A Toast to the Good Times - By Liz Reinhardt Page 0,53
kisses me, fierce and fast at first, then slower, with more tongue and moaning and rubbing against me.
I know everyone can see us. I know my dad is probably completely uncomfortable and Henry is most likely contemplating jumping the bar and beating the crap out of me, but I don’t care. I couldn’t care less.
She’s in my arms, she’s kissing me back, we have this night, this one night she was so sure would be filled with so much crazy magic.
And, just as quickly as I screwed it all up for her, I have the chance to make it all right again, to make the two of us take the leap from awkward roommate- friends to lovers and everything else we should be.
“Come home with me,” I suggest, pulling back from her lips and kissing each one of her eyebrows, on the side of each eye, down along to her ears. I kiss her and I know, for sure, no questions, that as long as she’s with me, I’ll be home.
“Let’s go,” she says, and tugs my hand.
We leave without a second glance, into the blustery snow, away from the warmth of the bar, towards a new beginning that might link us together or unravel us permanently.
I’m ready to gamble on this. I’m ready to take my shot at being with her, no matter what happens in the end.
I’m ready to make my home.
Chapter 12
By the time we get to the house, it’s dark inside except for the multi-colored glow of the Christmas tree shining from the living room.
“This feels...this isn’t a good idea,” Mila whispers as I push her up against the front door and kiss her along her neck. “Mmm, Landry, maybe I should just sleep on the couch.”
“Impossible.” I suck on her earlobe and love the gasp that jumps out of her lips. “If Santa sees you, he won’t leave us any presents.”
She presses her face into my coat to muffle her laugh. Even though it makes sense to muffle it so she doesn’t wake the whole damn house, I hate not being able to hear that laugh.
“Come downstairs with me.” I tug her by the coat, and she follows, one slow, uncertain step at a time.
“Are you sure this is okay with your parents? I feel like this is a really inappropriate holiday crash. I mean, I know they said it’s okay, but it’s Christmas tomorrow and—”
“Shhh.” She comes down one stair, then another one, and I bury my face in the comforting dark between her tits. I poke my head back out and she’s laughing again, hand over her mouth. “My parents will be fine with this. I’m an adult. An adult who is sleeping in his old basement room, but still... And you drove from Boston to New Jersey on Christmas Eve. You deserve a warm futon. This will be fun. I promise.”
Her smile falters. “Oh, I have no doubt it will be fun.”
And I realize I made her sound like a fling.
Shit.
Not the message I want to send at all.
“It will be the beginning of lots of fun.” I kiss her, my hands tangled in her good-smelling hair, running up and down her back, filling up with the swells of her tits, squeezing her narrow shoulders possessively, because that’s the way I feel about her: possessive. “Come to my futon.”
She rolls her eyes, but she follows me down the stairs, into the basement, past the washer and dryer and into the room where I spent my entire teenage life and the very beginning of my adulthood.
“It’s cozy.” She twists her hands. I close the door and flip the lock, just in case any idiot sibling bumbles down in the night.
Luckily, since I moved out, my mother gave it a thorough cleaning and no one bothered with it again, so there’s nothing too embarrassing—
“Is this a lava lamp?” Mila flips it on, watching as the blobby ‘lava’ in the bottom heats up and starts to float. “I knew you were a player back in the day, Landry, but I had no idea you were, like, some kind of professional gigolo with a whole sex lair lit with lava lamps.”
“Lava lamps are not just for sex lairs. That’s a really popular misconception.” I sit on my futon bed and pat the thin mattress. She comes over and takes a cautious seat next to me. “Sometimes they’re just a psychedelically cool way to light your room.”
I tug her close, kiss her, and put my hand up