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“Whether you’re staying.” (Who the hell was speaking? Where was this coming from? Was I becoming one of those women? A mistress?)
“What?” Ian stopped me from blowing out another candle. “Wait, Rachel. Just wait a minute. I didn’t mean for us to fight. I just wanted to have a good night together. For us to talk and maybe kiss. I wanted to celebrate us. To thank you. How did we get to this?”
“There’s just so much going on right now. I don’t know.”
“Look at me.”
I looked into his eyes. They looked the same as always.
“I’m Ian. I’m not here to hurt you.” He grabbed my hand. “You know what—I think we need to relax. To just take a load off and breathe.” He pulled me to the bar and went searching through the empty bottles.
“What are you looking for?”
He pulled the Patrón from the back of the shelf. “Shots!” he said.
“This is no time for shots.”
“Just because you said that, it’s the perfect time for shots.” He set the bottle on the bar and got two double shot glasses.
“I have to work in the morning,” I said.
“You own your own business. Call in sick.” Ian poured the shots and handed me one. “This shot is to what’s up.”
“No lemons? No salt?” I asked.
“Fuck lemons and salt. Throw it back!” He banged on the bar and we took the shots. He started pouring again. “This shot is to what next!”
We took the shots. He poured again.
“You pick the shot this time.”
I was already feeling the tequila. I said, “This shot is to what the fuck!”
We took the shots. He poured again.
The liquor rushed right to my forehead. I felt like I was balancing a heavy weave on my head. I was swaying a little.
“No, don’t punk out on me now. Hands up!” He pointed for me to pick up the little glass. “This shot is to whatever you want. Throw it back!”
We finished the bottle with whats and ended up on the floor again, laughing.
I was telling Ian a story about Alarm Clock and Donnica’s wedding. About the chocolate fountain and all the weedheads dipping everything from asparagus to shrimp in the chocolate.
He laughed and rolled over onto his stomach. The tequila was all in his eyes.
“Come here,” he said.
“What?” I sounded like I knew what he wanted. The tequila was in my eyes, too. I could feel it.
“If you don’t come to me, I’m coming to you,” he said seductively.
I leaned over to his face. He came up a little, tilted his head to me, and opened my lips with his tongue. We started kissing and rolling around on the floor.
My shirt came off. I unbuttoned his pants. Felt his muscles for the first time.
We stumbled, embracing and kissing, pulling off clothes in a drunken dance to the bedroom.
I pressed my hand against Ian’s penis.
