“What’s wrong?” Erik asks, placing his hard, scratchy hand on my bare back and leading me back out into the throng of people.
“It’s just getting late, and I’m feeling kind of tired,” I lie. “Would you hate me if I wanted to go home?”
While he doesn’t say yes, something in his eyes tells me he’s not exactly pleased. “I thought we were going to dance?”
I look around at the “dancers” and cringe. “Um, I’m not a great dancer. And besides, I don’t do”—I raise my hand and wave my outstretched index finger around at everybody in the room—“that.”
Erik’s hand moves across my back, even dipping beneath the soft fabric of my shirt slightly, and he leans in until he’s whispering in my ear. It reminds me of the morning I made French toast for Greyston, only Erik’s breath is nowhere near as sweet and warm as Greyston’s. “Juliette, everybody does that.”
Shaking my head, I pull away from Erik; I need his hand off me, and I suddenly feel the need to scrape my neck and ear clean with a Brillo Pad. “Mmm mmm,” I disagree. “Not me. Not ever. Look, I just want to go home. Please?”
Sighing heavily, Erik gives in to my request. “Fine. Let’s go.”
We step outside, and Erik starts leading me to his car. I stop instantly because, even though I’m really drunk, I know that there’s no way Erik is fit to drive. “Um, would you mind if we walked? I don’t think you should drive.”
“Juliette, I’m fine, really.” I shake my head adamantly, and he concedes again. “Whatever you say.”
It’s about a thirty-minute walk—maybe more because I can’t seem to walk in a completely straight line. Erik keeps trying to take my hand, but I’m pretty sly and keep moving it to fiddle with my hair or adjust my shirt. He seems to be put out by my non-hand-holding, only I can’t seem to care.
We finally arrive at my house, and Erik walks me up to the door. The porch light is still on, and I can see the dim light of one of the lamps in the living room. Is Greyston still up? The thought that he is excites me more than I can even say.
“I had fun tonight,” Erik says in a husky voice, reminding me that he’s still here. Boo.
I try not to giggle, but fail miserably; he sounds ridiculous. “Uh, yeah,” I concur to be nice. “It was all right.”
“What do you say we have a little more fun?”
Uh oh… I do not like the way that sounds. Nope. Uh uh. Not at all.
Leaning in, Erik starts to play with a tendril of my hair, his eyes moving back and forth between mine and then roving down my body. It makes me nervous. “So, you gonna invite me in?”
“No,” I answer quickly with a laugh. I hate the way he keeps invading my personal bubble.
“Come on…” Erik leans in further, his hand cupping my jaw and moving back until his fingers rest on the base of my neck. His face is slowly getting closer, and he’s licking his dry, cracked lips. Dread fills my body, and I grab the doorknob behind my back.
With my free hand, I reach up and grab his wrist, pulling his hand away from me, and step back. “I said no.” I turn the knob behind me to see that it’s thankfully unlocked, and I clumsily step just over the threshold, leaving Erik on the porch.
“You know what?” There’s a fire in his eyes, and not that sexy, smoldery kind like Greyston’s, either. Nah, he looks pissed. Rejected. “You’re nothing but a tease. I put up with you going on and on and on about that guy all night, and I get nothing in return?”
My head feels fuzzy, and the outer edges of my vision are still cloudy from the beer. Through it all, my irritation surges. “What did you want, Erik? A medal?” He glares at me, and whatever verbal filter I have left is washed away by the alcohol in my system. I don’t even know what I’m saying until I’ve said it. “Actually, I’ve got a few participation ribbons for dates who turn out to be sore losers upstairs…you want me to go grab you one, cupcake?” There’s a warm, familiar chuckle off to my left, and if I really hone my peripheral vision, I can see Greyston leaning in the doorway of the living room.
Erik doesn’t seem to appreciate my joke as much as Greyston does—which is because Erik’s not awesome like Greyston. “Fuck you,” he spits. “This was such a waste of time.” Grumbling something about my being a frigid tease, he retreats down the stairs.
Annoyed that the only reason he asked me out was to get into my pants, I slam the door. “UGH!”
“Hey, take it easy, champ. What did the door ever do to you?” Greyston jokes.