“Yeah. You drive her home,” the PA nods emphatically.
After a lot of cajoling I get Margo to my car, and then, after buckling her in safely, get us going down the freeway toward her apartment in the Valley. I drive as smoothly as I can while she sits, head lolling, giggling at her own mumbled speech in the passenger seat. When I pull into the parking lot at her apartment I’m just glad that it’s a two-floor complex.
“My hero,” she grins as I help her out of the car.
“Nobody’s ever called me that before—how many tequilas did you have?”
“Just one.”
“Must have been a pretty big one then.” I scoop her up in my arms and carry her in as appropriate a manner as I can manage across the lot to the doors, though Margo seems intent on draping herself around me like a flag at a parade.
“Thank god you live on the ground floor,” I say, as I rummage for her keys in her bag with one hand while keeping her from falling with the other. It’s not that I haven’t been to Margo’s place before, but when we hang out it’s usually at work functions or the occasional bar, and at the moment I can’t shake the feeling that I’m intruding a little.
“You know, you’re really fucking hot,” she slurs, giggling. My cock stirs at the brush of her lips so close to my neck, her warm breath against my skin. I have to shake it off.
“And you’re really fucking drunk,” I reply with a forced laugh, as the key finally catches and I kick the door open.
“No…I mean it,” she says as I step into her apartment, still holding her in my arms. “You’re like…the most beautiful man.”
“That’s very sweet of you,” I say, as I open a few wrong doors (closet, bathroom) until I find her bedroom. I walk in and lay her down on the bed, then pull away, setting her bag on the night table. “You should probably just rest a bit, let it pass.” I unlace her boots and ease them off gently, setting them on the floor before straightening up to go. This feels familiar, although I haven’t carried a too-drunk Margo home from a party and put her to bed since our undergrad years. “You need anything? Water, or—”
“Yeah.” Margo smiles.
“What?”
Instead of answering, she mischievously beckons me closer. I look at her, dress rolling up around her thighs, twisting her body up in the sheets, my imagination starting to whirl a little.
“Come here!” she yelps impatiently.
This could mean trouble—the problem is, I like trouble. I groan and go nearer to the bed.
“Closer,” she giggles, and I’m taken with the smile, the way she grinds into the bed…
“What?”
Her hand pulls on my shirt, her smile goes and instead her mouth is open now, weakened like she’s preparing to kiss me. I could so easily fall into her here, so easily bring my mouth onto hers, put my own hands under her clothes. I can almost taste her, appetite stirring…
Except being a real man doesn’t just mean knowing when to make a move, it also means knowing when you shouldn’t.
“Nice try,” I say, pulling back.
Margo laughs and pounds her fists onto the bed with disappointment.
“But I need to see what’s under your shirt. You still got those Grand Canyon abs, I bet.”
“Ok. That’s my cue to go,” I say, half-out the door. “See you tomorrow.”
“No! Come on! Please! I remember the view was fucking amazing. Just a little peek. A tiny little peek for old time’s sake. Come on, Owen! Don’t be an asshole. You know you want to show it off.”
I look back at her, hand on the doorknob, and find myself laughing.
“Happy now?” I say, pulling up my shirt a little way.
Margo screams and falls back onto her pillows laughing.
“I knew it! Just as perfect as that night you got locked out of the girl’s dorm,” she says, as I close the door and leave.
When I get back to my car, I’m still smiling.
Want more? Read Unprofessional now! FREE on KU!
Also by JD Hawkins
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