CHAPTER 7

 

JC leaned forward, eyes boring into Sadie’s, those long fingers wrapped around the glass, and lifted his shot to his lower lip. 

“Slow and comfortable,” he whispered, and she swallowed against the sudden dryness in her throat. 


“Slow and comfortable.” 


He slid forward, his hips a half inch from hers, bodies separated by a thin layer of electricity and tension, and grinned from behind the shot glass.  


“One…” 


“Two…” Sadie murmured against the glass. 

“Three,” he said, and, in tandem, they leaned their heads back, slowly, leisurely, and Sadie raised the glass to her lip, eyes closed, and allowed the sweet, burning liquid flow down her throat. The act of leaning back forced their chests together, so she could feel her nipples strain against her bra, her turtleneck, her sweater, the air between them, his sweater, his shirt, his skin. They were millimeters from touching, galaxies away from each other; she felt, for a moment, like particles must feel as they approach the speed of light, that they’re moving so fast, at such dizzying speeds, that time slows down and everything takes on such clarity, such fine detail, that all that exists is anticipation of the next moment, which could arrive in moments or decades. She had all the time in the world to experience this shot, these few ounces of liquor near this improbably beautiful, impossibly sexy man, and as long as she held her breath, as long as she didn’t open her eyes and this warm liquid coursed down her parched throat, this slow, comfortable screw would go on forever, his body inches from hers, her breath mingling with his. 


But, of course, the shot glass ran dry. She tipped her head back up and faced him, eyeing the flush in his cheeks, the gleam in his eye, the smile that crept up from one rosy lip. 

“Was it good for you?” he asked. 


She grinned. “It was the slowest, most comfortable screw against a wall I’ve ever had.” 


“You ready for another?” he asked, eyebrow cocked. 

“Can you go again so soon after?” she asked, grinning. 

His eyebrow arched even higher, if that was possible. “I’ll go as often as you want me to.” 


“Well, let’s go then, cowboy,” she said. 

An hour and too many shots later, Sadie realized two things: a) she was having the time of her life; and b) she was drunk. Add a “c” for horny as hell and a “d” for half in love and she figured she had her physical, mental and emotional states pretty well wrapped up. 

She couldn’t believe him. Gorgeous, yes. Talented, yes. Sexy, But he was charming, smart, funny, and could drink her under the table, too. 

“What’s next?” he said, slamming down the shot glass and wiping the excess liquor from his chin. He’d been doing that for the last two shots, she realized—dribbling liquid and either wiping it or licking it off. She wondered if that had anything to do with the uncomfortable snugness in her panties. 


“I think you’re drunk,” she announced, slamming her shot glass down and pushing one hand against his chest. She let her hand rest for a moment, feeling the contours of his muscles beneath his shirt, then shoved him onto the barstool. 


He sprang back up, though, and stared her down. “And I think you’re drunk.” He gripped her around the waist, yanked him toward her, and suddenly their pelvises were touching, her breasts against his, her hands hanging at her sides, his nose inches from hers.  

“What if I am?” she asked, grinning. This game was fun. And mmmmmm, didn’t he feel nice. Smelled good, too.  

“Aren’t you afraid that I’ll take advantage of you? We just met.”  

Sadie became hyper-aware of the heat of his thighs through his jeans, burning into her own. 


“I think I’m more afraid you WON’T take advantage of me,” Sadie said, then clapped her hand over her mouth. Did she really say that out LOUD? 

By the look in his widened blue eyes and the height of his eyebrows, she had. 


“C’mon,” he said, leaning forward, speaking into her ear. “I’m disappointed. Would I really have to take advantage of you?” 

Her breasts were pressed fully against his chest now; her nipples felt as hard as the muscles under his sweater, and her panties surged with wetness and her ear tingled with his hot breath. 

No, indeed, the man had a point. 


“No,” she said, and touched her hands tentatively to his hips. “I don’t think you’d have to get me drunk at all.” 

They looked in each others’ eyes for a moment, so long that Sadie felt blood rush to her crotch and stay there, pooling with heat and sensation, and warmth flooded her gace and surged through her torso; she couldn’t stop watching him watch her, his hooded blue eyes fuzzy with liquor and burning with something--lust? need? He dipped his head nearer, nearer, inching so slowly so wondered if he was moving at all, but then his forehead was touching hers, and his eyes never left hers. 

“Well, in that case,” he said, and she held her breath. This was it. He was going to kiss her. He was going to kiss her and he would taste like amaretto and whiskey and vodka and whatever else they’d had so far, and he would taste like a man underneath all that, infused with warm skin-smell and hot breath, and her knees would collapse, and-- 

“In that case... I think I’d rather try my luck with you sober.” 

Sadie blinked, and realized her mouth was parted and watering, waiting for his lips, and he’d just dissed her. 

“What?” she said. She heard her voice, apouty, nine-year-old’s voice. He smiled a little, forehead touching hers. 

“We’re both a little wasted right now,” he said. “And I think we should stop.” 


“WHY?” she shouted. He laughed. 


“Because I’m a gentleman.” 


She sighed loudly then, and dropped her head back, rolling her eyes to the sky. 


“That figures,” she said, blowing a lock of hair off her forehead. He chuckled again. 


“Well, let’s at least get some water,” she said. “Straight up or on the rocks.” 


“Sounds good to me,” he said, and moments, later, they each had a bottle of water in their hands. 


Sadie had no idea what to say. Where did the game go from here? Were they finished for the night? Did her drunken display ruin her chances? 

“What should we play next?” he asked, and her immediate thought was Doctor! 


Instead, she said, “Roulette?” 


He smiled. 


“I thought you’d never ask.” 


He took her hand, tucked it into the crook of his arm, and like a couple in black tie mounting the steps to the opera, he led her to the roulette wheel. 

[::-::Back::-::][::-::Next::-::]