A Toast to the Good Times - By Liz Reinhardt Page 0,7

can hear my voice going places I don’t want it to go with Mila. I’m going to do that thing where I say whatever I need to say to get her to take off her—

But she’s wiggled out of her pants before I can say anything else. I’ve got an eyeful of her silly Darcy underwear. Who the hell is Darcy? Maybe some sci-fi guy? Why am I thinking about this when I have Mila smiling up at me like I’m the answer to all her problems?

I push everything out of my head and enjoy the fact that she’s one clasp and a good downward push away from being completely naked. I stroke her from her ribs down to her hips with the back of my fingers, making slow, careful circles on her skin.

Her lips part and she closes her eyes, tilting her head back. All that dark hair falls in long, gorgeous waves, and I’m so hard, it’s painful. Over Mila. The combination of the rum in my veins and her exposed body makes me hungry for everything I haven’t had in so long: smooth skin, sexy curves, a sweet, ready woman in my bed.

I kiss her neck and rub my thumbs over her hips. She moans and I pull my shirt off. Her skin is hot against mine, the smell of her perfume, something with vanilla in it, fills my lungs and makes me want to lick her.

So I do.

Over her collarbone, along the curve of her ear, just on the edge of her bottom lip, before she opens her lips, and I kiss her hard. I run my fingers along her thighs, ready to get rid of these last few items of clothing and lose track of everything shitty going on in my life right now.

And then she giggles.

A deep, throaty giggle that comes from somewhere low in her chest and totally pulverizes this sexy, seductress version of Mila the rum is telling me exists.

That giggle reminds me that this is my roommate. My slightly dorky roommate, who might look like every one of my hottest fantasies when she puts on a tight dress and then peels it back off, but who I respect.

Care about.

And most importantly, have to live with once this stupid night is over.

I pull back.

She grabs my arms and presses her eyebrows together. “I’m sorry. My thighs are super ticklish. Did I ruin the mood?”

I bite the inside of my cheek. Hard.

“No. You are...” I pull my hands back and hold them out, just above her skin, and it’s total torture. “You are extremely sexy, Mila. Seriously. It’s just...you and me? I mean, you understand, right? It would be crazy. It makes no sense.”

I’m trying to explain better, but she slides off my lap and kind of covers herself with her arms and hands.

“Right. Okay. Me and you. We make no sense. Obviously make no sense.” She tries to laugh, but her utter humiliation makes it ragged and metallic. I reach a hand out and she flinches. “It’s fine. I’m fine. So stupid. This is...really stupid! I, uh, I think I’m pretty drunk. And you’re definitely drunk. Because you and me? Right. Nope. That’s just...really stupid.”

She picks up her top and, instead of putting it on, she holds it tight to her chest. Her face is bright red, she won’t make eye-contact with me, and I’ve never felt like a bigger piece of shit than I do right at this minute.

“Mila, please hear me out—”

“Landry!” Her voice bursts out, sharp and pleading at the same time. “It’s fine. Okay? It’s beyond fine. But, um, would you just get out? Please. Get out of my room.”

Her lips tremble and she swallows hard. Her eyes look teary, and her knuckles, fisted over the fabric of her pajamas, are bone white.

“If you just give me one—”

“Now.” The word is tiny and desperate.

So I get up and leave her room without looking back over my shoulder, no matter how badly I want to.

I pick up my coat, my wallet, my phone, and head out the door, on foot. The icy wind bites through my clothes and slices to the bone. I’m glad for the jarring discomfort. I deserve way worse. Lots of pain, lots of suffering. There aren’t Arctic conditions cold enough to match the freezing, icy, empty echo in my chest. In the space where a normal guy would have some kind of a heart.

Too bad I’m nothing but a freakish, heartless bastard.

Chapter 3

I push on