Chapter 9 Collin #3
Her body rolls against mine, and the world fades around us until it’s a shifting mass of bodies and colors.
She’s the only real thing in my orbit. The only thing I see.
Sweat beads at the base of my neck as we move together, the press of bodies around us making the air thick and heavy.
Strobe lights painting everything in flashes of blue and purple, catching on the soft curves of her shoulders, the sweep of her hair.
She tips her head back against my shoulder, exposing the curve of her throat, and my fingers flex against her hips.
My thumbs tracing circles there without conscious thought.
The scent of her vanilla perfume mingling with sweat and smoke, making my head spin.
She presses back against me harder, one hand reaching up to tangle in my hair.
I bite back a groan, my cheek brushing against hers.
“Iris...” Her name comes out rough against her ear. She turns in my arms, her hands sliding up my chest to my shoulders, body flush against mine as we sway to the beat. Her eyes are dark when they meet mine. My gaze drops to her lips and they look so. Damn. Soft.
Our noses brush first, the contact feather-light, but I can feel every exhale.
She tilts her chin up slightly, her breath warm against my mouth, and time freezes.
My heart beating violently against my ribcage.
One of her hands slides from my shoulder to the back of my neck, fingers curling into the hair there.
Thud. Music throbs around us but I can barely hear it over the rush of blood in my ears.
Thud. Her lips ghost across mine. Not quite a kiss, just the barest hint of contact, but it’s enough to set every nerve ending on fire.
Thud. I can taste the lime and tequila on her breath, feel the slight tremor in her fingers against my skin.
Thud. My hand slides up her back, drawing her impossibly closer.
Her lips part, and I swear I feel her smile—A body crashes into us like a wave.
The impact sends her stumbling into me, the moment shattering.
Reality floods back in: the crowded bar, the shots, the slight slur in her voice when she’d asked me to dance.
Shit. She’s drunk. We’re both drunk, but she’s definitely worse, and this isn’t. .. I can’t. Fuck me.
“Think maybe it’s time to get you home?” I steady her as she sways back on her feet. She blinks, looking around like she’s just remembered where we are, a deep flush creeping up her neck to her cheeks. When her gaze finds mine again, there’s something vulnerable in it that squeezes my heart.
“Yes, please,” she says softly, that sheepish smile tugging at her lips.
“Come on,” I murmur, keeping one hand at the small of her back, guiding her through the crowd. We pass our booth where Hayes waggles his eyebrows at me, but I just shake my head slightly. Amanda’s already gathering Iris’s purse, reading the look on my face.
“Text me when you get home safe,” she tells Iris, pulling her into a quick hug. “Both of you.”
I’ve always known there were three levels of drunk: I swear I can dance drunk, I love you guys so much drunk, and woo girl drunk.
Now, standing outside Iris’s house, trying to find the key she hides in a little rock, among a million other fucking little rocks, I realize I’ve discovered a fourth level. Her level.
“It’s in a brown one.” She yawns from her spot on the porch, arms wrapped around herself, drowning in my jacket that we swiped from the car before Ubering back here.
It’s fucking freezing outside. She’s got that sleepy drunk smile, trailing me with her eyes, head propped in her hands. They’re all brown.
“Yeah, yeah, I got it,” I mumble, sifting through rocks.
It’s unfair that she looks that cute after puking in the bushes.
We’d made it ten paces out of the car before she was sick.
I’d held her hair out of her face, rubbing circles into her back even as she insisted she was fine.
Fine, my ass. I pick up a long, skinny, rock and turn it over to find the hollow backing and the key inside, dangling it in front of me.
She claps, smiling wide as she stands too quickly and sways, gripping the railing for support. I’m at her side in a matter of seconds.
“Alright, up you go.” I grunt, scooping her into my arms, her weight settling against my chest. She immediately nuzzles into my neck.
God, help me. Keeping her steady with one arm, I fumble with the lock, cursing under my breath until it gives.
The door swings open to reveal a tiny entryway that opens directly into a cozy living room.
Even in the dark, I can make out Jamie’s presence everywhere.
Artwork claiming every inch of the fridge, cars and Legos scattered across the coffee table, and photos. So many photos.
“Bathroom?” I ask, shifting her slightly in my arms.
“Down the hall.” Her voice is muffled against my neck. There are three doors in the narrow hallway, and I’m unreasonably proud when I find it on the first try. I fumble for the light switch, squinting at the sudden brightness before setting her carefully on the counter.
“Makeup remover?”
“Mmm... pink bottle,” she mumbles, swaying slightly. “Top drawer.” I find it and grab some cotton pads too.
“Okay, close your eyes.” She complies immediately, and I start carefully wiping away her mascara. “Where do you keep hair ties?”
“Middle drawer.” She yawns. I retrieve one, gathering her curls away from her face. My fingers catch in a tangle, and she winces.
“Sorry, sorry,” I mutter.
“Advil?” she requests, eyes still closed. I open the medicine cabinet. Nothing. Under the sink? Nope.
“Iris?” I squish her cheeks gently in my hand and she bats heavy-lidded eyes at me. “Stay with me, Pretty Girl. Where’s the Advil?”
“Kitchen. By the coffee maker.” Great. I’ll have to find that later.
“Let’s brush your teeth first.” Another drawer search reveals her toothbrush and toothpaste.
She bares her teeth at me in something between a grimace and a smile.
My shoulders shake as I try to contain my laughter, eyes squeezing shut for a moment.
