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“You’re drunk, Alyssa.” I knock my shoulder against hers.
“No, I just…I know he hurt you, and it kills me that he did that to you but…I think not being with him hurts you just as deeply.”
The feeling that I’m moving has my eyes fluttering open. I’m immediately disoriented until I realize I’m being carried. Warm hands are wrapped around my back and under my legs and that smell…fuck…that smell. It smells like home. Like being madly in love. It smells like happiness. People always say that your sense of smell is most connected to your memories. It has the power to spark nostalgia instantly, and currently, I’m remembering a particular instance of me and the man carrying me sixty-nineing on the floor of our bedroom.
I let out a whimper, just as he sets me on soft, plush blankets, and I realize in my sleepy, intoxicated haze that I must have fallen asleep on the couch and he’s putting me to bed.
“Bennett…” It sounds almost like a moan but also like a whine and I hear a chuckle as my body tries to pull myself out of this in between.
“You have fun getting drunk with Alyssa?” He sits down next to me and I blink my eyes open and sit up slightly. The only light in the room is from the hallway, leaving the room somewhat bathed in darkness.
It’s dark.
I’m drunk.
I’m drunk in the dark with my almost ex-husband that’s still in love with me.
I bite my bottom lip and look up at him. “Did you have fun with Wren?” I move closer to him, wanting to feel his body heat against me and he nods.
“I did. I couldn’t stop thinking about you though.” He smiles and my lip finds my way between my teeth as I stare at his mouth. “I know we left things kind of unsettled.”
“I’m okay…” I run a strand through my fingers and look up at him in the sexiest way I can when I’m this drunk and he chuckles in response.
“That’s right. How could I forget, you get horny when you’re drunk?”
I drop my hair from my hands, cursing him for being right…I do play with my hair when I want his attention. “No, I don’t. I mean I’m not…” I look away from him towards my nightstand that just happens to have a vibrator that I’ve spent quite a bit of time with the past six months. Go for it, Olivia. “You don’t want me?” Fuck, I might need more alcohol, so I can just forget this embarrassing interaction ever happened.
His eyes darken and he grabs my hands, squeezing them gently. “More than my next breath. But you’re drunk…very drunk, and I don’t want you to wake up tomorrow morning and hate me more than you already do.”
“I don’t hate you…”
“Well, you don’t like me very much, and I just don’t want you to regret anything. You should get some sleep, Livi.” He stands and makes his way towards the door. He’s almost out of my door completely, when the words leave my mouth almost on their own.
I snort and roll my eyes. “God, when did you become such a pussy?”
He turns around instantly before he’s in front of me, gripping my jaw hard. “That was your one. So, I hope it felt good.” He grits through his teeth. “I actually want us, and you just want to get off because that piece of shit frat fuck didn’t dick you down well enough,” he snaps. “Don’t take your sexual frustration out on me because I’m trying to do the right fucking thing.” His tone, the grip on my face, the alcohol coursing through my veins, makes my clit throb painfully and all I want to do is rub it on him. I don’t even care if he’s a willing participant. He lets my chin go turning towards the door and I let out a pained, “Wait.”
The Bennett I knew—all versions of him, couldn’t walk away from me, and certainly not while he’s angry so he freezes in the door. His back is tense, his fists are balled, and he turns slightly, so that I can only see his profile. “I’m sorry…that I said that.” I let out a breath.
He doesn’t say anything at first, and then I see him nod. “You’re forgiven. Get some rest, Olivia.” He’s out of my room, shutting the door behind him and leaving me in the dark.
I manage to drift off to sleep despite the humiliation flaring up in my chest. Despite the alcohol fueling my feelings, telling me that I’d just been rejected, somewhere deep down, I commend Bennett for not letting us go down that road of complicated sex, awkward conversations, and tense interactions.
I wake up the next morning, my head throbbing worse than the day before and I make a mental note that I don’t want this to become a habit while Bennett was staying here. I shouldn’t need alcohol to deal with him…especially if it’s going to lead to what happened last night. I slam my pillow over my head and groan as I think about having to face him after I all but threw myself at him. I peep my head at my phone and notice that it’s only seven in the morning and I let out a sigh of relief that I could probably make it to the bathroom and the kitchen and back to my room without running into Bennett. I jump out of bed before I can change my mind and wince at the brief moment of nausea that overtakes me.
I pull my door open, grateful that my apartment is still new enough that there aren’t any creaks or noises allowing me to move from my room almost silently. Once out of the bathroom, the Advil slides down my throat as I make my way towards the kitchen. I press a hand to the refrigerator, trying to open it slowly and as quietly as possible, grab a bottle of water and prepare to dart back to my room, moving as quick as I can past his room when I h
ear my name.
My head snaps towards his door when I hear it again. I go to respond, when I hear it again.
“Fuck. Livi. Fuck fuck fuuuuuuck.”
I yelp, when I realize he’s not calling for me, and more importantly what he is doing. The bottle slips from my hands and hits the ground, and although it’s carpeted, the apartment is silent enough that he definitely heard it, as well as my squeal. I press my hand over my mouth, and reach down, fully prepared to grab it and run when the door opens as I’m huddled on the ground.
I look up, reluctantly, to see Bennett staring down at me in nothing more than a pair of sweats, his erection semi-hard and pressing against the fabric, making me believe that I probably overheard his climax. “Olivia?”
“Hi…I…uh…I just needed…water.” I stand up, holding up the water bottle. This is the first time I’ve seen Bennett Clarke shirtless in months and I have no idea how I’m supposed to string together a coherent sentence. I try to pull my eyes away from the perfectly sculpted body, but I can’t stop staring at a tattoo I’d never seen before. I take a step closer, ignoring the look that I’m sure he’s giving me as I stare at the black ink tattooed directly over his heart. He didn’t have a ton of ink on his chest, most of the tattoos taking up real estate on his arm and a few on his back. I was only aware of the one on his ribcage for his father.
