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I have to give it to him. He doesn’t stumble or sway. He does however cup my face in his hands and stare. Like really stare. I resist the urge to flap. To push him off. Or, basically, any of my usual knee-jerk reactions to being examined so intensely.
“I think you’re...” This time he does sway back onto his heels. “...really cool.”
I wrap my hands around his forearms just in case he sways too far. He does. I barely manage to counterbalance his weight.
“You’re not so bad yourself.” I huff and guide him around to take the last step. “Let’s get you to bed. I’m not leaving you in this state.”
The question is—would I leave him in any state?
After a brief panic over the disaster I left my room in, I make the executive decision to stumble us up the step to his side of the porch, warning Flynn or anybody else caring to listen that his door better damn-well be unlocked.
A key dangles from the lock. Close enough.
I hesitate once I get the door open, my own head fuzzy enough to remind me to drink a gallon of water before bed. Sonnie yawns big beside me and unwraps his arm from around my shoulders.
“Drink?” He calls back as he crosses the room in a couple of less than steady steps to where there’s another open bottle on the breakfast bar.
It’s not hard to get to the bottle before him. “I think you’ve had enough.” I hold it behind my back and meet his glare straight on.
His eyebrows twitch up in the middle, eyes narrowing, jaw ticking until his gaze drops to my mouth. “You think it’s possible for people to change, Stan?”
His whisper is filled with things I never thought I’d hear from this man. Fear. Loneliness ... hope.
“I think.” I scrape my teeth over my top lip and suck in a deep breath. My dad is coming off the road for a woman. “That anything is possible.” I hold his getting-clearer-by-the-second gaze. “If you want something enough to change then you change.” My voice is barely a whisper over the distant crash of waves on the humid air.
“I could want you enough.” His mouth is on mine before my mind has a chance to register his admission. His hand wraps the back of my neck over my hair, a move that’s quickly becoming my on switch. I shouldn’t be doing this. He’s drunk. He doesn’t mean it. My lips part under the teasing of his tongue when he curves his lean body over mine as his other hand slides around my waist.
Even wasted, he kisses good.
Gone is the lost, drunk man from a minute ago. In his place the Sonnie I know. The Sonnie I think I kinda like. For once I’ve no idea who holds what power between us. And for once, I don’t think I care. Tension tightens around us, and my skin vibrates against every inch of his chest. Against the thigh that’s just slid between my legs, guiding me around until my bum hits the edge of the dresser. Against the fingers pressing into my lower back.
The bottle slides from my hand and thuds on to the worn rug beneath my feet.
I pull back. Break the kiss. My breaths ragged, lips wet, eyelids heavy with the sudden spike of desire lighting my body from the inside. “You’re drunk.” My lungs expand with my inhale, crushing my chest tighter against his. “And sad.” I press my hands against his pecs over his creased black button-down. I’m sure I’ve read somewhere that funerals and sex are a thing. Like witnessing death so up close and personal can bring on the need for a life-affirming orgasm or two.
Can’t deny the logic. But still. That doesn’t make it okay to take advantage.
His hand drops from behind my head, and that glazed-out pain from before returns full force to his eyes when he shakes his head. “You know how many people came? To her funeral?”
My head shakes in the answer I can’t seem to make myself say. Please don’t say nobody.
“Nobody. In the end, she had nobody but me and a couple of nurses. She died, and nobody cared but me.”
It doesn’t take a genius to see where his thoughts are taking him. I’ve no idea what his mom’s story was or what kind of woman she was, but all signs point to not cool. I could really do with that bottle back. “People care about you, Sonnie. I’ve seen it.”
His smirk is sad, but I’ll take it. “Careful, Stan, some might say you’ve gone soft.”
“Says you.” I roll my eyes, relieved at his attempt to lighten the heaviness between us, but at the same time dangerously captivated by all those feels flashing in his eyes. “Sleep it off, Sonnie. You’ll feel differently in the morning.” I grip his biceps and guide him until the back of his legs hit his bed, and he falls backwards onto the mattress.
“Stay around for me, Stan.” His left dimple makes an appearance as his eyes drift close. “Stay around for me.”
My eyes twitch awake to a nostril-full of Sonnie’s musky sandalwood and citrus scent on warm, steam-filled air. I suck my tummy in and reach blindly to tug my T-shirt down from where it’s bunched up around my waist, arching to stretch the sleep from my joints. I fell asleep. Fully clothed. I pull at the button of my jean shorts where it’s digging into my skin. I hate sleeping in my clothes.
The sun’s pinky-orange light creeps over the terracotta tiles of the floor through a gap in the shutters that cover the patio doors. I force myself up to sitting and scrub my hands over my face. Who gets up this early after a bender? The bathroom door’s open. The shower empty, but recently used by the looks of things. I peel my tongue from the roof of my mouth and scan the room, my eyelids still heavy and my brain still blurry.
Water. I need water. And maybe to get out of here before Sonnie appears. Last night was ... crazy? Eye opening? Nothing more than a projection of his grief? Whatever. It was a sure-fire way to make things hella-awkward this morning.
Ignoring the heaviness of my limbs, I climb off the bed and grab the glass of orange juice from the bedside table that wasn’t there last night. Condensation drips in beads down the side of the glass. It’s not been there long.