When I open them again, she’s still there, nose scrunched and teeth bared.
The sight of her hits me somewhere beneath my ribs.
One hand steady on her back, I help her brush.
“You’re good at this,” she mumbles around the toothbrush. I snort.
“I have no idea what I’m doing. I don’t know where any of your stuff is.” She turns and spits into the sink, giggling as she wipes her mouth.
“You’re doing great.” She reaches up with one finger and pokes at my cheek.
“I like your dimple.”
“Yeah?” I ask, trying not to laugh as she sways slightly on the counter.
“Mhmm.” She nods seriously, studying my face with drunk concentration. “And your smile. You have a really nice smile.” Her finger finds the dimple again, pressing gently. “And your eyes are pretty. I can’t help but grin at her assessment, which makes her poke my dimple again.
“There it is,” she says, looking pleased with herself. I catch her hand gently, bringing it to my lips to press the lightest kiss to her fingertips.
“Silly girl.” She giggles, the sound soft and sleepy.
“Am not.”
“Are too,” I murmur against her fingers before lowering her hand. “Now, bed or Advil first?”
“Bed,” she decides firmly. “Carry me?”
“As if I’d let you walk,” I say, already lifting her back into my arms. Finding her bedroom proves trickier than the bathroom.
We end up in Jamie’s room first, glow-in-the-dark stars twinkling above us, before I backtrack to the right door.
I set her down gently on the bed, taking in the room around us.
Novels stacked neatly on every surface—the nightstand, the dresser, even lining the windowsill.
A hamper overflows with clothes in the corner, and the queen bed’s floral duvet lies rumpled beneath her.
I pull her leg up so her boot rests against my thigh.
They slip off easily. She flops back against purple linen sheets, dark hair fanning out around her head.
Her eyes drift closed as she burrows into the soft bedding, but then she groans, cracking one eye open to pout up at me.
“I need comfy clothes.” Without thinking, I pull my shirt over my head and hold it out to her. She doesn’t take it right away, her eyes trailing down my chest. I shake the shirt in front of her face, grinning.
“My eyes are up here, Pretty Girl.”
“I wasn’t—” she starts, cheeks flushing pink.
“Sure you weren’t.” I laugh as she snatches the shirt from my hand, scowling at me. She twists around, arm bent awkwardly behind her back, fumbling for her zipper. Her fingers slip off it twice before she catches hold, and then she’s slipping the fabric off her shoulders and—Oh shit.
“I’m just gonna...” I spin around so fast I nearly trip over my own feet, staring intently at the wall. Behind me, I hear the soft rustle of fabric, followed by a quiet giggle.
“S’fine,” she slurs slightly. “Not like I’m naked.”
“Still. Let me know when you’re decent.”
“Kay. M’done.” I turn back to find her sitting cross-legged on the bed, swimming in my T-shirt.
My breath catches at the sight—the way the worn fabric drowns her small frame, how the neckline dips to reveal her collarbone, the hem falling almost to her knees.
Just like that she’s claimed a piece of me without even trying.
She lists to the side, catching herself with one hand against the mattress, then overcorrects, swaying back the other way.
“You need sleep.”
“What? No, I’m totally fine.”
“Really? Cause you’re looking at me with one eye closed right now,” she scoffs.
“Well, that’s just because there are two of you.” I laugh and help her under the covers, tugging them up to her chin. Her clothes are puddled on the floor beside the bed, and I carefully kick them aside so she won’t trip on them if she gets up in the night.
“I’m gonna get you some water.” I navigate down the dark hall until I find the kitchen. The moonlight filtering through her window catches on chrome appliances as I fumble through unfamiliar cabinets, trying to be quiet. Third try yields glasses. I fill one with water and grab the Advil.
When I come back, glass in hand, her breathing is slow and even.
I set the glass and medicine on her nightstand, sinking down on the edge of the bed.
Her face is peaceful in sleep, all the tension from earlier melted away.
Nothing like the way she’d been at practice, jaw clenched and shoulders drawn, all because of whatever bullshit Owen had texted her.
After the way he’d acted outside the rink the other night, I don’t doubt he’s been awful to her.
I’ve never understood how someone like Iris, who so clearly has so much going for her, could ever let a prick like that get under her skin.
She shifts in her sleep, curling onto her side, and my T-shirt slips off one shoulder.
My eyes trace the features of her face and I smooth a hand over her hair, pulling the sleeve back up her arm.
Her hand catches my wrist, fingers curling into my skin.
“Stay?” she murmurs, not opening her eyes.
“Just till I fall asleep?” I should say no.
I should go crash on the couch like I planned.
Call my neighbor and ask them to check on Ace.
Instead, I find myself stretching out behind her on top of the covers.
She immediately nestles back against me, and I wrap an arm around her waist, pulling her closer.
Her breathing evens out quickly, but I don’t move.
Not yet. I let myself have this moment, memorizing the way she fits against me, the steady rhythm of her heartbeat under my palm.
“Collin?” I close my eyes, fingertips lazily drifting over her skin.
“Hmm?”
“I had fun.” I pause, my lips pulling up at the corners.
“I know, baby.” I swallow, pulling her tighter into my chest. “I know.” I’m not sure why I call her that.
Maybe because she won’t remember it tomorrow.
Maybe because I’m tired and tipsy enough to be honest with myself.
I like her. I shouldn’t, but damn it I do and maybe I want to call her that again.
Want her to be mine, even if it is stupid.
Even if it will mess everything up. Maybe I want her, and I want her to want me too.