Page 118 of The Snowball Effect

“All right, then, come on.” Emma tightened her arms around Regan’s waist and took a couple small steps backward, forcing Regan to walk forward to keep up with her and ensure their bodies didn’t lose contact. One of Emma’s arms disengaged its hold from Regan to swing their apartment door shut. “Is it safe to assume that you had fun with your coworkers?”

Regan inhaled deeply, loving this feeling of being wrapped up in Emma’s scent. It made her stomach tingle so pleasantly. “Mmm. It was fine.”

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but being drunk enough that you aren’t standing on your own seems like you had more than afinetime. Or less than a fine time, depending.”

But – no. That was factually wrong, and Regan needed Emma to know that.

She needed Emma to know that Regan wasn’t – she wasn’t someone that went out and got so plastered that she couldn’t enter her own home. That she wasn’t a messy drunk that couldn’t stand up by herself.

Even though it went against every fiber of Regan’s being in this moment, she pulled away from Emma. Away from her warmth and the comfort and the way her body felt against Regan’s, because she needed to prove herself.

“I can stand on my own,” she insisted, reluctantly dropping her arms away from Emma so that Emma knew she really didn’t need her support. “I just – the keys were hard. I was taking a short break!”

She scowled at the keys in question that were still clutched in her hand, before tossing them to the entry table. Then she dumped her purse on the table, too, feeling significantly lighter after.

“See?” She held her arms up and kicked her feet out in a little dance, making Emma see that she was still in control of her own body. Not a single stumble, thank you very much.

She might not be sober, but she wasn’t a total lush. And Regan objected at her very core for Emma to see her that way.

Emma’s eyebrows lifted as she slid her gaze down Regan’s body in the dim lighting of their hallway. “I do see. Did you wear that towork?” The incredulity dripped from Emma’s voice.

Confused, Regan looked down at herself to take in her fitted crop top and sort of scandalously low-cut shorts. Ah. She scoffed out a laugh, which came out maybe a little louder than she’d intended. “Ohhhh, no. No, no.” She lifted her eyes tomeet Emma’s. “You see, Emma, at work? I’m in charge; I’m a manager. I can’t wear this to work.”

“Mhmm, but youcango out and drink with the people you manage?” Emma asked, tilting her head.

Regan held up her hand to stop her right there. “First, I started our going out traditions way before I ever became a manager. And secondly, Emma Bordeaux, secondly – you see, without me there, who would be the responsible one? Hmm?”

She arched a victorious look at Emma, who was staring back at her dubiously. Mixed with that skepticism, though, was the softest little smile. A smile that made Regan’s cheeks feel warm and her heart did that pitter-patter thing.

“Andyou’rethe responsible one?” Emma asked, teasingly.

Itwasteasing, yes. But it was also so… dare Regan say – affectionate?

Because she really, really wanted that.

God, she wanted it so badly. It ached inside of her, how very deeply she wanted Emma to feel as affectionate for Regan as Regan felt for Emma.

She wanted to have a picture of this look on Emma’s face right now, this soft look, so that she could look at it whenever she felt down about herself. She wanted to document it, so she could study it when she was sober, wondering if what Regan felt when she looked at Emma was reflected in this look.

Unfortunately, Regan’s phone was buried in her purse, and she didn’t want to look away from Emma right now.

“Yes, I am the responsible one. If you thinkI’mdrunk, you should have seen Liz and Beth and Mike and Dustin and Jackie. I’m the one who got them all in Ubers and sent them home to the right address! Addresses?” Which one was right? Anyway. “Ergo, therefore, my going out with them is also kind of my duty.”

Emma slowly nodded, folding her arms over her chest. “Right.”

Reganalsosaw – saw that Emma wasn’t wearing a bra and that her nipples were hard and poking through her shirt. Damn it! Regan hadn’t known that when they’d been pressed together a minute ago! If she’d known, she could have relished the feeling while it had lasted.

She slapped her hand to her forehead. Before she winced –ouch, too hard. Still. Bad Regan. Bad, bad Regan.

Platonic friendship meant that she shouldn’t be noticing or caring about whether Emma was wearing a bra or not. Or how she felt about that fact.

In all honesty, Regan hadn’t meant to get as drunk as she was. She’d intended to go out just long enough to see Mike’s set and have a drink for Liz’s birthday.

But every time she’d thought about going home, she’d gotten so excited to see Emma. Which, in turn, had driven Regan tonotgo home. It had been a very weird paradox.

Wait – Emma wasn’t wearing her bra, and she was wearing her little shorts that she only ever wore to bed.

God, she had amazing thighs. So soft and so thick and Regan felt like they could squeeze her head off, but something about that made her want to clench her own thighs together.

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