I focus on a particular memory, one with Lo during our sophomore year of college. We were roped into attending my parent’s holiday party back at their Villanova mansion. Since we planned on spending the night, we both decided to get drunk off the eggnog. My mother shooed us upstairs so we didn’t disrupt any of the other guests, and we locked ourselves in my room for the rest of the night.
Standing by the foot of the bed, he kissed my neck and lips with an intoxicating gaze, inhaling every part of me, a look that devoured my body in a single second. Even though we were alone, he didn’t stop.
I was aroused. He was drunk. And he gladly lent me his mouth, and I accepted （at first） because my mind was on a super rush. His lips pressed against my collarbone, tender and then deep, sucking. His fingers slid down my waist, lower and lower.
“Lo.” I let out a ragged breath and tried to hold onto his white button-down, trying to keep my body upright. But the world was dancing, and I wanted nothing more than to be swept up in it—preferably with a thrust and a high.
He retracted and held my cheeks, his amber eyes carrying a strong haze, but not enough for him to be completely gone to booze. He was still with me. Here. For now.
I was sure I resembled the sloppy drunk between the two of us.
“Lily.” His lips lifted into a crooked grin. “How do you feel?”
“Wobbly,” I admitted. “And horny.” The alcohol repressed any embarrassment because I added, “Really horny, actually.” But I couldn’t find a one-night stand at my parent’s intimate party. Besides the fact that most were in their fifties, the few young people knew my family too well. I was not in the market to scatter rumors that I cheated on Loren Hale. We were still pretending to be a couple, after all.
He kept smiling. “Is that how you get guys hard? Blunt honesty?”
My eyes immediately fell to his groin. “It doesn’t seem to be working on you,” I countered. I slipped out of his arms and found his stowaway of Macallan in my desk drawer. I uncapped it and took a quick swig. His face darkened, and he yanked the bottle away from me. He put the rim to his lips and drank a large gulp, his throat bobbing three times.
He set the bottle back on the desk. “You’re always horny. I’d have an eternal hard-on if that’s all it took.”
My mind started to wander to sinful places, thinking about what exactly would get Loren Hale off. But this was Lo. My best friend. A relationship I couldn’t devalue with a quick lay. We’ve crossed lines a few times before, but I was determined to never jump over the ultimate line—the one that ends with him inside of me, with the highest, brightest climax.
“I usually don’t say things,” I admitted. “I just do things.”
He gave me a bitter smile. “I bet you give a spectacular blow job.”
I was about to offer one, but I remembered who he was and my throat went dry again. I held out my hand for the Macallan. “Hit me,” I said.
He laughed as he pressed the bottle to his lips again. “Cute.” He took another long sip. He was always so territorial over his booze.
I stomped back over to the drawer and fished out an airplane bottle of vodka.
He raised his eyebrows. “You don’t have anything to chase that with, big shot.”
I shrugged, screwed off the cap, and tossed the liquor back in my throat.
“Hey!” he shouted and rushed to my side just as the liquid burned its way down my esophagus. I coughed roughly. I’m on fucking fire, I thought. He snatched the bottle away from me but eighty percent was already invading my stomach.
My nose crinkled in disgust. “Why do you do that?” I asked. I’ve seen him drink straight liquor. I rub my hand on my tongue, trying to rid the taste. Ugh.
He just laughed and let me complain for a few minutes, and then the alcohol slowly began to warp my mind, turning my lustful thoughts on overdrive. I craved touch. For hands to slide up and down my legs and thighs.
I plopped on the edge of the bed, my eyes drifting over Lo, falling to his ass as he stared out the window, mesmerized by the twinkling Christmas lights and the flutter of snow.
I wanted sex.
I wanted to feel as good as he was feeling. Alcohol made him relaxed, at ease, and I yearned for that type of temperate peace.
“Lo,” I breathed. “Are we still pretending?”
His eyes met mine. “I’ll be sleeping in your room tonight because we’re supposed to be dating. So…yes.”
“Can I do something?” My eyelids felt heavy from the liquor, and hopefully my voice was not so slurred.