Page 4 of Sweet Nothings

He shrugs with a blank expression, but I can see the alcohol swimming in his eyes. He’s as drunk if not more than I am.“You don’t.” He leans forward and whispers, “But even if I was, I wouldn’t kill you. At least not now. Too many witnesses.”

I swallow the lump forming in my throat. I can’t explain it, but I tell Ray my address, and he pulls away from the club.

We drive through two sets of traffic lights before I risk a glance at the man beside me and notice his expression has changed. His blue eyes are still sad, but they look glassier than earlier. It’s as if he’s going to burst into tears at any moment. He rests his elbow on the door and massages his chin with his fingertips.

“Rough day?” I ask, hoping to lighten the mood.

For the first time, the corner of his mouth turns up slightly, though it quickly fades. “Something like that.”

“Same.”

“It’s your birthday.” It comes out more as a statement than a question.

“It is.” My hand flies to the tiara on my head. I’d almost forgotten I was wearing it.

“Was it your party you left early?”

“Not exactly.” I shake my head, biting back the urge to word vomit on the man nice enough to give me a ride. I keep silent about it being my sister’s birthday as well. While she’s my best friend, I’ve always existed in her shadow, never been taken seriously.

“Why were you out tonight?” I ask.

He pauses, considering his answer carefully as if he’s dissecting it before voicing it out loud. “To escape. To forget.”

I don’t ask him to elaborate. I let his confession hang heavily in the air between us. Maybe it’s because I understand him. I can relate. Leaving the club was my way of escaping, too.

The passing streetlights outside make me dizzy. My eyes flutter shut and then they snap open when I feel a hand glide across my cheek.

“A feather from your tiara was in your hair.” A tiny, pale purple feather is pinched between his long fingers.

“Thank you,” I whisper. “That was sweet.” My cheeks bloom with heat.

“Um, okay.” His dark eyebrows knit. “What was sweet, exactly?”

“What you did. Thank you.” I blink, unsure why I’m being so honest with a stranger. Flushed and panicked, I swallow the words, hoping we can clear the awkwardness wrapping its arms around us. “It’s nothing. Don’t worry about it.”

“Sweet nothings,” he says quietly. He shakes his head once and looks down, and I swear I see the faintest tilt in the corner of his mouth.

“Sweet nothings?” I ask him.

“Never mind.” There’s an edge to his voice. It’s distant, but there’s an edge.

“Sweet nothings,” I repeat, trying to decipher it as if it were some sort of code phrase. “What are sweet nothings?”

He pauses and rubs his finger across his stubbled chin. “It’s when…” He allows his voice to trail off. His eyes search my face. “Never mind. It isn’t important.”

I have no idea what he’s talking about.

I bet it’s what he was whispering into the ear of the woman riding his lap back at the club. I bet it’s what he tells every woman he meets: sweet nothings.

“Thank you for giving me a ride home.” I clear my throat. “I don’t think I said it yet.”

My eyes unconsciously drop to his mouth. The overwhelming urge to kiss him comes over me. I want to wipe the sadness from his lips. I want to take away the glassiness in his eyes. I’ve been drinking, but I think I would be attracted to him even if I hadn’t been.

I know I’m not as bold or as confident as my sister, but I’m still me. I want to kick off this new year trailing my own path instead of following Roe’s. I want to be daring and confident like her, but in my own way.

I open my mouth to speak, but the words don’t leave my throat before the man’s mouth lands on mine. I welcome it, sinking into it with every breath. I close my eyes and breathe him in. His mouth on mine is as beautiful as the first time I saw him. I drink his kiss in as if it’s the first kiss I’ve ever had. It isn’t. Not by a long shot. My first kiss was when I was eight. The first time I had sex was when I was sixteen.

But this is different. It’s a fevered yet measured kiss. His mouth tastes exactly how it smells: whiskey, cigarettes, and mint. His hands land on my hips, tugging on me. I lift my leg and straddle him. I don’t know how far we are from my apartment, but I don’t care. My body is humming with his touch. I’m already wet between my thighs. His cock is hard as stone beneath his expensive suit, begging to be set free. He must press one of the buttons on his door because the sound of the partition between us and his driver fills the air, giving us privacy.

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