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Chapter Twenty-Seven
Five Alarm
Leila
We’re back at my apartment, Will and I, and I’ve been doing everything in my power to feel okay getting close to him.
So far, it hasn’t been working so well.
When I first showed him in, I was fully intending on ripping off his shirt and seeing what it’s like to ride a fireman, but I just ended up taking him for a tour of the apartment.
When we got to my bedroom, I told myself that this would be a perfect segue back toward sex, but I just stood there for a minute before asking him if he wanted something to drink.
Even after he said no, I still walked away from him and to the kitchen where I keep the liquor.
Now, I’m going through the freezer, trying to pick one of my five half-empty bottles to sooth my nerves.
I finally settle on tequila.
Okay, so I grab the bottle of rum, too.
All right, so I’m grabbing all of the bottles and setting them out on the counter, and I jump when Will asks me what I’m doing.
“Just setting these out,” I tell him. “Just in case you change your mind and you’d like something to drink. I’m pretty sure we could make some cocktails out of this stuff if you’d prefer that to a straight drink.”
“No,” he says, “I’m fine. You go ahead and indulge, though.”
“All right,” I tell him, and I go to the cabinet and pull out a glass.
I fill the thing half full with a mix of every one of these liquors, and I try not to notice the shocked expression on Will’s face as I drink the whole thing down in one lift of the glass. I would say one gulp, but I’m not quite there yet.
“All right,” I tell him. “Would you like to watch a movie or something?”
“Are you okay?” he asks. “You just drank about eight shots there.”
“I’m fine,” I tell him, “just a bit nervous.”
Now that he mentions it, though, I am starting to feel a little sick to the stomach.
“We don’t have to do anything if you don’t want to,” he says. “I’m perfectly happy just hanging out for a while.”
“Let’s start with a movie,” I tell him. “We can always go from there.”
“All right,” he says, and smiles at me.
He really is pretty fucking gorgeous, and I don’t know why I’m thinking of Dane as that thought goes through my head.
My fireman is tan and free of tattoos. He’s just looks like he belongs on a stage, accepting some kind of award for bravery or public service.
“Go ahead and make yourself comfortable. I’ll be right in,” I tell him.
“All right,” he says, and walks into the living room.
With him safely out of sight, I take a few deep breaths and pop an antacid to try to calm my stomach. It’s not just the alcohol, although it is hitting me pretty hard already, but I don’t think I’ve ever been this nervous.
With Dane, I was hardly ever nervous. I got butterflies and all that, but it was always accompanied by a wonderful feeling. Right now, my anxiety is wrapped in a sort of visceral terror that I’m not sure what to do with.
Momentarily, the thought to take another drink pops into my head, but I almost gag just thinking about that possibility.
