But what if he regrets it?
What if last night was just whiskey and proximity and nothing more?
I swing my legs over the side of the bed, wincing slightly at the twinge in my lower back—a physical reminder of Connor behind me, his hands on my hips, the weight of him pressing me into the mattress. The memory sends a fresh wave of heat through my body that’s equal parts embarrassment and arousal.
God, I put on a show for him. I literally begged him to fuck me like some kind of… I don’t even know.
Who even does that?
Apparently, I do.
When Connor O’Reilly is involved.
I grab my phone again, checking for messages. Nothing from Connor, but I have three texts from Maya, sent a couple of hours ago.
Where are you guys?
Mom’s asking if you’re alive
And one sent an hour ago:
Connor says you’re still sleeping but it’s past noon, Noah. Get your ass up.
So Connor has been with my family.
That’s…something.
At least he didn’t flee in the night.
I stumble into the bathroom and catch sight of myself in the mirror.
I look like I’ve been thoroughly debauched.
Which, to be fair, I have. Ruffled hair, swollen lips, and the pink,just-got-fuckedglow of a man who should not be allowed anywhere near family breakfast.
Jesus.
The shower is calling my name. I turn the water as hot as it will go and step under the spray, letting it pound against my shoulders as I try to sort through the jumble of thoughts and feelings that have been piling up since this weekend began.
Yes, I know. Shower is my free therapist.
Anyway.
Connor and I had sex. Not the full deal, but close enough that my entire body still hums with the memory of it. And it wasn’t part of the act, because thankfully, nobody was watching. It was just us, alone in the room, wanting each other.
But he was drunk.
He said he wasn’t too drunk, but he could have lied. And I was drunk too, but definitely notthatdrunk. Should I have stopped him? What if he only touched me because the whiskeylowered his inhibitions? What if it meant nothing to him beyond a convenient way to get himself off after a frustrating night?
I scrub shampoo through my hair, frowning to myself.
I don’t know what to make of any of this. Connor. His sudden outburst. The sex. Any of it.
I’ve spent so long thinking of him as straight, as my neighbor, as someone completely unattainable.
And now…
Now what?
