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Gage’s eyes open, and he doesn’t look drunk anymore. He looks like a man focused on what he wants. He reaches out and runs his thumb along my bottom lip. “So. Fucking. Beautiful.”
My stomach flips.
Is he going to kiss me again?
Do I want him to?
Hell yes.
I know it’s a bad idea, but I’m tired of fighting it.
He leans forward and whispers in my ear, “Are you still wearing those red panties? Because that’s what I’m picturing you in.”
Jesus. Every part of my body goes liquid with desire.
I force myself to stand up. “One second. Just...stay there, okay? I’m going to get you some water, and a snack, and if you still want to, you know...after you’re sober...”
Gage gives me a crooked smile that heats my blood.
I rush out of the room before I change my mind. I don’t quite dare let myself think about what happens if Gage still wants me this bad when he’s back to normal.
He won’t, I tell myself as I pour him a glass of water and dump some snacks onto a plate.He’ll sober up and be glad neither of us did anything stupid.
On the other hand, what if this is how he always feels, underneath his grumpiness and bluster? What if he’s genuinely this attracted to me, and it just took the alcohol to get him to admit it?
The thought is exhilarating and hot and nerve-wracking all at the same time.
I walk back to the living room with Gage's water and a plate of snacks, not sure which outcome I’m rooting for...
Oh, who am I kidding? I want him to kiss me senseless and fuck my brains out.
I head over to Gage, feeling breathless and giddy and turned on...
Until I see that he’s fast asleep, long limbs sprawled everywhere.
I sigh.
Just my luck.
“Probably for the best,” I say to the sleeping Gage.
He lets out a loud snore.
I set the food and water down on the coffee table, then I carefully ease Gage down so that he’s lying on the couch and won’t get a crick in his neck. I pull off his shoes and cover him with a cashmere throw blanket that probably costs more than my rent.
I’m about to leave when the ring box tumbles off the couch and down to the floor.
For a second, I think about putting it on.
It’s my ring after all.
But something about putting that ring on will make this all feel a little too real.
Right now, I desperately need it to stay fake—Because if it doesn’t, I’m in big trouble.
I set the ring box on the coffee table and leave Gage to sleep off whatever it was that drove him to drink.
11
