“Tyler,” I say. Again, possibly slurred, possibly unintelligible. My blurred gaze is resting on the side of his face. I like the way his stubble perfectly traces his jaw, shaved and smoothed just right, and the way the white shirt he’s wearing fits tightly against his body. I try to flutter my eyelashes at him, but he’s not even looking at me, so I do the only thing I can do. I slowly slide my body a few inches along the worktop until my legs are touching his waist. That’s when he stops focusing on the drink.
I see him swallow as he moves his eyes to my thighs. I rub my leg against his hip and I find myself pursing my lips as a rather guilty expression crosses his face. He swallows again and glances up. “What are you doing?”
“What am I doing?” I echo. Smiling as seductively as I possibly can right now, I raise my eyebrows innocently, as though I’m unaware of just what exactly I’m playing at. All the vodka seems to have boosted my confidence. Like, a lot. I have so much confidence that I’m hardly taking into consideration the fact that we’re in the middle of his apartment, in the middle of the party, in the middle of people.
“Eden.” Tyler says my name firmly, with a slight edge to his voice, as though he’s holding back from losing his temper. He takes a step to the left, away from me, breaking our touch. Quickly stealing a glance over his shoulder, he checks to ensure no one has seen. “Not here.”
“But Tyler,” I whisper. Throwing an arm over his shoulders, I reach forward with my free hand and steal the drink from him. If I were sober, there’s no way I’d drink it, given the fact that the color looks slightly off and I have no idea what’s in it, but I’m past that point. I press the cup to my lips and tilt it back, taking a long sip as I stare at Tyler over the rim. There’s definitely some vodka, maybe some rum. Cranberry juice? Whatever it is, it tastes alright, and when Tyler attempts to grab it from me, I press a hand to his chest and push him back. “No, no.”
“Eden, you’re drunk.” Tyler frowns at me for a long while. I’m not sure if he’s disappointed or pissed off, but I’m assuming it’s the latter, because he closes his eyes for a moment while he exhales.
It gives me the perfect opportunity to lean in and kiss him, so that’s exactly what I do. I loop my arms around his neck and press my lips to the stubble right on the edge of his jaw, but it doesn’t last long. He pulls away immediately and fixes me with a sharp glare.
“Eden,” he hisses, “I’m being totally fucking serious right now when I’m telling you to cut it out.”
I slide off the worktop and land a little awkwardly, but once I regain my balance I close the distance between us once more. He tries to step away from me, but he only ends up hitting his back against the door to the laundry room. I can see him panicking, his eyes flitting around the apartment through the low lighting as he tries to figure out if anyone is watching us, but I’m so drunk and so fuzzy and so desperate for him that I don’t think I care if anyone is.
“Eden,” he tries once more. His harsh tone has softened and his voice becomes a whisper. It’s difficult to hear over the sound of the music. “Start thinking straight. Do you wanna get caught? Because that’s what’s gonna happen if you don’t drop this.”
Perhaps I’d be more concerned if I were in a state to take in what he’s saying, but right now his words just don’t sink in. Right now, I’m nothing but desperate. I’m desperate to kiss him, I’m desperate to be with him, I’m desperate to finally make all of this work, and I desperately, desperately need him.
Tyler presses his lips into a firm line and reaches for my wrist, turning around and pushing open the laundry room door. He not so gently pulls me into the small room and slams the door behind us, but it’s barely audible over the sound of the party. He stands in front of me for a second or two while I watch him, waiting. For a moment, I think he might just turn and walk out, but he doesn’t. Instead, he starts to edge closer to me. He’s breathing deeply, his eyes narrowed, and he only stops moving once our bodies are touching again.
“Why are you making it so hard for me to resist?” he whispers, right before he crashes his lips into mine, his hands grasping my jaw as he pushes me back against the dryer.
He kisses me a lot differently from the way he did on Monday, back on the hood of his car. That was slow, deep. This isn’t slow. It’s fast, and eager. More fueled by some sort of sexual adrenaline as he runs his hands down my body, all over my little black dress. My knees weaken, and I’m pretty sure it’s a mixture of both the exhilaration of his lips and the alcohol. He can probably taste it on my tongue, just like I can taste the beer on his, and I eagerly kiss him back as hard and as best as I possibly can in my drunken state. My hands numbly find their way to his belt, but I’ve barely even attempted to undo it when Tyler pauses. His hands immediately latch on to mine, moving them away and pinning my wrists to the dryer behind me. I stand there, my lips parted as my breath rushes back to me, and Tyler stares at me in disbelief.