Dave takes up his place outside the elevator, and I follow Viola down the hall to her room. She glances up at me outside her door as she pulls the key out of her oversized messenger bag. “I’m fine, Mason. You don’t need to see me inside.”
“Sure, if you say so,” I agree, but make no move to head for my own room.
Cocking one hip, she crosses her arms and stares me down, just like she did at the club. “What’s your game here?” All her giggles have vanished, and her stare is laser focused, making me feel like the subject of an interrogation. All she needs is a bright light to shine in my face.
I hold up my hands in a gesture of surrender. “No game. But you said yourself that you’re a lightweight. You had four glasses of champagne. If two was enough to make you tipsy, then I just want to make sure you get to your room without hurting yourself.”
She stares at me for a long moment, her eyes still narrowed. “Why are you being so nice to me?” she demands, making nice sound offensive somehow.
“I thought we’d decided to be friends.” I have to swallow against the sudden dryness in my throat, once again hating that word. Because there’s a long list of other things I’d like to be with Viola. Naked tops the list. Also fuck buddies. Very few of my feelings for her can be labeled friendly.
Despite that, I’m not trying to get into her room to do any of those things tonight. I really am just trying to make sure she gets into bed safely.
Whatever she sees as she studies my face seems to be enough. Or maybe she’s decided not to care, because she grumbles, “Whatever,” and waves her key card in front of the lock.
I follow her inside, scanning the room for the case of bottled water I know she always has. It’s tucked under the desk in the corner, and I go retrieve one and hold it out to her as she removes her giant crossbody bag and drops it next to the bed. Her gaze still full of suspicion, she takes the bottle from me, cracks open the lid and takes a long drink.
When she replaces the cap, I shake my head. “Drink it all.”
With a put-upon sigh, she obediently takes another gulp. “I’m going to have to pee in five minutes if I down this whole thing right now.”
I shrug, stepping closer. “Yeah, probably, but it’ll flush the alcohol out of your system faster, and you’ll be less likely to have a headache tomorrow. Speaking of which, where’s your ibuprofen?”
She narrows her eyes again. “In my bag. Why?”
Without answering, I turn to her bag and toss back the flap.
“Hey!” She grabs my arm, stopping me from rummaging. “That’s my bag, thank you very much.” She hip checks me out of the way, pulls out a small bottle of store brand ibuprofen, and holds it up in front of my face. “Here.”
“Thank you.” I take it from her, grab another water bottle, and set both on the bedside table. “There. Now you’re all set for tomorrow.”
The suspicion is gone, but she still looks confused when I turn back to her. “What?” I ask, suddenly self conscious.
“You’re trying to take care of me.” She says it like an accusation.
“Umm, yeah?” I rub a hand along my jaw and let out a small laugh. “Figured it was time I repaid the favor. Since you’ve put me to bed and left water and ibuprofen for me enough times.”
“I’m not really drunk, though,” she says.
“Sure,” I agree unconvincingly.
“I’m not.”
I step closer and free a strand of hair caught on her lip. “I believe you,” I whisper. I’m not sure why I’m whispering, but something about the moment just seems to call for it.
Her eyes are wide, guileless pools, and I feel myself swaying closer to her. She might not be drunk, but I’m getting there. She’s intoxicating.
Blinking, I force myself to straighten. Then, on impulse, I stoop down and brush a kiss on her cheek.
She gasps, turning toward me.
And her lips are right. There.
So close. So tempting. So pink. Parted and begging for a kiss.
I don’t know who closes the distance, or if we both move together, but her lips are on mine, soft and lush and sweet.
I step closer, wanting to touch her, pull her against me. My hands move up and down, outlining her curves in the air, but I don’t touch. Not after last time. Not after the way she shoved me away. I don’t want to give her a reason to.
Her hand slides up my chest, and I brace myself for her to push, savoring whatever seconds remain of her lips under mine.
But she doesn’t. Her fingers curl into the fabric of my shirt, pulling me closer. And my hands finally land on her hips and slide up her back. Much as I want to grind my dick into her belly, I don’t think she’d appreciate that right now. And if she’s not pushing me away and slapping me across the face for daring to kiss her again, then I’m counting this as a win.
But I’ve had enough to drink that I’m horny as fuck, and with her soft lips, soft curves, soft sighs as she opens and welcomes my tongue into her mouth, my control is fraying.
Easing back, I end the kiss, and we stay frozen in this tiny universe of our creation with my hands on her hips, her hand tangled in my shirt, and our eyes locked.
She’s the first to move, lowering down to flat
