I can never live with boys #2
The ball leaves my hand, clips the side of a cup and bounces onto the floor.
I stare at the table as the football players erupt.
Damn it.
This is what six months without sex has reduced me to. I can put a basketball through a hoop from twenty feet while two defenders are trying to remove my head from my shoulders, but one soft hand under my shirt and suddenly my arm abandons me.
The redhead pushes a tequila shot toward my lips in celebration of my first miss. And I throw it back without argument, mostly to conceal the fact that I need several seconds to regain control of my face.
The tequila does nothing to ease the feeling of her warm palms on my skin as she drags her fingers ever so lightly over my abs.
A chill runs straight down my spine.
“What happened?” she asks, pouting up at me. She rests her cheek against my chest as though we have known each other longer than eleven minutes.
How do I explain to a very cute girl that I haven’t been touched like this in six months, and therefore my body is reacting very violently to her warm hands?
Or that it feels incredible, please keep touching?
Or that I am not going to sleep with her because I already know I will not call tomorrow, which means she would be better off choosing one of the twenty men in this room who might?
“You happened.” I give her the smile that used to solve everything while subtly adjusting the front of my increasingly unforgiving jeans.
Her eyes lower to where my hand is. The smile that spreads across her face tells me subtlety has failed.
“You’re so ripped,” she whispers so sweetly. “I want to lick your abs.”
She should.
That is an excellent idea.
Possibly the best suggestion anyone has made all evening.
“And you smell so good.”
She presses her nose against my chest and breathes me in, unaware that I am one more sentence away from abandoning every principle I have developed during the past six months.
My hand is still hovering uselessly over the beer-pong table.
I have no idea whether the football players have taken their turn. I no longer care.
The redhead is practically inside my shirt, and I am attempting to remember why I told myself meaningless sex became meaningless in the first place.
I reach for my warm beer instead and take a slow drink before catching her gently by the arm, moving her hand from beneath my shirt.
“I think we’ve won this round.” My voice comes out a little rough. “I need to find Nate before he dies somewhere.”
Where the fuck is my ride-or-die friend?
I require immediate intervention before I take this girl by the hand, find the nearest empty room and discover whether her lip gloss tastes as sweet as it smells.
She only tightens both arms around me, whispers hot breath into my neck. “Nate will be fine without you.” She’s on her tip-toe. Oh fuck me.
“I know.”
Her eyes find mine. Wide. Beautiful. So interested.
“I’m the one who won’t be.” I swallow.
Her lips curve into an immediate, satisfied smile. “Why?”
“You’re gorgeous,” I tell her, forcing my voice to be calm. “I don’t do hookups anymore.”
She stares at me like I've asked her to dig my grave with her bare hands. “What?”
“No hookups.” I repeat, gritting through my teeth.
“Since when?” She bats her lashes at me.
“Apparently long enough for this to become physically painful.”
Her gaze drops towards my jeans again. “That looks pretty painful.”
“It is.”
“So let me help.”
Jesus Christ.
Her hand starts sliding down my stomach. I catch it before it reaches the waistband of my jeans.
“I haven’t even started.” She doesn’t stop.
“I know. That’s why I’m leaving.” I grip her hand firmer this time.
She looks so confused I feel like an asshole anyway. “You don’t want me?”
Absolutely not. I mean yes.
That is the problem with rejecting someone after spending years behaving like I would sleep with any attractive girl who looked at me for longer than three seconds. Nobody believes the rejection can be about anything other than them.
“I definitely want you. I’d take you upstairs, have a very good night and avoid your eyes tomorrow because I wouldn’t know what else to say.” I loosen my hold on her wrist.
Her hands finally fall away from me. The moment the warmth leaves my skin, my body pathetically leans after it before I can stop myself.
“I would’ve kissed you last year,” I add, trying to do damage control with whatever words my brain could form.
Her eyebrows rise. “Only kissed?”
“No.” Duh.
“Does this new personality have an expiration date?” She finally laughs at the helpless me.
“God, I hope so.” I groan, even more helpless.
A hand lands heavily on my shoulder.
“There you are.”
Nate has apparently taken pity on me long enough to detach himself from whichever girl had her tongue down his throat five minutes ago.
He looks from the redhead to my face, then down at the front of my jeans. The bastard grins. “Ready to bolt?”
I give him a lazy nod.
Nate holds out his hand. “I’ll drive. Keys.”
I reach into my pocket, make one final adjustment that fools nobody, then fish out the keys and drop them into his palm.
He slaps my shoulder. “Dude. Are you absolutely sure you want to go home?”
The redhead is still watching me.
My body is furious with me.
My phone has remained completely silent in my back pocket.
And the crazy blonde I promised to drive home vanished thirty minutes ago without answering anyone.
I start towards the front door. “Positive.”
Somebody in that house better fucking tell me where she went.