Instead, she smiles and shuts her eyes, letting her hand slowly sink down my shoulder and then arm, stopping to land on my bicep. I notice her dark lashes fanning across her cheekbones, her delicate nose and soft silky skin, thinking how sweet and innocent she looks.
That is, right until she squeezes my bicep and says, “You know what I think about sometimes?” Her eyes pop open and meet mine, looking a little wild all of a sudden. “S-E-X.” She spells it like that somehow makes it more innocent.
I expel a breath like someone just punched me in the lungs. “What?” I ask on a jarred laugh.
She jolts upright and adjusts her glasses, swaying a little to the side. “Ya know…intercourse.” She whispers the word this time.
“Yeah, no, I can spell. I knew what you meant the first time. I’m just trying to figure out why we’re talking about it right now, out of nowhere.”
“Because,” she says in a dramatic tone that could rival the greatest stars on Broadway, “did you know it’s been over four”—she holds up three fingers—“years since I’ve been with anyone?”
I’m sure my eyes are sixteen inches around. I didn’t see this coming (although, I really should have). “No, I didn’t realize that. But there’s nothing wrong with it.” I’d also be lying if I didn’t admit it makes me slightly happy to know she and Grim Tim didn’t sleep together. Which is a double standard and completely unfair of me, I realize.
She makes an exaggerated pshhhhhh sound, and her lips flap a little in the process. “It’s for the birds!”
My Spidey senses begin to tingle. I know where this conversation is headed, and I’ve got to slow this thing down before she steamrolls right over the point of no return.
Gently slipping out from under Lucy’s legs, I stand and pick up our half-empty wine glasses then carry them into the kitchen. “I think we’re good on the wine for tonight, yeah? I better be headed home.” I’m not actually leaving here tonight, but I don’t think telling her I plan to sleep on her couch would be such a good idea.
Lucy is up now too, a woman on a mission as she blocks the kitchen doorway. That wine has fully soaked into her bloodstream and emboldened her in a way she will not look back on fondly tomorrow. I want to stop her before she can embarrass herself, because I know what it feels like to make decisions under a warm fuzzy wine blanket, and believe me, it does not feel so warm and fuzzy when the sun comes up.
“Orrrrrrr,” she says with her attempt at a seductive smile. I love that she’s not good at it. “You could stay here tonight. With me. In my bed.”
Oh, someone make it stop. Not because I don’t want to do what she’s suggesting. Believe me, on any other night, with a fully sober Lucy, I’d be so down for it. But I can’t let her say these things tonight, because I know for a fact that if she were sober, she would not be saying them. It’s clear that Lucy values intimacy as more than just an act, and I will absolutely honor that.
“You know, Lucy…” I walk closer and put my hands on both of her shoulders to gently turn her around and walk her toward her bedroom (so I can make sure she safely makes it there and no other reason). “I’ve got a really early morning at work tomorrow. I better go back—”
She hits the brakes and whirls around to face me. Her finger suddenly runs a trail down the side of my neck. “But you know what I’m suggesting, right?” She tips her head almost aggressively toward her room.
“Yeah. I think I get the gist.”
“Nothing serious. No commitments or anything, of course.” I know she’s not meaning to cut me with her words, but she is. Each word is razor sharp and tears right through me. Does she really think she’s suggesting something I would want, or would find enticing? “You think I’m too sweet for it, but I’m not.” Her words are growing more and more impassioned.
I turn Lucy back around and start pushing her the rest of the way to her room.
She misinterprets. “OH! Did it work? Are we going to do it now?”
I shake my head as I spin her around and sit her down on her bed. “No. You’re going to go to sleep in this bed alone. That’s what’s happening tonight.”
Her shoulders sink, and she pouts. “Whyyyyy? You don’t like me?”
I sink down to my knees and look her directly in the eyes, brushing her hair behind her ear and noting how fragile and vulnerable she looks right now. “We’re not doing this tonight because, one, you’re drunk and I don’t take advantage of intoxicated women. Two, I refuse to be your booty call, Lucy. Not now, not ever.”
She giggles, and I can practically see wine bubbling out of her pores. “Booty.”
“Uh huh,” I say, coaxing her to lie down while I pull her covers up over her. “Yep, booty is a hilarious word. Thaaaaat’s it, let’s get you to sleep there, killer.”
“Cooper?” Lucy peeks one eye open, comforter pulled up around her head like a cocoon, and I wonder if this is how she sleeps every night. She wiggles one finger out of the face hole she’s created and wiggles it, gesturing for me to get closer.
I lean in, unable to keep the grin off my face.
When I get close enough, she whispers, “I’m drunk.”
I nod and lean forward to kiss her forehead. “You’re a cute drunk, though.”
She passes out immediately and is snoring before I can close her bedroom door behind me.
I go back into the living room and turn off the TV, put the empty bottle of wine in the trash, and then curl up on the couch, tugging the blanket over me. Lucy overindulged tonight and deserves to have someone here to look after her and keep her safe while she lets loose (and sleeps it off). I set my alarm for 5:30 AM, planning to be out of here before she wakes up.