“Lauren,” he said, “we shouldn’t—”
“I’m doing what you said.” She stood on her tiptoes to nuzzle against his jaw, her arms clinging around his neck like she was drowning and depending on him for rescue. “No more plans. Just trying to make it happen.”
He wanted her so much, it was actually painful. But he didn’t want their first time to be a quickie on her office floor, or a stolen moment while the credits rolled on a movie in the living room. And he really didn’t want it to be when she’d been drinking, and might not be clearheaded enough to know what she was doing. He didn’t want her to have any regrets afterward.
“I’m sorry I freaked out on you in your room,” she said. “But I’m not that girl anymore. I can just hook up, have some fun. I even bought condoms.”
Whoa. He didn’t know if he was more surprised that she’d taken that step, or that she’d been able to admit it without blushing.
“Tomorrow, I will be very interested in hearing more about those,” he said, “but tonight—”
She dropped her arms, his words seeming to deflate something inside her. “Right,” she said. “Tonight I’m just making a complete fool out of myself. Again.”
“No, that’s not—”
“I’m going to get ready for bed,” she said.
And with that, she shut herself inside the bathroom. Asa didn’t know what to do. He could leave—she might be tipsy, but she didn’t appear to be a danger to herself. But he also didn’t feel right leaving on this note, with her seeming to think he’d rejected her.
He’d just taken a seat on the couch when a crash from the bathroom had him jumping back up to his feet. He lifted a hand to knock on the bathroom door before dropping it back down to his side. “Everything okay?” he called instead.
Silence. Then, the door opened a crack.
“I can’t get my bra off,” she said. “This is not another come-on, I promise, just—would you help me?”
She was still wearing her shirt, which he understood was probably for his benefit, to preserve modesty. It couldn’t have made it easier to get the bra off, though. He slid his hands up the slim curve of her spine, trying to feel for the clasp with his fingers. The straps were silky smooth, the fabric of the band more textured—lace, maybe? But he couldn’t seem to locate the hook-and-eye closure.
“Ah,” he said. “This is embarrassing, but I can’t—”
She reached around, her fingers brushing his while she searched for the clasp herself. He swallowed, stepping back as he let her take over.
“Are you sure it’s not one of those ones that fastens in the front?” he asked.
He saw her hands, still under her shirt, go to the bottom of her sternum, the click of a clasp being undone letting him know he was right.
“Oh,” she said. “Well, this bra was the worst idea I’ve ever had. It makes it practically impossible to pull a—what was that movie, the eighties one about the dancer welder woman? She takes her bra off under her shirt and it’s iconic.”
“Flashdance,” Asa supplied. She’d closed the door behind her to finish getting undressed but had left it ajar enough that he could hear her perfectly. He leaned back against the wall, not wanting her to think he was trying to sneak a peek, as well.
“She wasn’t wearing one of these front-clasp ones,” Lauren said. “I’ll tell you that much. And see, I do know some movies, even if they’re from decades ago. I’m not a complete pop culture wasteland.”
The way she said that phrase, it was definitely something he’d said to her at one point. He thought about the comment she’d made during karaoke, too, the one about needing to do a reCAPTCHA to prove she wasn’t a robot. All the times he’d teased her, he’d never meant to really hurt her feelings. Now he looked back on all those moments and cringed, wondering what he’d said and how it might’ve sounded to her.
The faucet ran for a minute, and he heard her brushing her teeth. Once she’d turned the water back off, he said, “I barely knew any pop culture until I went to high school. My parents wouldn’t even let me read Harry Potter.”
She opened the door, still wiping at her mouth with a paper towel. “Really?”
“Oh yeah. Too much devil’s magic.” He touched the delicate skin of her cheekbone with one finger. “You still have . . . do you mind?”