I break the kiss and stare down at her.
Clearing my throat, I glance down at my crotch—where my hard-on has completely faded—and say, “Sorry. Maybe I’ve had too much tonight.”
She lets out a sigh of relief. “Thank god. I think I had one drink too many, and I might throw up.”
We both laugh lightly.
“Well, if you want to tell your friends we did…” I say.
She shakes her head. “I’ll leave them guessing. Have a good night.”
“You too.”
She leaves the room, shutting the door behind her, and I rest my head against it and groan.
The high of celebrating tonight is gone.
And as I imagine kissing Brian instead of Amber and my boner comes roaring back to life, I have to face the reality that the days of pretending these feelings for Brian aren’t real are gone too.
When I collectmyself enough to get back out to the main part of the club, I’m ready to call a car and get the fuck out of here, but then I see Brian at the bar, looking… hammered.
I’m a shitty friend.
Not only am I harboring feelings for him and starting to create some very dirty fantasies about him, I left him here alone. He hates going out, but he did it for me, and I just… left him.
I’m the worst.
I guess the least I can do now is get wrecked with him.
“I’ll have what he’s having. Actually, make it a double. I have some catching up to do.”
Brian’s eyes settle on me, and he arches a brow. “Back already?”
I trill my lips. “Wasn’t feeling it.”
“Seemed like you were feeling it when you left the floor. Byit, I mean her ass.”
His voice has an edge to it, but maybe that’s just because he’s past tipsy now. Or because I left him alone.
“Sorry I bailed.”
He shrugs. “’S fine.”
The bartender slides the double shot in front of me, and I knock it against Brian’s glass before downing it.
Oof. Straight tequila.
I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and look at Brian, all hazy-eyed. I wonder if he looks like that when he comes.
Jesus.
Well, I have the answer for Christy. Or answers. Yes, I’d think about him whiledoing other things. Yes, I like the way that picture looks. And, fuck. What do I do with that? Explore it more internally? Try to get the fuck over it because I don’t see any signs of Brian wanting me that way?
“Another,” I say, sliding the shot glass back across the bar.
I’ll take option three—drinking myself stupid to get my mind off all of it.
I’m notsure my plan worked.
