6. Lolly
six
Lolly
I follow Jay through the crowd, the stench of sweat and booze thick in the air.
Not entirely offensive, but definitely not my favorite. The kitchen is quiet, offering a subdued hum that’s an interesting shift from the incessant thrumming of the music in the adjoining room.
“Bingo.” Jay says as he reaches the refrigerator. “Want one?” He gestures toward the drinks, doing his best Vanna White.
“Absolutely.” A grin paints my lips without my permission. “Dealer’s choice.”
He hands me a bottle of beer and tosses me his bottle opener with a dare in his eyes. Snagged it, bitch.
His eyes widen in mock surprise. “The reflexes are still on point, I see.”
“Just because I don’t appear to be paying attention, doesn’t mean I’m completely aloof.” I roll my eyes and follow him back into the madness.
Jay holds his drink above the crowd as he worms his way through to the center of the chaos, exactly where he wants to be. I trail him, appreciating the wake he leaves behind. A small fissure in the undulating sea of bodies.
“Hell yeah, my man. This is what I’m talking about.” His smile grows, eyes twinkling with mischief. He takes a sip before raising his glass again. “Cheers,” he says.
I oblige, unable to hear the clinking of our glasses but appreciating the gesture nonetheless.
I was buzzed before we left, the drink in my hand solidifying the quick lowering of my inhibitions. We’ve earned it—busted our asses to maintain good grades and stayed out of any drama. We’re not strait-laced by any means, but we’ve calmed down a hell of a lot since high school.
My body moves to the rhythmic bass, the melancholic chords familiar but not a tune I’m certain I’ve met before. Just a subtle summoning, enough to convince me it’s okay to exist here.
We dance for what feels like minutes, but could easily have been hours. My feet hurt and I’m sweating. “Jay, I’m going to get another drink and find a bathroom,” I yell over the music.
He’s dancing, sandwiched between two women, and gives me the go ahead with a wink and a nod. It’s all the assurance I need.
I make my way back to the kitchen and appreciate the cooler air as I grab another cold drink. Slowly making my way through the expansive great room, I find the adjoining hallway and search for a restroom.
Couples litter the hall, all hands and mouths. Licking and sucking. Pretty sure one couple is actually fucking but hey, I’m not one to judge. Sex is beautiful.
I find a closed door at the end of the hall and wait a few beats before knocking.
I knock again and grin, wiggling my fingers to catch the light, loving this nail polish choice.
Still nothing.
I open the door and step inside.
I stop in my tracks when a hard body and cold liquid crash into my chest.
“Oh fuck, I’m so sorry,” he whines.
He’s a few inches shorter than me with messy brown curls and searing green eyes. His cheeks redden as he clumsily reaches for the hand towel.
“It’s fine,” I say, my voice reassuring.
He sets what’s left of his drink down on the countertop and begins dabbing at my shirt with the towel like he’s going to miraculously soak up both his beer and embarrassment.
My black cotton crop-top will certainly live to see another day, but the fury with which he’s trying to soak up the drink is pretty damn cute.
“No, oh my god,” he stammers, still deep in concentration, not once meeting my gaze. “I’m seriously so sorry.”
I grab his hand gently, “It’s truly okay. It’s not that big of a deal.” I say with a small smile. “It will dry.”
His eyes meet mine, glancing up at me through thick lashes, cheeks reddening even further.
The warm glow cast by the expensive lighting pulls out the golden tones in his hair and accentuates his eyes. Freckles dot his cheeks in the most curious pattern. He’s beautiful.
He drops the hand holding the towel.
His lifeline.
His gaze follows, his feet suddenly more interesting than my face or chest.
“I don’t believe we’ve met,” I say, encouraging him to look at me again.
“I’m Oliver.”
He dares a glance back up at me, this time holding my gaze.
“Bailey,” he answers sheepishly, cheeks still flushed.
“Well, Bailey. Although the circumstances could have been better, I am pleased to meet you,” I say teasingly.
“Fuck,” he groans and rakes a hand through his curls, then pulls it down his face as if he can remove the regret.
