Page 54 of All Twerk, No Play

Her lips tightened into a determined line. “A person can fail at anything if they’re not prepared.”

I couldn’t help it. I pulled her onto my lap and she came willingly, snuggling into me. With all her prestigious degrees and casual Greek, this brilliant woman could learn anything. Maybe I could be the one to teach her how to relax, to let loose … and maybe even to cuddle.

“Ok, baby,” I said in a soothing tone. “Tell me how you can prepare. Tell me what you want, when you think about falling in love.”

Her eyelashes fluttered against my neck like she was falling asleep. Her raspy voice arrived just above a whisper, like she didn’t want anybody to eavesdrop on her dream. “I want somebody who wants me so badly that he can’t breathe when I’m away. Somebody who can’t keep his hands off me. Somebody who likes me better than everyone else, even when I’m a cold bitch.”

“Especially when you’re a cold bitch."

Her eyes stayed closed but her palm smacked my chest in emphatic agreement. “Exactly. Somebody who makes me laugh when I try not to. And who brings me so much joy that I break out into song like a fucking Disney princess.”

She laughed softly, her voice light with surprise. “Kinda like you, Cruz.”

Her eyes stayed closed as she nuzzled her head into my neck. “As much as I try, I can’t stop myself from liking you. I think,” she yawned, and her words slowed down, trailing off as she finished, “I think if I could fall in love with anybody, it would be you.”

I was so dumbstruck that I said nothing. I sat silently on her designer couch surrounded by a million neutral throw pillows, and she stayed curled on my lap as she fell asleep in my arms. I don’t know how long I sat there, her head resting on my shoulder, sharing intimacy I never believed was possible with her.

All it took was a liter of whiskey and the promise of a nightmare hangover.

Holding her felt dangerous. I’d had a crush for months—more than a crush, if I was being honest. I’d convinced myself it was unrequited, like my childhood infatuation with Ariana Grande. I’d seen her on Nickelodeon, admired her from afar, but knew that even if we met she’d look right over me, another face in the crowd.

But Victoria drunkenly admitted to liking me. What was I supposed to do, knowing that?

I should put her to bed. I’d come up here for a noise complaint and stayed to make sure she was safe, that’s all.

I should, and I would.

Soon.

I swear.

But not yet. Because when she sobered up, she’d ice me out again. So I’d soak up this vulnerability, stockpile cozy Cobrita cuddles. My mind looped her words—if I could fall in love with anybody, it would be you—while reminding myself that in the morning, she’d barely remember.

I felt a nudge against my elbow from a smooth gray furball. Jurisprudence set a gentle paw on the tan pillow beside me. I shifted, tilting Victoria’s body to balance the requested pillow between the armrest and my thigh. The cat glared before knocking the pillow onto the ground and curling up on my leg, her fluffy tail batting against my knee.

Not wanting to disturb Victoria, I dozed off with this fierce woman and her fluffy cat settled on my lap.

When the cat leaped off my lap an hour later, I startled awake, jolting the woman whose cold nose was nuzzled into my neck. Her face flinched before her eyelids blinked open. She looked up at my face, confusion marring her beautiful features, replaced by a flash of horror … right before she threw up all over my shirt.

"Silver Spring," Fleetwood Mac

Victoria

Myskullpulsed,eventhough bone can’t pulse. Covering my brow sent spikes of pain behind my eyelids, squinting shut to block the sunlight streaming through the gauzy curtains around the glass French doors.

Dear god, I’m never going to drink again.

I made the executive decision to never move again, not squint, not even blink. I would die in this bed. Death would be preferred to the stupid sunlight and itchy fabric against my skin. This is why I sleep in silk pajamas. I felt my silk shorts, but the shirt …

I cracked an eye as the ceiling spun, catching a glimpse of my sunshine yellow Navy shirt, then instantly slammed it closed.

Vague memories of last night trickled into my mind …

Alexander. On his porch, wiggling a familiar wine bottle.

I could have handled that better.

That's not why I broke up with you.

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