Horse
Sarah fell asleep in the Uber. She rested her head against my shoulder, closed her eyes, and then the sweet rhythmic breathing of sleep came over her. I told myself that I was just doing my job, but that was utter bullshit. My job had nothing to do with pulling her close or calling her babe. Drunk Sarah was soft and snuggly. She was a gentle little lamb and I was the wolf that wanted to strip her naked and devour every succulent morsel.
Tonight, as she got drunker, I let my guard down. I was just so desperate to be in her company, to see her smile at me. For the first time in a long time, I found myself enjoying the company of friends. I’m not saying that everyone enjoyed my company. But I talked to people, laughed, and made a joke or two, and I knew it was because of her. She was like a flashlight, illuminating the dark dusty corners of my personality that I’d boxed up and put away.
She turned a little so that her cheek was more on my chest, then threw her arm over my abs, hugging my waist.
In a sleepy voice, she said, “You’re very big and strong, Horsey.”
I trapped a laugh in my chest, not wanting to really wake her.
“And you have tattoos. I want to look at them.”
I swear she was mostly sleeping.
On a big yawn, she said, “I wish you were nicer to me. Because you’re so pretty.”
Part of me really didn’t want to know that Sarah was attracted to me, and another part, the pointy part with a mind of his own, was super excited at this little tidbit of news. But she was drunk and drunk wasn’t reality. Also, my big brain still remembered all the reasons she was off-limits to me. She was too young, related to Kat, and too good—too kind—for a broken old roadie.
The car pulled up in front of the hotel and I shook her gently.
“Sar, babe,” It just popped out again. “We’re back at the hotel.”
“Okay, thank you,” she said, snuggling tighter around my waist.
The driver looked at me in the rearview mirror and teased, “Want me to get the bellhop?”
I tried to smile back but being jovial with a stranger felt foreign. “Thanks, man, but I got her.” I turned back to Sarah, slipped my arm under her knees, and cradled her to my chest. It was a feat contorting us out of the back seat, but I made it happen.
I moved quickly through the lobby to the elevator, not wanting to run into anyone.
In the elevator, she stirred. Her head jumped off my shoulder like a jackrabbit peeking out of its burrow.
“Are we in the elevator?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“Um… you can put me down, I think.” I lowered her to the ground but she stayed close, still draped against my body. “Horse…” she whispered roughly. “What’s happening right now?”
“I’m getting you home safe,” I said with certainty.
“Okay,” she laid her head back down against my chest. “I feel dizzy.”
“You had too much to drink,” I offered, looking up at the ceiling, willing my dick to behave.
“Clearly.” She giggled.
The doors to the elevator opened on the tenth floor and I asked, “Are you okay to walk or do you want me to carry you again?”
“I’ll walk,” and she did but she kept her arm around my waist and her body against my side. The journey to her door was slow and silent. When we got there, she leaned against the wall and fumbled with her purse, trying to find her key. I took the bag from her.
“I got it,” I said.
She closed her eyes and said to herself, “I’m so drunk, I can’t find my key, but I still remember the face that lady was making when she reached up and covered her eye.”
I found the key in the inside pocket of the bag, where it should have been. As I opened the door, I said, “She’s fine. It’s fine. Let it go.”
Sarah stumbled through the door. “I could have blinded her.”
I followed her in. I couldn’t leave her this drunk. “But you didn’t.”
She headed straight for the bed and sat down on the edge. Then she tried to grab for her boots, but she didn’t seem to have the wherewithal to make it happen. She looked up at me, pleading with her eyes and lifted her leg toward me, implying I should help her get her boots off. I grabbed her leg by the calf and then pulled her boot. I stumbled backwards as her foot came free. She laughed at me as I regained my balance. And then she lifted her other foot, signaling that we should repeat the process. This time, she pulled back hard and instead of falling back, I fell forwards, an arm landing on either side of her, my face inches from hers.
She smiled at me. “Who are you and what did you do with Horse?”
“Still Horse,” I grumbled, but I was smiling back.
She leaned forward and kissed me. Her lips were soft like little pink pillows. You’d think I would’ve been stunned but I wasn’t. I was eager. I kissed her back. Her arms lifted and her fingertips tickled my skull as she gripped me and pulled my head closer. Instinctually, my tongue searched for entry, brushing against her lips and she welcomed me. The sensation of her tongue dancing with mine was so intoxicating that, for a few moments, I lost my mind. I pushed her back flat to the bed and crawled on top of her, exploring her mouth like I was a pirate and she was the map to my buried treasure. Beneath me, she was one hundred percent engaged; her hands were wild, running over my back and shoulders, pulling my hips to hers. She was making little desperate noises that fed into the frenzy I felt burning under my skin. She tasted sweet and sticky, like spiced honey. I couldn’t get enough. When my cock pressed against her thigh, she broke the fever of our kisses and giggled. “Holy moly, big cannoli.”
And with that, I remembered she was drunk. For that reason alone, getting hot and heavy with Sarah wasn’t okay. I stood up quickly, so much so that she was left startled, flat on the bed, and the air between us went cold.
Shock still riding her features, she said, “What just happened?”
I wasn’t sure if she was asking why I stopped kissing her or questioning what we had done in the first place, so I sort of ignored her question and said, “You’ve had a lot to drink.”
She remained calm, but her eyes got stern. “I have, that’s true.”
“People do things when they’re drunk that they wouldn’t do otherwise.”
“Do they ever?” she snapped and stood, seemingly sober compared to twenty minutes earlier. But sometimes anger and annoyance can make an intoxicated person seem together.
She strode toward the bathroom and I said to her back, “I don’t want to take advantage of you.”
I heard her turn on the tap and take a glass from the counter. Then I heard her gargling, rinsing me from her mouth. That sucked. I closed my eyes and tried not to miss the feeling of her lips against mine.
“You can leave,” she hollered. But I couldn’t. A long time ago, I left a friend who needed me, and I never saw him again.
There was a table with two little chairs at it by the window. I sat down in one of them and hollered back, “I think I’ll stay.”
Almost frantic, half her body leaned out of the bathroom and she glared at me. Her toothbrush was hanging out of her mouth and she was absolutely adorable. I even liked her when she was angry.
“Ou ill not,” she said as forcefully as one could with a foamy toothpaste mouth.
I settled into the chair, threw my legs out, and crossed my ankles. I wasn’t going anywhere. Her eyes narrowed at me, but she turned back into the bathroom and I heard her spit and rinse her toothbrush. When she came back out, she was pretty damn fiery.
“You, sir”—she pointed at me—“are not my daddy or one of my brothers, so pigs would literally have to fly for me to let you sit vigil over my drunk butt. No way. No how.”
I felt wicked as I smiled defiantly. “Well, apparently, swine have taken flight because if you want me to leave, you’re gonna have to carry me out, and you’re strong, Sarah. I know you are, but I’m stronger.”
Frustrated, she growled, “You are…” She paused, searching her mind for the word she wanted to use. “Invasive, like a nasty weed. You yell at me, you kiss me, you reject me, and now you won’t get out of my room.”
I could have said anything, but I idiotically said, “You kissed me.”