Tempting(26)

“Here,” he said, gently pushing me to the couch.

My fingers only tightened, pulling him with me. On top of me.

His weight on me was unusual, but not wholly unwelcome. I was lonely. Sick of chasing Nathan. Sick of feeling like I wasn’t good enough, again.

“Jesus,” Leo swore. “Did you drink before I got here?”

I tilted my head back, eyeing the empty bottle of bourbon on the counter. “I was cleaning out my fridge and there wasn’t much left.” I settled into the cushions, feeling comfort from having Leo to hold.

Leo angled his weight off me, sitting up on the edge of the cushion as I laid flat. “Whoa. I have so many questions. First, you needed to make room in the fridge? For what? Last I knew all you had was a few jars of salsa in there. And are you even supposed to refrigerate bourbon?”

“You ask too many questions, Leo,” I mumbled, closing my eyes. My hand reached for him, and I gripped onto what I assumed was his arm. “My mom sent me money for groceries. And I’m just a stupid little girl, what do I know about bourbon?” The thought, though it hinted at the sadness I felt, curved my lips. “What’s wrong with me?”

He sighed and the cushions shifted, bringing him closer to me. “Nothing is necessarily wrong with you Adele, besides the fact that you’re completely shit-faced right now.”

I shook my head, my eyes still closed. “I’m bad. Very bad.”

I couldn’t make out whatever it was Leo said then, but I felt him pull me up to sitting, bringing me solidly into his arms. “Come on,” he murmured against my hair. “What’s wrong?”

There was a soft voice in my wine and bourbon soaked brain that said I should come clean, say what happened with Nathan. But the moment passed almost immediately and I rested my head on his shoulder. “I can’t figure out what’s wrong,” I said, the only honest thing I could come up with.

His hands rubbed up and down my back soothingly, and my body started to lean more and more against his, needing this comfort more than I’d realized.

After a while, he pulled back and placed a kiss to my forehead. I opened my eyes and looked at my best friend—double images of his face coming into view.

His hands came to either side of my face as if he needed to hold me still himself, so I echoed his movements, holding his face in my hands, trying to stop the double-vision.

“How come we never dated?” I blurted out.

Both of Leo’s faces contorted, his foreheads making wrinkles as if he was confused. “You’re the one who made it clear that I was—” he pulled his hands from my face and held up his first two fingers, curving them to make air quotes “—not your type. I think your words were, ‘I date guys who have their shit together.’”

I felt his words in my chest, felt the pain I must have given him saying that. He dropped his hands to his lap and I missed the warmth they’d given me. “I can be a real bitch, huh?”

Leo chuckled softly. “You’re Adele. You’re tough and assertive—it’s why I liked you. But I got over it, don’t worry.” He placed his hands on my wrist and pulled them from his face. “It’s fine.”

But it wasn’t fine. I may have been on the verge of blackout drunk, but even I could tell by his body language that he wasn’t being honest with me.

“I should go.” He stood up and grabbed his bag and a sudden panic caused me to jump awkwardly to my feet.

I tumbled across the room, knocking over the empty bottle of wine. When Leo was about to close the door, I did the one thing I shouldn’t have: I pushed him against the wall and planted my lips on his.

His arms came around me, to steady me, but they held on as I kissed him.

Instantly, I knew it was wrong. Not just the fact that I was kissing Leo, not even the fact that I was kissing while drunk. But the way our lips felt on one another was wrong. Leo was holding me in place, not pushing me as I’d pushed him. And through my inebriation, I still registered that Leo and I couldn’t work because he didn’t silence the thoughts that ran through my brain. I should feel drunk while kissing someone, not feel myself sobering from it.

His fingers climbed up my back, holding me to him as if I was porcelain, something that would crumble in his hands. His lips were soft and moved languidly over mine and all I registered was how totally fucking wrong this was.

Even as I pushed him away and stumbled backward, I felt the wrongness of it all. A deep, unshakeable shame came over me as I stared at him, half shocked and half mortified.

“What the fuck was that?”

Wiping a hand across my lips, I shook my head. “I felt bad I said that to you, before, about how I dated men who had their shit together.” I gestured to the door. “You should go away.”