15 #2
By mid-afternoon, we’ve realized that everyone here—and I mean everyone—is drinking.
Massachusetts isn’t a state where you can open-carry alcohol, but when I see a uniformed state trooper accept a can of Yuengling from a kid in braces, all bets are off.
We pop into a hole-in-the-wall liquor store with a check-out line curling through the perimeter, and twenty minutes later we’re cracking open a case of hard seltzers, descending another steep hill as I spot the best thing I’ve seen all day.
“Oh my God, wait, come here.” I drag him towards a loud, wheezing twang.
“Big fan of the accordion?” he laughs.
“No, hang on. I have to send a video to Andy.” I reach the back of the crowd, take out my phone, tuck my drink into my elbow, and start recording, fighting for my life not to laugh and ruin it.
“Why?” Owen whispers.
I don’t answer until I’m happy with my footage, then I grab the rolled-up sleeve of his button-up and drag him a respectful distance away before letting myself laugh out loud.
“Right after college,” I wheeze, “Andy dated this girl who played the accordion and we called them Mr. and Mrs. Accordion for like two years after they broke up.”
“Andy, no…”
“One time we all went to a party at her house…” I can barely get the words out between gasping bursts of laughter, “...and she literally came out with it after dinner and played for us all.”
“Christ above. Was she at least good?”
“You know,” I reply, wiping away my tears with the back of a hand, “she actually wasn’t bad. But she made this super serious expression while playing and I just—”
I double over again, laughing with my whole chest to the point that it could be heard over the music even three houses down and Owen has to drag me farther away.
“I’m sorry,” I breathe. “I’m sorry. I’m such a bitch. But it was so funny. I think you maybe had to be there.”
When I finally get my limbs under control enough to type out a text to Andy, Owen reads it over my shoulder.
Lia: uh oh. hate to ruin your honeymoon but sophies got competition
Lia: [video]
A reply comes through almost immediately—so quickly there’s no way Andy actually watched it, but the preview image told the whole story anyway.
Andy: You’re the devil.
Lia: xoxo
“Maybe I should become best friends with your brother, since you’re best friends with mine,” Owen says.
“Go for it. Nolan is a big fucking dweeb but he’s also a sweetheart and a total bro. I bet you’d actually like him.”
“I do like him.”
“You should go to a Sox game together or something. That’s what men do when they hang out, right?”
“You and your rigid gender roles, Amelia,” he admonishes.
I knock into his shoulder, then he reaches over to take my hand in his. It’s warm and big and I consider making a joke about his soft, uncalloused lawyer hands but it feels nice enough that I actually don’t want to ruin it.
When the sun is low in the sky and I have matching blisters on the backs of my feet, Owen drives me home, taking a permit-only parking spot outside my building in the most reckless act I’ve ever seen from him.
“You know this weird chivalry isn’t necessary, right?” I say as we ascend my building’s front steps. “Especially not for the fifty-dollar ticket you’re about to get.”
“I don’t know, Amelia. You’ve got some pretty strict rules for conduct. I’m just erring on the side of caution.”
My smile is a knowing tease when we reach the top step. “And I’m not inviting you in.”
“You’re not, huh?” His expression is just as knowing and twice as cocky.
“You’re my best friend’s brother, remember?” My palms come to rest on his chest, his wrap around my waist. “If we have a bad one-night stand, we’ll be stuck with years of awkward birthday parties.”
“Who says it would be bad?”
“Well, I know I would be good, but I’m gonna need a bit more data on you first.”
“Oh, you are?” he asks.
“Mhm.”
The sky behind him is darkening, medium blues swirling into purple beneath the clouds. The contrast between his light eyes and dark brows is pure mischief as he says, “Then come and take it.”
My body floats towards his slowly, tauntingly, and he’s steadfast—not moving an inch. My chin tips up toward him. His tips down toward me.
It’s a battle of wills, but I’m the General of this army.
I get close—so close that his sparkling eyes are starting to drift shut—when at the last minute I shift to the side, my neck a teasing centimeter from his lips.
His breath skitters across the soft skin below my ear.
A big hand on my lower back, a strong chest under my palm, a sigh from my lips and his resolve finally crumbles.
His lips press into the skin under my jaw, groaning a low vibration across my pulse point. One hand reaches to cup the side of my neck, exerting only the suggestion of pressure to position me as his mouth moves down, behind my ear, charging every particle of my skin.
I whisper, “Owen,” and that’s it. He waves a white flag as he pulls back, then crashes his lips into mine.
He’s starving. Consuming me with each voracious taste.
My body curves into his and he loves it, one arm wrapping all the way around my waist to hold me tighter.
And I love it too. Love feeling him give in.
Love feeling how badly he wants me. His need stokes my own and I’m biting his lip, moaning against him, pulling more from him as we consume each other.
He loses himself in desire, the hand at my neck shifting just slightly, towards the front, the base of my throat, only enough pressure to hold me in place and yet suddenly it’s too much. The least contact there and my neurons start firing in a way I can’t control.
I yank my head back, shoving him away until I can feel cool air between us.
“Wait. Stop.”
The shock of confusion hits with the cooling air between us. A stark line forms between his brows.
“I’m sorry, I… Did I hurt you?” His hands are raised like he’s not sure what to do with them—touch me or let me go, plead or embrace.
“I don’t like that. I don’t like feeling… choked.” I open my mouth to add an apology but then close it again. I promised myself I was done apologizing, for this or anything else.
“I’m sorry,” he says again. “I—I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I didn’t…”
He’s stumbling, searching, and I’m sure he’s sincere but I don’t care right now. My face is hot and my hands are shaking and I don’t want anyone to see me like this, but especially not him. I’m fucked up, and I know it, but I don’t want him to know it too.
“I’m gonna…” I gesture to the door and I feel pathetic and I feel mad and impatient and fucking over it. “I just… bye, Owen.”
I unlock the door then shut it behind me, never turning to look back through the glass.