That’s adorable.
I step aside in case he’s waiting for an exit, not wanting him to feel trapped. There’s something familiar about him that I can’t quite put my finger on. I think back, wondering where besides as a random passerby on campus I could have seen him.
He doesn’t make a move to leave but instead, picks up his drink and swallows the last few sips in one gulp before throwing it in the trashbin.
“Man, I feel so bad. I’m such a fucking clutz. Seriously. How can I make it up to you?”
Tell me you’re into guys and suck my dick right here in this bathroom, I think.
Instead, I say, “Honestly? It was worth it. What if I hadn’t met you otherwise?”
I pause, a sudden memory brought to the forefront of my mind and a smile pulls at my face. “Wait, are you the guy who was chasing after his suitcase on move-in day?” I ask.
His cheeks redden, the warmth spreading up to his ears.
“Fuck, yes,” he sighs, running his fingers through his hair. “That was me in all my glory.”
I laugh, shaking my head in disbelief.
“Small world,” I say.
“Yeah,” he says, brows raised. His gaze falls from my eyes to my mouth then back up again.
Well, well. What do we have here?
Is my green-eyed stranger on the same page?
I take another step out of the pathway of the door, testing the water with certainty.
Again, he doesn’t move.
Maybe he doesn’t see it for the offering that it is.
Fuck it.
I take a step toward him. “So, tell me, Bailey,” I pause.
Closer.
“What are you looking to get into tonight?”
We’re standing so close now that if I took a deep breath, my chest would brush his. If I were to lean my head down, our lips would touch.
But I stay here, in this space.
Waiting.
His breath hitches and the rise and fall of his chest becomes more pronounced.
His eyes fall to half mast, questions dancing across their green seas.
Yes, green eyes.
“I, um, I wasn’t exactly looking for anything but I’m not—opposed to something if that makes sense?” His reply is pressured, his voice trembling.
The door is unlocked. Anyone could walk in at any moment and that should scare me but it doesn’t.
It thrills me.
I live for this shit.
Stolen moments, anxious glances.
Keeping my eyes on him, I tilt my head down slowly.
Intentional.
“Would you be opposed to something like this?” I let my nose graze his cheek, a featherlight touch.
His eyes widen and then his lids fall, heavy with the weight of his decision.
“What will it be, green eyes?” I whisper, my lips against his jaw as I pull back to gauge his reaction.
“N—no.” He whispers.
“No?” I echo. This is your last chance, pretty boy. “You would not,” I pause, meeting his gaze, “be opposed to something like this?”
“No.” He says with finality.
I grab his chin, my thumb slowly guiding his face to the light. I want a better look before I claim what’s mine.
He shivers, closing his eyes slowly before opening them to me again. His lips part on a whisper.
I capture that whisper. His beautiful mouth is soft against mine. Kind, even. I revel in the taste of him. Beer—and citrus.
I take what he’s giving me.
My tongue drags across his lips in encouragement and he opens for me, a moan escaping.
I take that as well.
I own it.
Twist it.
Make it mine.
His hand meets my chest as his other finds purchase on the countertop. Making him appear as dizzy as I feel.
I pull his bottom lip into my mouth, gently running my tongue across it in greeting before giving it back.
He responds greedily, fisting my shirt and pulling me toward him. Our tongues clash, a dance of lust and unmade promises. He arches into me, his hard length unmistakable as it grinds against my own.
I fist a handful of his hair and angle his mouth precisely where I want him. The kiss is deep, and thorough—rushed but not forced.
He feels so fucking good pressed against me that I want to claim him right here.
Right now.
“Fuck,” I groan into his mouth. Kissing him is lyrical and I am captivated.
A wordsmith and his muse.
Goddamn.
He pulls away suddenly, “Sorry, I—I have to go.”
I stand in confused stillness. Please don’t go.
“Sorry. So sorry.” He stammers clumsy words on his way out the door. Not once looking behind as he stumbles down the hall. No goodbyes. Just wishes and empty longing.