Happily Never After

I KNEW SHE was buzzed, and I didn’t care.

I wasn’t going to do anything more than kiss her—I mean, I wasn’t an asshole—but I’d been dying to taste her mouth since the second we’d stopped kissing on the side of Shirley’s Diner last weekend. If it was a kiss she was requesting, who was I to deny her?

“We can’t go to one of our rooms,” she said as I pulled her through the lobby. “Max. Wait.”

I stopped walking and turned to her. “What?”

She grinned, a sexy, tipsy smile, and I swear to God I felt it in my lungs.

That’s the only explanation for why I stopped breathing entirely for a full second as my eyes memorized the length of her lashes, the slope of her cheekbones, the soft curve of her lips, and the way she looked at me like she wanted to play.

“If we go into a hotel room,” she said quietly, stepping closer so I could hear her but no one else could, “I don’t trust myself not to . . .”

She trailed off, raising her eyebrows and tilting her head.

“Not to what?” I asked, even though I knew what she meant.

“My intent was obvious and you know it,” she said, her grin growing even bigger. “But . . . just follow me.”

She grabbed my hand and walked in the opposite direction of the elevator, dragging me behind her down what felt like the never-fucking-ending first-floor hallway. Which was disappointing, because my plan had been to kiss the hell out of her in said elevator, but I was wholly invested in discovering whatever her alternative option was.

When I saw the stairwell, I smiled.

No one took the stairs, so it was an excellent location for a few stolen minutes alone.

Only, when she went through the door, she started walking down the stairs, toward the basement instead of pushing me against the stairwell door like I’d imagined (AKA desperately hoped).

I followed, down five stairs, a landing, and then five more stairs.

To where the only thing that existed was a door that said laundry—employees only.

And it had a locked padlock, dangling from its handle.

So no guests would be coming down here, and it was far too late for the laundry department to be open.

You are a genius.

I was about to say it, but then she grabbed the bottom of her sweatshirt and pulled it over her head. “Sorry, but I’m hot.”

She was wearing a T-shirt underneath, but something about the way she dropped it to the floor and the way her hair was tousled felt like she wasn’t. It made me imagine her removing clothing—for me—without anything underneath.

And I fucking lost my cool.

My lips were on hers in an instant, and my hands found her waist, yanking her against me.

I almost apologized, because I hadn’t meant to be so rough, but her hands slid under the back of my shirt and gripped, fingernails digging into my skin as she drew her body even tighter against mine.

Fuuuuuuuck.

I angled my head and kissed her like we were in bed and I was deep inside her body, and God help me, she made a noise in the back of her throat like I was. I’d feel like an animal for fucking consuming her mouth with my own, for using my teeth and my tongue to absolutely devour her kiss, but I had nothing on her when it came to desire.

Sophie’s hands moved up my back, so her fingers were on my shoulder blades, and she gripped my flesh so fucking tightly that I hissed out a breath. She nipped at my lips, licked at my tongue, and kissed me like she knew every sexual fantasy I’d ever had and was desperate to bring them all to life.

I wasn’t sure who instigated it, her or me, but suddenly her ass was in my hands and her legs were wrapped around me. I turned my body and pinned her against the wall—yes, yes, yes—and she arched against me as I strained against her.

Good God.

“Max,” she breathed in between kisses, her mouth tasting like vodka and sweet promise, “your glasses are like foreplay.”

I chuckled as my left hand slid underneath her T-shirt and I said against her lips, “Are you saying you like them?”

“They make me want to ask you for extra credit, Mr. Parks.” She sucked in a breath as my fingers discovered sensitive skin, and she said around a whimper, “Room.”

“What?” I said into her ear as I bit down on her lobe.

“Let’s go,” she breathed, her body grinding against mine in a way that nearly made my knees buckle. “To your room.”

“Fuck,” I groaned, certain I’d never wanted anything more in my entire life as I brought my mouth back to hers. “We can’t.”

“Why not,” she said around the kiss, not removing her mouth from mine. “I have protection.”

“Fuck, Steinbeck,” I ground out, my pulse pounding in my ears as very graphic images of us in my bed slammed into me. “It’s not that, for the love of God. It’s because you’re drunk.”

“No, I’m not,” she whispered, nipping at my lower lip before running her tongue over it.

“Well, I am,” I managed, a shiver sliding up my spine as my mouth chased hers, as her willing body squirmed in my arms and her legs tightened around my waist. “So we should stop.”

Her heavy-lidded eyes fluttered open. “Stop?”

“If you still want this when you’re sober, Soph, I am yours—night or day,” I said, meaning every word. Because as she stared up at me, I realized that I was very into her. Not into this, this chemistry-gone-wild thing that existed between us, but into her.

I was falling for her.

“What if I call you in two hours,” she teased, removing her hands from underneath my shirt and lowering her legs to the ground.

I tried calming my rapid heart rate as I picked up her discarded sweatshirt and held it out to her. “Tonight is off the table.”

She raised an eyebrow, and I knew I’d made the right decision. She looked faded as hell, and the double shot I’d sucked down was starting to make itself known.

My buzz was ratcheting up big-time.

“But what about tomorrow?” she asked softly, reaching out to give one of my hoodie strings a tug.

“Tomorrow,” I said, swallowing hard, “is anybody’s guess.”