I can show with just my voice. I’m absolutely floored she’s gone to bat for me like she has. We barely know each other. “I’m, uh…I’m so used to fixing everyone else’s problems that it’s kind of nice for someone to have my back for a change.”
She thumps her head against the wall, more laughing tears making streaks of black down her cheeks. “Well, I’m glad. I’m glad me completely embarrassing myself for a man who is the hands-down best kisser in the entire universe feels kind of nice for you.”
Wait. What, now?
“You think I’m the best kisser in the universe?”
She scoffs, points a thumb at herself and then, weirdly, also her thumb at me. “I can admit that to you now. Not because I’m drunk, but because I’m never going to see you again after tonight!” She cackles. The sort of crazy sound actually bounces off all the tile surrounding us. “Fuck you for giving me the best kiss I’ve ever had in my entire life! Fuck you, Mike Mitchell! I’m twenty-three years old, was in a committed relationship with the same guy for all of high school and college who I thought I was going to marry and have babies with, and he never kissed me like that! It almost makes me think he was right to break things off with me when he went to grad school at NYU, and I got my internship with the Wolves! I think he might have been right! All because you kissed me when you thought I was a prostitute! Fuck you very much!”
Holy shit. I’ve noticed Tori never swears, and I’m not going to lie. Part of my obsession with her is wondering what it would take to make her swear. I never imagined it would be me. At least…not like this.
She makes some angry grunting noise then hoists herself upright.
All I can do is stare. What am I supposed to say to that? Thank you seems inadequate. I was with the same woman all through high school and not nearly all of college, but she certainly never accused me of being the best kisser in the universe. Of course, she also didn’t tell me to go fuck myself because of it. She just told me without words to go fuck myself in general.
Tori slides one strap of her dress over a shoulder and then the other until it pools on the floor at her feet. She’s wearing a matching black lace bra and panty set that makes me forget I saw her puking just a few minutes ago.
My brain goes offline. All the pent-up lust I’ve been fighting barrels into me. She’s way more gorgeous than in my imagination. Milky white, pale skin. Curvy hips I could sink my fingers into, and a body that doesn’t look like I’d break it if I enjoyed it to the fullest.
She practically tears off her bra with a sound that might be frustration.
My mouth goes dry. I have seen a lot of tits in my time as a football player, but these are hands-down the finest in the entire universe. Full, naturally round, topped with peachy pink nipples that would probably be the best thing I ever put in my mouth with whipped cream.
She slides her panties down next.
Oh my God, she’s a natural redhead.
“Peaches?”
She narrows her eyes. “Peaches? Did you just call my boobs peaches? These weigh at least as much as cantaloupes, I’ll have you know.”
Jesus Christ, I said that out loud.
I should look away, but I absolutely can’t. Instead, I rush to explain, “I use mnemonics to remember people. You have peachy hair and peachy blushes all the time, and you smell like peaches. It’s been a lot of new faces and names ever since I signed with the Wolves, and I have a hard time keeping them all straight.”
She tips her head to the side in thought. “That’s actually kind of brilliant. I’ll allow it.”
She’s allowing a lot of things that I still can’t stop staring at.
“You do realize I’m still in this bathroom with you, right?”
“Yep.” She pops the P again.
“So, what are you doing?” Best kisser in the universe or not, this seems wildly…wild.
She gapes at me like I’m the crazy one. “I have puke in my hair, a trail of it through my cleavage, and I smell like a freaking bar! What does it look like I’m doing?”
It looks like she’s doing the weirdest, most erotic striptease I’ve ever seen.
Or, maybe I really have been