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My brain, however, is caught on the sight of the pearly silk clinging to her upper thighs, riding too high when she stoops to rinse her mouth out with tap water. A hint of curved ass cheek is enough to have my gaze averting. It shoots toward the ceiling for a brief second as I pray the choked noise lodged in the back of my throat isn’t as audible as I fear before returning to her reflection.
Clambering awkwardly to my feet, I shove my twitchy hands into my pockets, watching her straighten that goddamn scrap of fabric and fluff her hair and swipe at the errant streaks of mascara beneath her eyes, all the while cursing and chastising herself for being such a mess.
“You look good.”
Startlingly bright irises dart my way, as wide and surprised to hear the compliment as I was to say it—I was thinking it one second, blurting it the next. It’s hilarious, really, that amidst a sea of instances where my mouth refuses to open around this girl, it couldn’t stay shut the one time I wanted it to.
Something between a smirk and a pout flourishes as Luna straightens, one hip cocked as she flicks her hair over a shoulder, intimidating in a way no one as wasted as her should be capable of achieving. “Just good?”
“Uh,” I cough, gaze inadvertently raking over her.
Yeah. If I looked like her, I’d be offended bygoodtoo.
“Beautiful,” I correct myself, the tips of my ears on fire as they presumably turn bright red.
A tiny, sharp intake of breath echoes off the tiled bathroom walls. Luna’s head drops ever so slightly, waves falling forward to hide what I’m sure are but can’t possibly be blush-stained cheeks. It only lasts a split second, the brief lapse in bravado, before she clears her throat and straightens.
“Beautiful, hm?” she croons, twirling a blonde lock around her finger in a way that should absolutely be cringy and obnoxious but somehow isn’t. “Lucky you. Trapped in a bathroom with a beautiful girl.”
Briefly, I wonder if I’m hallucinating. If I’m the drunk one. If someone slipped something in my drink. Because I swear there’s a flirtatious edge to her tone, something sultry and sticky and too damn enticing.
Coy. Curious. Wanting.
God, I might not be Nicolas fucking Silva but I know what a girl looks like when she wants to be kissed. And she, for some unfathomable reason, is looking at me like that right now.
It’s so sudden, so off-balancing, so fucking distracting, I almost forget she’s drunk. I almost forget she’s…her. Any thoughts unrelated to the crystal gaze zoned in on my mouth are pretty cloudy. When her tongue darts out to trace her bottom lip, I almost break.
God, do I want to break.
But then Luna takes a single step toward me and trips over her own feet, and reality breaks through the fog.
I catch her before she hits the ground, holding her at arm’s length but she doesn’t stay there for long. Soft, drunken snickering brushes my neck as she shimmies closer, long lashes casting shadows across her cheeks as she blinks with blatant false innocence. “What, you scared of me or something?”
Terrified, I admit silently.
“You need help finding someone?” I ask aloud.
It’s not a dismissal—it’s more of a plea—but Luna takes it that way. A full bottom lip comes out to play, disappointment found in straight, white teeth kissing loudly. “No.”
It would be a lie, if the universe wasn’t evidently on Luna’s side. The moment the word leaves her pouting mouth, the bathroom door swings open, wood banging against the wall in unison with an indignant shout. “Hey!”
Survival instincts drive me away from the too-drunk girl with lowered inhibitions; she doesn’t get the message. The large step I take, she copies, plastering herself to my side, dead weight leaning against me as one hand loops loosely around my waist in an oddly comfortable way while the other waves lazily at the girl looming in the doorway.
The girl staring at me exactly how you’d expect someone to stare at the random stranger pawing your drunk friend alone in a bathroom.
Dark eyes scrutinize me suspiciously, and when she crooks an accusing brow, I blurt, “I was helping her.”
The responding hum is less than convinced.
“Relax, Kate,” Luna cuts in confidently, a clammy palm patting my hip. “He did not roofie me.”
Kate wears an expression as dry and unamused as her response. “That’s nice of him.”
A croaky, heaving noise I think is a laugh directs my attention to the lump of pale skin and wild, red hair bundled beneath Kate’s arm, and I’m briefly distracted as I wonder how Nick would react if he knew the girl he definitely has absolutely zero interest in was scurrying around the same bar all night.
Very distracting fingers messing with the hem of my t-shirt direct my attention to Luna again. Lashing batting, she does that goddamn purring thing again. “Can you help me into bed?”
“Jesus Christ, Luna.” Kate sighs, briefly pinching the bridge of her nose before crooking her fingers in a summoning gesture. “You’re done. Let’s go.”
