Huh . . . I guess I was, back then, before Stew.
“Anyway, when you showed up at that party, dressed like a rock-n-roll princess, I knew I was done for. I couldn’t resist you any longer. I drank, trying to build up the courage to talk to you. Seeing you hanging out with Stew and all his fucking losers just drove me to drink more. I hated seeing his arm on your shoulder, his eyes eating you up when you weren’t looking.” He looks down and I follow his gaze to see his knuckles go white gripping his mug. “I wanted to pull you away from him.”
A shiver runs up my spine at the menace in his voice. “Did you?”
His cobalt eyes find mine. “I didn’t have to. You came to me.”
I blink, trying to crank back in my memory and remember. I wanted to talk to him that night, told myself I wasn’t going to leave until I did, but don’t recall actually doing it.
“I knew you were pretty wasted, but I had no clue just how wasted you were until . . .” He turns away, his face flushed. “Until later.”
I sift my hand into my hair at my nape and massage the back of my neck, trying to recall that night. “I don’t remember any of that. I must’ve made a total fool of myself.”
“Not at all.” He wipes something invisible off the tabletop. “You were sweet. We talked about music and cars, Mrs. Caffrey’s wig.”
A tiny grin ticks my lips. “Her wig was hideous.”
“It really was.” He chuckles, but his laughter dies when his eyes meet mine. “We were talking and laughing. Then out of nowhere you just leaned in, wrapped your arms around my neck, pushed up on your tiptoes, and kissed me.”
My cheeks flame and I duck my chin. “Oh wow, I’m, uh . . . I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” He tilts his head, his eyes on my lips. “I loved it.”
Why does reliving this now feel like cheating? He couldn’t possibly have feelings for me now, nine months pregnant with another man’s baby and his ring on my finger.
I bury my face in my tea and take a long sip.
He shakes his head and blinks. “Anyway, one thing led to another, and it was like the more we kissed the more we needed. Two years of pent-up feelings mixed with liquor, and I was helpless to stop it.”
The baby does what feels like a backbend, and I try to rub away a low cramp. “And by ‘it’ you mean . . .?”
“We found an empty room in the house. I swear I didn’t plan to let things get as far as they did. I just wanted to get you alone for a little while, kiss you without an audience, but when I tried to slow down”—he shakes his head, a tiny smile curling his lips—“you told me you loved me.”
I groan and drop my head into my hands. God, that’s totally something I’d do. I was so infatuated with him I’m sure I did that.
A soft chuckle calls my eyes to his. “Hey, don’t be embarrassed. It was amazing. I mean . . .” He shakes his head, his eyebrows dropped low with the seriousness of whatever he’s about to say. “No one in my life had ever loved me, and there I was locked in a dark room with this gorgeous girl who has awesome taste in music, and she loved me. I can’t tell you how long I held on to that.”
That’s sweet in a sad way. “I don’t understand. How could I have been aware enough to do all this, but not remember?”
“I didn’t say you didn’t slur it.” He shrugs one shoulder. “You were stumbling and giggling. It wasn’t until about halfway through that I realized you were—God, this is so humiliating.” He runs one big hand over his face.
“We’ve come this far, Trip.” As much as I don’t want to be witness to my teenage self’s embarrassment, I have to know. “Might as well put it all out there.”
“I didn’t have a lot of experience back then. I was pretty fucked up myself, but looking back on it, I’m pretty sure you were slipping in and out of consciousness.”
I cringe. “That’s awful.”
“By the time it was over, you were out. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to wake you up, but you were totally gone. I checked to make sure you were breathing, heart was still beating, but I panicked. I dressed you as best I could, pulled the covers up over you, and tried to figure out what the fuck to do.” His hand fists into his hair as if he’s reliving that night eighteen years ago. “I sat there for what felt like hours when someone knocked on the door. It was that girl, the one I’d seen you talking to earlier.”
Oh shit, what was her name? “Daphne . . .”
“Yeah.” He nods. “I think she figured out pretty quickly what had gone on. She seemed . . . I don’t know . . . worried about you? Or concerned? I wanted to get you out of there, get you home, but I couldn’t exactly carry you out of there unconscious and thrown over my shoulder.”