What I think is that I can make no sense of what she said, staring at her mouth, the pale column of her neck, even more distracted as her coat parts, revealing the tiny black dress she’s wearing. It’s cut low in the front, giving me a glimpse of the shadow between her breasts.
I suck in a sharp breath when she tugs on the hem of her dress, wiggling a little, revealing more of the curve of pale flesh above the dress. My mouth has gone dry, and hell, can’t remember the last time I was so hard.
So fucking hard I reach down and give my dick a squeeze, hoping to relieve the pressure. The moment my hand reaches down, though, her gaze dips and follows, darkening.
Shivering, I lean against the bar. I can’t even remember why I’m here, only that I want her, and she’s right here, in front of me.
A doubt niggles at the back of my thoughts, blaring an alarm. Bad idea. Goddamn bad idea, but I can’t recall why, the alcohol in my system smoothing all wrinkles, hiding all obstacles.
“You haven’t come back to the gym,” Cassie says, glancing toward the bartender, then around. “I kept hoping you would.”
She did? There’s that unfamiliar sensation again as my lips pull into a smile. “Too busy.”
“How’s your back?”
I say nothing, leaning closer to her. She smells of vanilla. I remember her scent. I wonder if her mouth tastes like sugar.
Visions flash through my brain—of shoving her against the wall and licking at her mouth, pushing up that tiny dress and fucking her right here, so hard her head thuds back and her eyes glaze up.
Oh shit.
Again I’m doing it—fantasizing about fucking Cassie, about hurting her while I do it.
Fuck, this is sick. I am sick.
“Hey, man.” Seth appears on my right, and for a moment I blink at him, lost. “I’m taking Ocean home, he’s pretty smashed, can barely stand. How’s your status?”
Status.
He used to ask me that when I’d wander the streets and get stoned out of my fucking mind after my mom died. Chasing my ungrateful ass all over town to make sure I didn’t overdose on drugs and didn’t get killed in a gang shoot-out. Dragging me back home, time after time.
“I’ll walk him to his apartment,” Cassie says, and Seth nods, as if ending a conversation I wasn’t a part of.
“I’m fine,” I say, frowning at them. “I can walk.”
“Sure you can. Humor me, though, buddy.” Seth lifts a hand to pat my back, then thinks better of it and pats my cheek instead.
Like when we were six.
Dammit.
Worse still, I can’t refuse to walk back with Cassie. Truth is, I don’t mind. At all. Maybe it’s the alcohol singing in my blood, but the thought of being near her, just close enough to smell the sweetness of her skin, chases the darkness away for a while.
***
The walk to my apartment is a disjointed jumble of images and sounds. The only constant is her, a bright flash of color and warmth sidling beside me, her long hair glinting in the light of the street lamps like liquid gold.
“Careful,” she says at some point, grabbing my arm, saving me with a headlong collision with another pedestrian.
Heat radiates from her hand, from the light pressure her fingers apply over my jacket. I want her closer—and I shouldn’t, I know I shouldn’t. This is the mother of all bad ideas, but I can’t help it.
I turn, stopping our progress, and she looks up at me, her eyes dark, like the night sky above. Her hand slides up my arm to my shoulder, and my whole body tightens and bends toward her.
A car honks passing by, and I jerk, my breath stuttering.
“You okay?” she asks, and I nod. That eternal question with its standard answer.
Yeah, I’m okay. I’m alive. I’m mostly sane. I even get hard now and then, when a pretty girl looks at me—when Cassie looks at me. My body was dead for the last two years. It’s waking up now and trying to make up for lost time.