Page 3 of Warmer, Colder

“Beccaaaa!” Nate Peters calls from the open front door where he sizes me up with a cocky smile and lingering eyes.

Who the hell invited him? My brother isn’t even here. I stomp over, not because he called me, but because the neighbors are going to flip if this party gets too loud and I really don’t want to deal with it. I yank at my dress as I make my way across the room.

“What are you doing here?” My brother may have put everything between them in the past, but I’ll never forget how Nate made his life a living hell. “Aiden’s out of town.” Thank god. The idea of them hooking up just a room away from me would truly scar me for life. My stomach rolls at the unwelcome mental image.

Nate shrugs, his muscles rippling effortlessly. “I’m not here for him; I’m here to party.”

“Whatever, just don’t break anything.” I have enough shit to deal with, it’s not even worth arguing about.

How does this night just keep getting worse and worse? I need another drink.

Walking through my own home feels like a landmine. I’m simultaneously dodging the daggers Meg is staring at me, avoiding my other friends so I don’t have to find out whether they’re mad at me too, and trying to make it to the kitchen without having to make any small talk with anyone who’s just here to take advantage of an opportunity to get drunk and socialize.

That’s what Ishouldbe doing. Liquor spills over my hand with my clumsy, rushed pouring. Sucking in a deep breath, I attempt to plug my nose as I toss the shot back. The sharp scent of ethanol burns my nostrils. Despite how rancid the cheap vodka is, it’s easier to swallow than the truth of my best friend’s heart.

The kitchen and dining area is sweltering, now packed with buzzing bodies as people gather around tables to play King’s Cup and beer pong. They may as well all be invisible because all I can see is Meg’s devastated gaze from across the room. It appears we’re coping the same way; however, she seems intent on keeping my attention while I’m actively avoiding her. I need time to think. This isn’t the time or the place to continue this conversation, fight, whatever it’s going to be. Just the thought of it stifles me more than the increasingly ripe smell of sweat, pepperoni, and artificial sweeteners failing to mask all the varieties of alcohol.

Air. I need air.

“Come on, birthday girl, your turn,” Nate calls over the thumping music that someone’s turned up again. A haughty rejection is on the tip of my tongue, but my annoyance is a welcome distraction. So much so that my feet easily move in his direction.

Taking aim, I hope for some beginner’s luck as the ball flies out of my hand. Like the rest of this night, it disappoints, bouncing off the rim and into the crowd. A series of white and orange balls meet the same fate, while my opponents land at least every other throw.

“Next person to miss a cup has to take a shot, dealer’s choice,” one of Nate’s friends, Rob, I think, proclaims as his eyes caress the slight dip of my neckline. Of course, I lose, and before I can object, his moist, calloused hand is tugging on mine.

He picks up bottle after bottle as he concocts some mixed shot; his “specialty”. As long as it’s better than the straight rubbing alcohol I had earlier, I guess I can’t complain. Resigned to my fate, I wait by his side, taking shallow breaths so I don’t suffocate in the toxic cloud of his aggressive cologne that smells far too similar to a teen boy’s body spray for me to stomach.

After what feels like an eternity, a shot glass is presented in front of me. But just as I’m leaning into it, I’m thrust against the wall.

“Oh shit!” someone obnoxiously yells while others whistle.

My throat tightens nervously, barring the objections that desperately want to jump out. I never get a chance to voice them because someone is towering over me, their weight holding me in place. Behind me is hard and unforgiving, but in front of me, I’m wedged against the softest body I’ve ever felt. The way it contours around me is surprisingly pleasant, moving my mind from shock to curiosity. Wispy pink and blond hair tumbles around us as I stare up into an angelic face that sharpens with sinful intent as we make eye contact.

No woman has ever looked at me like this.

Like a rabbit in a snare, my heart thumps wildly as I wait for the threat to close in around me. But the fear doesn’t manifest. I’m frozen in awe, so she’s met with zero resistance as her gentle fingers frame my jaw in a firm hold and she tilts my head back.My skin tingles at the slide of her pink and black acrylic nails against my heated skin. Squirming, my back arches.

“Open up, birthday girl,” she purrs.

Bewitched, I fall under the spell of her sultry voice, my lips parting for the shot glass, my tongue lying in wait for the harsh sting of alcohol. But instead of smooth glass, a gust of cool mint flows from her open mouth and coasts against my own before a waterfall of liquor cascades from her rosy lips into my waiting throat.

“That’s it, let me in.”

Heat gathers low in my empty stomach and warms me from the inside out, my skin becoming sticky and slick. It’s boiling at the surface under her attentive gaze that sweeps over me.

“Oops. You’ve got a little something...” My confusion is quickly quelled as the tip of her tongue sneaks from the corner of my lip into my mouth when I gasp in surprise.

She presses forward in her exploration. Her palm clasps around my throat, the weight an anchor as my body and mind float outside of me, the burden of this night becoming distant as my world shrinks to just the points where we make contact. The music, the whistling, the murmured judgments all melt into an irrelevant hum, my ears only picking up the sigh of her breath and the quiet meeting of our mouths.

Her thigh slides between my legs. The combination of the friction from her lacy thigh-highs and the sudden pressure of her knee sends a rush through me like the drop of a roller coaster. My gut drops and flips with a punch of adrenaline. I’ve never been touched like this.With graceful intent.The thrill spikes as she leans into me, my dress inching upward. The concern of flashing everyone is fleeting, overridden by her tongue winding around mine. The shock of cold metal in the center elicits a gasp. Her methodical movements coax a whimper from me that I pray is eaten up by the thumping music.

My nipples harden in response to the friction of her own grazing my silky slip.

“Fuck,” she moans, and I choke on the undiluted lust. The overwhelming potency of it breaks the trance I’ve been lost in.

Hands coming between us I shove her away. “What the hell are you doing?” Along with my breath, she’s stolen my voice, the words weaker than they should be. I say it again like I mean it.

A flinch of hurt passes over her mahogany brown eyes, but she recovers quickly. She suppresses her shock and morphs her expression into one of smugness—severely lined eyes and reddened lips pulling into a smirk. I answer with a glare that’s a forceful diversion from staring at the cleavage that spills out of her low-cut black mini-dress. While she was soft and languid against me, everything about her hardens, her edges sharpening with narrowed eyes and the pop of her hip. Grasping for control, I ignore the way the movement shifts her dress up her plump thighs exposing more of her peachy skin.Let it go,I plead silently with furrowed brows. There’s a challenge in the assertive eye contact she returns, and I squirm internally under the assumption that simmers there. But unfortunately, she’s not the only one who sees right through me.

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