Page 68 of The Very First Night

He doesn’t recoil as I squeeze him tightly; he simply wraps his arms around me and hugs me back. “Kat…”

“Yes?” I say, sated and bordering on sleepy as I rest my head against his chest.

Tanner seems to fight off a laugh as he asks, “How much did you drink?”

“A few, why?”

“You smell like you bathed in whiskey. Let me guess, Jenna wanted to take shots?”

“Biiiingo.”

Tanner just chuckles as he releases my waist and begins pushing me toward his SUV. I climb into the passenger seat and buckle myself in before turning my head to find Jenna not just lying in the back seat face-down, but sleeping. Full-on, not a care in the world, snoring with her face pressed up against the leather interior.

When we arrive at the house, Jenna is still out cold, so much so that Tanner has to carry her inside. I knock on her and Marcus’s bedroom door twice before he appears in the doorway, wiping sleep from his eyes.

“Sorry, man, your girl had a little too much to drink,” Tanner whispers.

Marcus nods before hoisting Jenna into his arms and kicking the door shut behind him.

As Tanner and I walk down the hallway, our footsteps are the only sound echoing through the quiet house. I glance at him, noticing the tension in his jaw and the way his fingers flex by his side. The air feels heavy with unspoken words as we reach the end of the hall and stand outside our separate bedrooms, which are positioned directly across from each other.

Neither of us moves or breaks the silence until suddenly we both speak at the same time, causing an awkward overlap of words.

Tanner says, “Do you need anything?” right as I say, “I think we should.”

“What?” Tanner asks.

“Huh?”

“What did you just say?”

“I…what did you say?”

“What I said doesn’t matter. What did you say?”

I swallow hard as I look down at the hardwood floor, my socks tattered and mangled from the night of dancing. When I finally muster the nerve to say it again, it comes out in a single breath. “Ithinkweshouldhookup.”

One corner of Tanner’s lips tips upward, but he doesn’t say anything. He just moves toward me, encroaching on the little space that remains between us. I tip my head back to meet his eyes, and the moment I do, it all feels abundantly obvious. He’s glad I said what I said and I’m just realizing now that I don’t know if I’ve ever felt one-hundred-percent sure that a guy was being honest—ever.

I desperately search for a way to express how much I want him, and my body takes the lead. I rise onto my tiptoes and brush my lips against his. He leans into the kiss, then suddenly pulls back as I try to deepen it with my tongue. His hesitation only fuels my desire and I reach up, tangling my fingers in his hair and pulling him closer.

“Kat, no.” His voice sounds pained and I don’t think I’ve ever been so confused.

“But I thought you wanted?—”

“I do,” he reassures me. “But you’re drunk and I’m not that guy.”

“I’m not that drunk.”

“I don’t care.”

Stepping backward, I fix my eyes on the floorboards between us again, attempting but failing to keep the tears at bay as the humiliation of rejection washes over me.

“Hey, hey,” he soothes, his voice pleading and tender as he steps toward me, tipping my chin up so my eyes meet his. “I don’t want you to take me saying no to you tonight as me saying no. Trust me, it’s taking everything in me right now not to give you exactly what you’re asking for. But you’re drunk, and I would never ever want to take advantage.”

I try to interject and reassure him that it wouldn’t be taking advantage—that I want this—but he presses his pointer finger against my lips to shush me. He actually shushes me, and I know that I should be bothered by it, but something about the motion turns my insides to water.

He continues, “I don’t care if you don’t think it would be taking advantage. I don’t want there to be even the tiniest part of you that regrets it when we have sex for the first time. So we can talk about it tomorrow…when you’re sober and don’t reek of whiskey.”

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