“So what, it’s like fate or something?”
“Not fate,” he said. “Just proof that sometimes it’s not the way you plan it, it’s how you make it happen.”
Her lips parted, like she was going to say something, but then in two steps she was in front of him, her hand at the back of his neck, her fingers curling in his hair as she pulled him to her for a kiss. Her lips tasted sweet, and maybe it was the slight hint of rum punch that made him feel immediately dizzy. Or maybe it was just the intoxication of touching her, of feeling the slide of her tongue against his mouth. For a second he kissed her back—he couldn’t help himself—but he pulled away before it could go any deeper.
“Lauren,” he said, “we shouldn’t—”
“I’m doing what you said.” She stood on her tiptoes to nuzzle against his jaw, her arms clinging around his neck like she was drowning and depending on him for rescue. “No more plans. Just trying to make it happen.”
He wanted her so much, it was actually painful. But he didn’t want their first time to be a quickie on her office floor, or a stolen moment while the credits rolled on a movie in the living room. And he really didn’t want it to be when she’d been drinking, and might not be clearheaded enough to know what she was doing. He didn’t want her to have any regrets afterward.
“I’m sorry I freaked out on you in your room,” she said. “But I’m not that girl anymore. I can just hook up, have some fun. I even bought condoms.”
Whoa. He didn’t know if he was more surprised that she’d taken that step, or that she’d been able to admit it without blushing.
“Tomorrow, I will be very interested in hearing more about those,” he said, “but tonight—”
She dropped her arms, his words seeming to deflate something inside her. “Right,” she said. “Tonight I’m just making a complete fool out of myself. Again.”
“No, that’s not—”
“I’m going to get ready for bed,” she said.
And with that, she shut herself inside the bathroom. Asa didn’t know what to do. He could leave—she might be tipsy, but she didn’t appear to be a danger to herself. But he also didn’t feel right leaving on this note, with her seeming to think he’d rejected her.
He’d just taken a seat on the couch when a crash from the bathroom had him jumping back up to his feet. He lifted a hand to knock on the bathroom door before dropping it back down to his side. “Everything okay?” he called instead.
Silence. Then, the door opened a crack.
“I can’t get my bra off,” she said. “This is not another come-on, I promise, just—would you help me?”
She was still wearing her shirt, which he understood was probably for his benefit, to preserve modesty. It couldn’t have made it easier to get the bra off, though. He slid his hands up the slim curve of her spine, trying to feel for the clasp with his fingers. The straps were silky smooth, the fabric of the band more textured—lace, maybe? But he couldn’t seem to locate the hook-and-eye closure.
“Ah,” he said. “This is embarrassing, but I can’t—”
She reached around, her fingers brushing his while she searched for the clasp herself. He swallowed, stepping back as he let her take over.
“Are you sure it’s not one of those ones that fastens in the front?” he asked.
He saw her hands, still under her shirt, go to the bottom of her sternum, the click of a clasp being undone letting him know he was right.
“Oh,” she said. “Well, this bra was the worst idea I’ve ever had. It makes it practically impossible to pull a—what was that movie, the eighties one about the dancer welder woman? She takes her bra off under her shirt and it’s iconic.”
“Flashdance,” Asa supplied. She’d closed the door behind her to finish getting undressed but had left it ajar enough that he could hear her perfectly. He leaned back against the wall, not wanting her to think he was trying to sneak a peek, as well.
“She wasn’t wearing one of these front-clasp ones,” Lauren said. “I’ll tell you that much. And see, I do know some movies, even if they’re from decades ago. I’m not a complete pop culture wasteland.”
The way she said that phrase, it was definitely something he’d said to her at one point. He thought about the comment she’d made during karaoke, too, the one about needing to do a reCAPTCHA to prove she wasn’t a robot. All the times he’d teased her, he’d never meant to really hurt her feelings. Now he looked back on all those moments and cringed, wondering what he’d said and how it might’ve sounded to her.
The faucet ran for a minute, and he heard her brushing her teeth. Once she’d turned the water back off, he said, “I barely knew any pop culture until I went to high school. My parents wouldn’t even let me read Harry Potter.”
She opened the door, still wiping at her mouth with a paper towel. “Really?”
“Oh yeah. Too much devil’s magic.” He touched the delicate skin of her cheekbone with one finger. “You still have . . . do you mind?”
“Mind what?”
He reached behind her to grab another paper towel, getting it wet with some warm water and a tiny drop of soap. “Close your eyes.”
“That’s the second time tonight you’ve told me to do that,” she said, but she followed his direction. He wiped gently at the shimmery makeup around her eyes, doubling over the paper towel and using the other side when he saw the streaks of glitter left behind.
“Did you feel left out?” she asked. “When you were a kid, I mean, and couldn’t read what the other kids were reading.”
“Sure,” he said. “Although maybe I should be grateful, when it comes to that particular example. I have a feeling I would’ve been a hardcore Potter fan, and then when the author showed her TERF colors it would’ve broken my heart.”
He swiped at the wetness left under her eyes, letting his thumbs linger on her skin before he crumpled the paper towel and tossed it in the trash. “All done,” he said.
Her eyes fluttered open, and for a moment she looked dazed, like she was emerging from a deep sleep. “Thank you,” she said.
A lock of her hair had fallen over her face, and he reached out to tuck it behind her ear. “I think that’s why I love Christmas so much,” he said. “My mom went all out—it was the only ‘magic’ really allowed in my house. My dad would’ve much rather been a ‘reason for the season’ kind of family, but my mom wouldn’t have it. Santa always left elaborate scavenger hunts for our big presents, we put out cookies and carrots for the reindeer every year, the works. I believed in Santa until I was twelve years old.”
“Really?”
He smiled. “I almost got into a fistfight with a kid in seventh grade over it. My older sister Becca sat me down and told me the truth for my own protection.”
He’d missed several texts that day from Becca, asking him again if he was coming to her baby shower tomorrow. But he didn’t want to think about that now, any more than he wanted to connect the bossy, overprotective sister she’d been then with the woman she would be by now, grown-up and about to bring his niece into the world. It was too painful.
“Would you want to—” she started, and then broke off.
“What?”
She rolled her eyes in a self-deprecating gesture. “I just realized, since it’s late and you don’t have your car here . . . would you want to stay? We’d just be sleeping, and we’ve slept together before. Kind of. You know what I mean.”