were in no position to drive. Christian took your keys and then you threw a tantrum and told him you wouldn’t go with him,” she pauses, a cheeky smile forming on her lips. “You informed everyone within a five-mile radius that I was the only one who could drive you home.”
I clear my throat, hanging my head in my hand, embarrassed to hear what an insufferable dope I was. Not that I’m embarrassed about wanting to go home with her or letting everyone at the party know it, but I regret putting her on the spot like that. She doesn’t like being in the spotlight or the center of attention.
My fingers sift through my disheveled bedhead hair, trying to remember any of what happened, but coming up empty. I’m sure I was a sight to behold. I get insanely loud and obnoxious when I drink. Just like my dad, except without the anger issues.
Shaking my head, I try my luck at standing again and this time land with some solid footing. Maybe that’s just Mica’s influence. When she’s around me, I feel stronger. Grounded. More in control. Cared for.
There’s barely a breath of space between us, but she doesn’t retreat, holding her ground looking up at me with amusements and curiosity sparkling in her eyes. Taking advantage of the opportunity to properly thank her, I wrap my arms around her, pulling her into my arms. She comes willingly.
I’m a six-foot-four basketball player and Mica barely reaches five feet on her tiptoes, but somehow, she fits perfectly in my arms. She smells of cinnamon and cloves – maybe because she’s been making breakfast in the kitchen. But whatever it’s from, it’s warm and comforting. Sweet and intoxicating.
I hate that I may have put her out last night and took advantage of her generosity by making her drive me home – or in this case, to her place – and took her bed from her.
“I’m sorry if I acted like a dick last night. You could’ve said no.”
The truth, I probably argued my way into her bed. There’s a good chance I made a spectacle of myself, as per usual, and she was just doing what she could to triage the situation. Ever since we’ve become friends, that’s what she’s done. She’s my very own caretaker.
Mica steps out of my embrace and I feel the loss acutely. She waves me off as if I’m foolish to say such a thing.
“I highly doubt that I could have said anything that wasn’t in agreement,” she cajoles. “You were beyond adamant. You passed out almost as soon as you hit the bed. Well-”
I quirk my eyebrow. “Well, what?”
Her cheeks burn a bright red and I know I must’ve tried to make a pass at her.Shit.I can’t be trusted. My dick is very frisky when it’s had a lot to drink. Eh, who am I kidding? It’s frisky whenever I’m in her presence.
I’ve wanted Mica for a long time now. She’s given me small tastes here and there, but I want the whole meal. And I want to go back for seconds, and thirds, until I’m gorged on Mica.
She giggles coyly. “Well, you did work hard to convince me that you couldn’t fall asleep unless I laid down next to you. And when I did…”
Groaning, I tip my head down in humiliation, using the nickname I’d given her when we first met. “Oh shit. I’m sorry, Georgie. Whatever I did, I apologize if I made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to.”
And then it dawns on me. What if I did put the moves on her and she was too nice to tell me to stop? What if I got too pushy? What if…fuck me, I could have easily overpowered her slight frame and taken advantage of the situation.
My voice trembles and I’m shaking in fear for what I might have done in my condition. I can only hope and pray I didn’t force myself on her.
“Micaela, please tell me I didn’t force you into-”
Her head moves emphatically and reaches for my hands in hers. “No…no, Lance. You didn’t. I swear. You would never do that to me. We’re good. The only thing you did try was to kiss me and then you cuddled me for a few minutes and then passed out. I went out to sleep on the couch when you started snoring like a bear.”
She laughs over my rude behavior, but I still feel like complete shit for ruining her night, trying to persuade her to hook-up with me and then kicking her out of her own bed.
Yes, I’m a fucking douche when I’m drunk.
