“You should be dancing with the hot blonde at the bar,” I mention.
A sober me would proceed to babble away, attempting to kill any idea of this dance being anything, but friendly. I’m not sober. I’m blitzed. And instead of talking, I step into his space and lay my head against his chest. He stills for a moment. I gather he’s surprised by how I just pressed myself against him, but it only takes a second for him to wrap his arms around me.
I danced with Vick a few nights ago, and it was wonderful, but it was nothing like this. The comfort I feel at this moment is something I haven’t felt in a long time. I know it’s all in my head, the attraction between Connor and me, but I let myself relax in his arms, closing my eyes I let him lead us. After a moment, his hand comes up and rests on the back of my head and to my complete shock, he kisses my temple. I breathe in deeply and exhale, letting all the worry melt away.
When the song ends, we stop moving, and I gaze up at him. The people surrounding us seemingly disappearing. His eyes are dark, and his expression is stoic; I have no idea what he’s thinking, but I’d give anything to know. I have no idea what I’m thinking. All I know is I’m planted in this spot; I can’t move. When he brushes some hair from my face, I tilt my head toward his touch, seeking more. His hand freezes, holding its place against my cheek before he pulls it away and inhales deeply, his large chest rising with the effort.
“Would you like to head home?” he asks, not meeting my gaze.
I blink a few times as the moment dissipates. Looking to the floor, I clear my throat and answer, “Yes. That’s probably a good idea.” I don’t know what just transpired between us. Was it just me? Did I imagine all . . . that? Whatever it was. Either way, the high I’ve been riding all night dwindles away, and I’m left feeling disappointed. All I want to do is go home and crawl in bed.
Connor takes my hand and leads me off of the dance floor like I’m a child. We grab my small purse, and I scan the bar for our server as I dig through it looking for my debit card.
“It’s already taken care of,” Connor voices and I twist my mouth in annoyance.
“It was supposed to be my treat,” I point out.
With a sideways smirk, he replies, “Count it toward the meals I owe you.”
We say goodbye to Lexi, who swears she’s grabbing a cab and heading home. It’s dark out, but the night is warm, and I rest my head against Connor’s back the entire ride. Once we’ve pulled in the driveway and put the helmets away, we walk inside. Jeff hasn’t finished the plumbing and Connor wants to shower before he goes to bed. After an awkward moment, I hug him.
“Thanks for a fun night. I liked riding the bike.”
“I’ll have to take you out again sometime.”
“Well . . . night.”
“Night, Demi.”
Once I’m upstairs, I change into my night clothes and realize I’m still really drunk as the room seems to be spinning a bit. I’m going to hate myself in the morning if I don’t take some ibuprofen and drink a glass of water. Stumbling back downstairs, not bothering to turn on the kitchen light, I open my cabinet where I keep my pain relief medication, then go to the cabinet where I keep my glasses. As I’m pulling a glass down, I hear, “Oh shit.”
The glass falls from my hand as I whip around, and in the limited light from the moon shining through the kitchen window, I find Connor, naked, rushing back toward the bathroom until he hears the glass crash against the floor and turns back, using both hands to cover his manhood.
Damn.
He really needs both hands?
Stupidly, I move just as he yells, “No, no, no.”
But it’s too late. I step on the broken glass at my feet and slice my toe open.