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The next hour passes in a blur. I don’t know how many beers I drink while grinding up against Teresa. Each song bleeds into the next as the alcohol works its way through my bloodstream, sufficiently numbing my thoughts. My problems fade from view, seemingly far in the distance as she tugs me by the shirt, leading me back to our booth.
We both do a shot of tequila before her mouth collides with mine. She’s aggressive, her lips firm and far too eager as she nips and bites and sucks. It’s so different from the soft, fevered caress of Brynn’s. I can’t help but compare them even through my hazy thoughts.
I growl, pissed she’s found a way to emerge from my subconscious, even while drunk, but if Teresa notices, she doesn’t say anything as she slides a hand up my shirt. Her breath catches as I trail a string of kisses down her neck, and when I find her bare thigh beneath the table, she doesn’t move or flinch or slow down. Instead, she pulls me closer like an invitation, a sign she’s willing to take this wherever I want it to go.
Somewhere in the back of my thoughts I idly wonder if Brynn would push me away again, and I imagine the sounds she would make—the little tiny gasps and throaty moans.
I grunt as I bite Teresa’s lower lip, pissed at myself for even considering it.
“Ow.” She pulls away, hand to her mouth where I can see a small drop of blood forming on her lower lip.
Good. Maybe she’ll push me away, too. Call me an asshole and storm out.
It’s what I deserve for thinking about another chick while my hands are on her. It’s what I deserve for thinking about Brynn at all.
But instead of being repulsed or angry, she grins and leans toward me. Her breath is heavy in the shell of my ear as sheplaces one hand on my chest and whispers, “Wanna go back to your place?”
I nod, not even having to think about it, even though I don’t. Not really.
So far, she’s not the distraction I hoped she’d be. If anything, my traitorous thoughts are worsening.
It’s out of sheer desperation I grab her hand and pull her from the booth, catching Chris’s eye on the way out as I offer him a not-so-subtle nod. It crosses my mind that Brynn might be at the apartment, but it doesn’t stop me. If anything, it drives my decision. I could take Teresa back to my truck or a cramped bathroom stall, and I’m sure she’d oblige my every desire, but I don’t.
The dirty truth is I want to take her back to my place where Brynn might be holed away in my room.
And I’m not sure what’s worse. The fact that I couldn’t give two shits about the woman beside me, or that I suddenlywantBrynn to see us together—to hear us.
These thoughts run through my head the whole way there. Bradd’s isn’t far from my apartment, so even on foot, it doesn’t take long before we’re tumbling through the front door.
The last shot of alcohol sits in my stomach like a brick. My head spins and my legs feel like Jell-O, but I’m committed to the cause. It doesn’t matter that I’m so drunk my brain is numb. I’m going to be a fucking hero and see this through.
Teresa laughs as she kicks her shoes off and backs up toward the couch where she takes a seat and curls her finger, beckoning me forward.
I amble toward her, slowly unbuttoning my shirt, noting the hungry gleam in her eyes as she tracks my movements. My normal finesse is lacking as I settle myself over her and crush my mouth to hers, ignoring the stale taste of booze coating her tongue.
With a moan, I hitch her dress around her hips while she slides my shirt off me. Through the fuzzy haze of my thoughts, I remember the last time I was here, on this same couch kissing someone else.
I pull back momentarily and glance down to find a familiar pair of violet eyes staring back at me as the memory comes alive.
Teresa’s mouth breaks the spell as she moves to my neck, and I remember it’s not Brynn I’m with, but fuck if I don’t want it to be.
Her hands find the fly of my jeans.
Maybe this is all I need to get Brynn out of my system. I can allow myself to indulge the fantasy of her. Even if it’s wrong. Even if I know I shouldn’t. I need to get her out of my head one way or the other.
But when Teresa murmurs my name, her voice is all wrong and I sit back with a jolt.
She leans up on her elbows, flashing me her sexiest smile while I blink down at her like an idiot. Then, before I can stop myself, before I even know what I’m doing or saying, I tell her, “You have to go.”
She barks out a laugh, like this is some kind of joke.
I wish it were.
“What?” she murmurs when she realizes I’m not kidding.
“I can’t do this.” I shake my head. “I can’t—”
The sound of a door slamming cuts me off. “What the hell?”
