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Over the space of the next few hours, we go from graceful, self-respecting patrons of the bar, to being kicked out for public drunkenness.
There’s no other way to put it. I’m a mess, but Becs on the other hand, she’s about ready to fall off her feet.
We stand in front of the bar, and I help Becs into her Uber, wishing we could go together, but from this particular bar, we live in separate directions, and we’ve learned long ago that it’s just easier to catch separate rides.
Her Uber takes off, and I stand out front for a few minutes, waiting for my ride to show up, and as the cool air whips through the night, it helps sober me up . . . a bit. A few minutes turn into ten when frustration takes over, and I open my app to see what the hell happened to my driver before realizing I never actually booked my ride.
What a fucking idiot.
I laugh to myself as I fall back against the side of the building, using it as a crutch to keep me upright, and while I mentally try to convince myself that texting Izaac about how much of an asshole he is probably isn’t a great idea, I start booking my Uber.
My stupid drunk fingers move across my screen, making an array of typos, and by the time I see my option laid out before me, my face scrunches. I don’t exactly like what I’m seeing. The closest Uber is ten minutes away. I could almost walk home in that time. What’s the point in even waiting? Sure, it’s a bit chilly tonight, but who doesn’t love a good stroll? Besides, after all the Izaac bullshit, I could use the walk to clear my head.
I turn in the direction of home, putting one foot in front of the other, and with nothing but time and silence to keep me company, I can’t help but question every moronic thing I’ve done over the past few weeks. Why did I have to kiss him like that? I mean, it’s not like it was some big show-stopping moment. It was barely a brush of my lips across his, but the way his body went rigid like that . . . that was weird. He almost looked . . . fearful.
But why would he react like that? We’ve already done so much worse, and it’s not as though he wasn’t begging me to change my mind. I thought he wanted the physical connection, just not the emotional one.
I try to think over the times I saw him with other women over the years, filtering through every single one of them until I realize that I never once saw him kissing them. Don’t get me wrong, his lips roamed far and wide over their bodies, but never on their lips. That’s a little weird for a man who has never been afraid of public displays of affection.
Does he have some weird repulsion to kissing? Is that why he didn’t kiss me in my apartment tonight? I could have sworn he looked as though he wanted to, but maybe I was imagining that.
God, I can only imagine what it’d be like to truly be kissed by Izaac Banks. I feel as though he’s the kind to start slow and cautious, but then he’d take control. He’d dominate the kiss until I was trembling.
I wonder if a woman can come from just a kiss.
I need to Google that at some point. Actually, why not now? After all, there’s no time like the present, and it’s not as though I have anything else to do right now.
Holding up my phone, I lean toward the little microphone as the streets become less business-focused and more residential. “Hey, Siri. Can a woman orgasm through kissing?”
Bringing my phone closer to my ear, I press the volume button at the side and listen closely, determined to hear exactly what my favorite little robot mastermind has to say about this. “I don’t have an answer for that.”
Huh. Well, that’s shit.
I let out a sigh and pull up Google instead.
Hmmm . . . interesting.
Apparently it’s possible, not likely, but still possible, and that’s always a bonus in my book.
Perhaps this needs to go on my sexual experience bucket list. Besides, if any man would be capable of getting me there with nothing more than a kiss, surely it would be Izaac. He’s so damn good at everything. Makes a woman wonder justhowhe became so good at it.
I bet it was that girl who always came around during his college years. She was a bit of a skank, but I could tell that she had a wild side. I always hated her, but I suppose now I owe her a thanks.
My mind takes me on a wild journey, going over everything Izaac has said to me over the past few weeks when I hear the soft sound of someone on the pathway behind me.
My heart lurches in my chest as I immediately think the worst, and I find myself holding my breath. I pick up my pace before finally finding the courage to look back. There’s a man in a black hoodie, maybe twenty or so steps behind me, and I instantly berate myself for only now being more aware of my surroundings. Hell, even for being stupid enough not to have waited for my Uber.
Then just to be sure that I’m not overthinking this, I cross the road and turn down the closest street, even though it’ll add time to my walk.
I wait, my gaze focused hard over my shoulder as I keep up my pace, trying to put distance between us, but the hooded guy appears around the corner.
Well, fuck. I’m being followed.
It’s past midnight, so I can assume that he could be leaving a friend’s place and innocently trying to make his way back home just as I am, but am I really that naive to believe that?
Not even a little bit.
This guy wants something from me, and I can only assume it’s the one thing mothers warn their little girls about, the one thing that plays on a woman’s mind every time she walks to her car by herself, the one reason why you’re always told to go with a trusted adult when entering a public restroom.
