Page 34 of The 7 Rules of Moving On
He wasn’t faring much better, but when he brought her back to her door and she batted her eyelashes at him while biting her lip, he was at least sober enough to remember rule number four.
After kissing her on her hand only, he told her goodnight before doing a sad and lonely Snoopy walk back to his room.
He’d just stepped out of a scalding shower, trying to warm up and simultaneously cool down, when someone knocked at his door.
“Who is it?” he called out, wrapping a towel around his waist.
“Trig. It’s Kissie,” came a loud whisper. “I need to see you. I need to see my wingman.”
Pulling open his door, he barely kept his feet, or his towel, when she threw herself into his arms, kissing him like her life depended on it.
“Kissie,” he slurred between her lips which were,fuck, so soft and sweet. “What are you doing?”
“There are things…I didn’t…get today,” she said, kissing him after every other word.
“I’m…sorry to…hear it,” he fought to reply.
“Things I need.” She pulled away, but only so she could grasp his face in her hands and tell him, “I need you, Trig.”
This was one of those situations in a person’s life that tested their mettle, tried their honor. Was he a person of his word? Or a creature ruled by his basic needs?
“We shouldn’t do this.” He had to lug the words out of his mouth because he very much wanted to do this. He wanted to do nothing but this for the rest of his life.
Her fingertips ran over his pecs, down his abs, tucking into the edge of his towel. “Why not?”
“Because we’re drunk. And there are rules, remember?”
“What rules?”
“Rule number four. No drunk hookups. It’s your rule, Kiss.”
“Okay fine, we won’t fuck.” She took his lower lip between her teeth. “We’ll just do everything else.”
Trig was not a religious man, but he prayed for strength, fervently, to any deity, spirit, or guardian angel who would listen because her hands were in his hair, her body pressed up against his. Not knowing what else to do, he hauled her over his shoulder and tossed her onto his bed.
She squealed in delight.
Looking anywhere but at the fiery desire burning in her eyes, he said, “We can’t fuck or fool around or anything, because you might regret it in the morning.”
“I won’t,” she said earnestly, rising to her knees. “I promise.”
He wanted to believe her. And yet the words kept coming out of his mouth. “These areyourrules, Kissie.Yourecruited me to be your wingman. And you told me that rule number four couldn’t be broken because it leads to rule number five. Which is—”
RULE NUMBER FIVE: NO SHAMEOVERS
KISSIE
“Rule number five can get bent,” Kissie stated, so hot and horny she thought she might actually burst into flames. “I’ve been thinking about deleting it.”
The way he paced back and forth at the foot of his bed reminded Kissie of a worked-up horse.
He pulled on his lower lip, then his beard, then his hair. “What is wrong with me? What is wrong with me? What the fuck is wrong with me!”
“You’re not on top of me yet?” she suggested as an answer to his repeated line of questioning.
Groaning, he made a move toward her, then jerked himself away again.
A notion she hadn’t even considered poured a bucket of ice water over her pajama pants. She looked down at herself, then back up at him. “You don’t want me?”
