“I keep thinking about the lake,” he murmurs. “That water was so cold. But you… you were warm.”
My pulse kicks up. “You were freezing. Teeth chattering the whole time.”
He huffs a small laugh. “Still felt warm. When you were close.” Another small scoot presses his thigh harder against mine, then he tilts his hips until he’s practically in my lap without actually climbing into it. “You always feel warm.”
I swallow. “You’re drunk, Eric.”
“Mm.” He nods, like he’s agreeing with something profound. “Getting there. But still true.”
He rests his head on my shoulder. The motion is tentative, like he’s waiting for permission. When I don’t move away, he relaxes and presses his cheek into my hoodie. His hand settles over top of mine, curlinghis fingers into a loose grip as his thumb brushes my knuckles
“You’re going to regret this in the morning,” I say softly.
“Never regret anything with you,” he insists. “Missed you.”
“What’d you miss?” I ask, taking another too-long gulp of my drink. It burns on the way down, and the first real wave hits hard. Heat spreads through my chest, loosening the knot that’s been there since I walked in and saw him against the wall.
“Missed… this,” he finally murmurs. “Just sitting. With you. No one else around. No noise in my head.” His thumb brushes over my skin again, tracing my knuckles in slow circles. “Missed hearing you breathe. Knowing you’re right here.”
My pulse thumps under his touch, and I tilt up my cup and let the rest of the drink fall down my throat. The vodka is working faster now. My limbs feel heavier, and the edges of the porch light are softening into halos around us. I’m starting to feel the same pleasant looseness he has, the same quiet bravery that lets words slip out without overthinking.
“You’re getting me drunk too, you know,” I say, voice low.
He huffs a small laugh against my shoulder. “Good. Fair’s fair.” He shifts again, and there’s no space left between us. “You feel good. Always do.”
I turn my head so my cheek rests against the top of his hair. His scent hits me—sweat, rainwater soap, and a trace of the lake still clinging somehow.
Maybe that part’s just in my head.
The buzz is charging through my veins now, making everything feel closer, softer… braver.
“I missed you too,” I admit quietly. “All week. Every text. Every stupid picture. Felt like you were the only thing keeping me sane.”
He makes a small, pleased sound in his throat. His fingers tighten in mine—not clumsy anymore, just sure. “Good. ‘Cause you’re the only thing keeping me sane right now.”
We sit like that for a long stretch, with our shoulders pressed, hands laced, and breathing in sync. The party noise feels distant, like it’s happening in another world entirely. The vodka is doing its job, relaxing my limbs and flushing my face until I’m lightheaded. A haze pulses around the edges of my vision, and I twist until my lips are against his temple.
He melts into me, and I press the softest kiss to his forehead. “You okay?” I ask after a while, voice soft.
“Yeah,” he breathes. “Better than okay. You?”
“Getting there.” I squeeze his hand. “This… this is good.”
He nods against my shoulder. “Really good.”
The porch light flickers once overhead. Somewhere inside, someone yells and glass shatters, but out here it’s just us and the alcohol that carries us away.
Chapter 10
Thepartyblaresonaround us, the muffled thump of bass vibrating through the wall like a distant heartbeat. It’s colder tonight than it’s been in weeks, but the vodka numbs the edges of everything. My buzz turns the night soft and hazyaround us.
We’ve been out here long enough that the conversation has drifted into easy, rambling territory. I’ve shifted from pressing myself into Dmitri’s side to stretching out with my head on his lap like we’ve done so many times on the quad.
The alcohol has loosened my tongue and slowed my thoughts, but it hasn’t dulled the awareness of him. I’m mid-sentence—something stupid about how the string lights look like fireflies when you’re drunk—when I notice Dmitri frowning at me. His brows are drawn together in that quiet, concerned way he gets.
“What’s up?” I ask, sitting up to look at him properly.
“You’re shivering,” he says, voice low, and before I can respond, he scoots closer. He closes the last inch of space between us, then rubs his palms up and down my arms in slow, firm strokes. The friction sends heat blooming under my skin, chasing away the chill I hadn’t even registered. His face is suddenly inches from mine, breath warm against my cheek and eyes locked on my mouth like he’s memorizing the shape of it.
