Page 12 of Sleepover

“Hookup, huh?” The hint of a smile tipped up the corner of his mouth.

“Shit,” I said. “You know what? Maybe I’d better leave before I totally humiliate myself.”

“No. Don’t do that. It’s a hookup. If you want it to be.” His gaze swept over me, bringing heat everywhere it touched. “I do.”

His frankness flooded me with relief. My nerves notched down.

“Yeah. My friends think it’s time to get back on the hor—”

I cut myself off, blushing furiously.

Damn alcohol. Next thing you know, I’d be telling him the sordid details of exactly how Trevor had hurt me.

“Well, lucky me for being in the right place at the right time.” He watched me intently. I was drunk enough now that I was starting to get that tunnel effect—I could feel the music throbbing, the ruckus of the voices around me, but mostly I could see him—those heavy-lidded dark eyes, his full mouth, the knot of muscle at his jaw.

I became aware that my panties were damp, my clit swollen. I was usually slow to heat up. This was some crazy voodoo chemistry. Or too much alcohol.

“I think you should tell me about your shitty year.” He raised his eyebrows. “Unless you’d rather make small talk.”

I smiled at that. “Um, not particularly.”

He had this patient way of listening. He was very still, and he looked right into my eyes.

I figured, what the hell? I didn’t need him to like me. I just needed him to sleep with me. “He left me for his high school girlfriend.”

He winced.

“Yeah. He was still dating her in college, long distance, right before I met him. I was his rebound from her, except then I got pregnant and we got married. But somewhere in there, he decided that she really was the one. They kept in touch the whole time, and I had no idea how much he messaged and texted her. Skyped her, even. He said it only ever crossed the line into being physical once, like it was supposed to make me feel better that he only emotionally cheated on me, or like I’m supposed to congratulate him on his restraint. I couldn’t stop thinking about that one time, though—trying to figure out what it was, when it happened—Shit,” I said again, “I’ll shut up now. Has anyone ever told you you’re easy to talk to?”

“Not really.” This time I was sure of it: that slight quirk at the corner of his mouth was a hint of a smile.

“I babble when I’m nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?”

He didn’t ask it in a mean way. He asked like he really wanted to know.

“I’ve never done this. I mean, I had high school and college hookups at parties and stuff, but that was different. I was married when I was twenty-two. I had a kid when I was twenty-three. So this is my first bar hookup.”

My face flamed. Way to go, Elle.Now he’s really turned on.

He finished his whiskey, and I was half expecting him to make some excuse and walk away, but instead he reached his hand out and brushed his thumb across my lower lip. “You have a beautiful mouth.”

Heat washed through me, and I drew a shuddering breath.

His eyes darkened. “Yeah? You like that? What do you need?”

I wasn’t sure I knew the answer.

He read my confusion.

“You need to fuck? Prove you can still do it? That your ex didn’t take it away from you?”

Unable to speak, I nodded. The casual way he said “fuck” had slipped under all my defenses and burrowed itself into the hot, wet center of me. And it felt good to admit the truth.

His mouth quirked in an almost-smile. “Works for me. As long as you know this is a one-time thing, though. I don’t do repeats, no matter what.”

I didn’t want a repeat. Sawyer was exactly right. I wanted to prove to myself (and Trevor, even if he wasn’t actually ever going to know) that Trevor hadn’t broken me.

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