Chapter 21: Deep (Emma's POV)

We've both been sitting around in the kitchen and drinking wine. He's definitely had more than me but I don't know if wine could get him drunk or tipsy. I think tipsy would be bad enough. 

The irony is, right when we started drinking, I said very clearly, "If we both get drunk, it'll be bad." So, to prevent that, I'm now slowing down on the alcohol. 

"You've been on the same glass for so long," he laughed, pouring more into my glass. 

"No, no, no," I whined, pushing his hand away. 

He emptied out whatever was left in his glass too. "Drink up." 

I started drinking it slowly but he downed his entire glass. I stared at him warily. 

He's about to do something. Tristan never really used to get drunk, but the few times he did, he caused a lot of trouble. I was sipping the wine slowly when he walked over to me. "Drink up, I said!" He tilted the glass up and I had to drink the wine in order to not choke. He laughed, resting his elbows on the counter and holding his chin in his palm, staring at me. 

I coughed a little, pushing the empty glass away. "What's wrong with you? I would have choked." 

"But you didn't," he grinned, staring at me. He moved around the counter and spun my barstool, looking right at me. He moved closer, grabbing either side of my face. "You're so pretty," he sighed. 

I blinked quickly, focusing on his face. "You're so drunk," I mumbled, trying to pull his hands down but he didn't want to. 

He leaned in and I stiffened, but he didn't kiss me. He kissed my cheek softly and then hugged me, stumbling a little. 

I caught him, hugging him back. I smiled, pulling back enough to whisper in his ear. "Tristan," I whispered. 

"Yeah?" 

"Do you think you can catch me?" I giggled. 

He pulled back, frowning at me. "Obviously." 

"Try." I stood up, running around to the other side of the counter. 

He whined, closing his eyes. 

"Or are you too scared?" I sang, moving my hips side to side. 

He glared at me and then moved around the counter but I walked over to the other side again. When he started running after me, I ran to the L-shaped couch, climbing onto it and running on top of it, into the spare bedroom in the apartment. I ran over the bed with him right behind me and ran back out, going into my room this time. I climbed onto the bed, standing on it while laughing. 

He walked in and shut the door, leaning against it. "Why do you run so fast?" he huffed, slowly walking over to the bed. He climbed onto it, standing in front of me. 

I moved to get off the bed but he grabbed my wrist and pulled me back. I stumbled a little, grabbing onto him so I wouldn't fall. 

"Sit down," he mumbled. We both sat down, him directly in front of me. "Can I tell you a secret?" he whispered, scooting closer. 

"Mm-hmm," I nodded. 

He smiled, "I'm not drunk." 

"I know," I said, narrowing my eyes on him. "You don't get drunk, especially on wine," I scoffed, lying down, putting my legs on either side of him. 

"Are you drunk?" 

"I'm getting there," I snorted, rolling my eyes. 

He scooted back a little and pulled my legs into his lap. "You wear heels every day," he frowned, squeezing my ankles and the heels of my feet. 

I propped myself up on my elbows, looking down at him. "Are you giving me a massage?" I asked, letting out a laugh. 

He didn't reply and kept massaging. 

I sighed, pulling my legs back and sat up, putting his hands in his lap. I stared at his face, trying to read an expression but I couldn't read it. Or he wasn't showing anything. I tilted my head to one side. "You like getting me drunk," I said, smiling. "Don't ya?" 

He nodded slowly. "Because when you get drunk," he paused, tucking my hair behind my ear. "You're more open with me. And you admit that you want me." 

"I won't admit it," I sang, shaking my head. 

"You don't have to," he sang mockingly, leaning in a little. "I can see it on your face." 

"See what?" I straightened up, scanning his face, my eyes lingering on his lips. 

"You want to kiss me," he whispered in a sing-song voice. 

I groaned, "I do. I do, I really do. But I can't. I won't," I said sternly. 

"Really? Okay," he shrugged. "I'll wait until you give in." He started drawing circles on my knee. He looked around and then walked to my desk, bringing a pen. 

I took in a breath and lay back down, not wanting to look. I know what he's about to do, I know he's about to draw on me again. 

He straightened my legs and started drawing on my left ankle. 

The entire time, I was thinking about what I wanted to do and what I should do, because they are two completely different things. Neither of them is wrong for me, but one of them is very wrong as his assistant. 

He let out a soft chuckle and then replaced my left foot with my right and started drawing on that ankle. 

I lifted myself onto my elbows and looked down at my left ankle. It was a little Winnie The Pooh drawing. Pooh sat with his chin in his palms, looking at the little animated starts he drew. Why Winnie The Pooh? Because that was the first movie we watched together. Our dates were usually fun. Ice skating, star gazing... We would never just sit at home. But one day when we had a date planned, it rained, there was a huge storm. So, we ended up in my living room watching Disney movies, starting with Winnie The Pooh. 

He closed the pen and then put it back on my desk. 

I looked down and saw a sunflower. I blinked. "Why a sunflower? I like tulips," I mumbled. 

"Yeah, but I like sunflowers," he shrugged. 

"Why?" I asked out of curiosity. 

"They remind me of you. In a way." 

I lifted my eyes to his face, staring at him. 

He was still looking at what he drew, smiling. I let out an agitated huff and he looked up at me. "What?" 

"Fuck you." 

He frowned in confusion. "Why?" 

I sat up quickly, crossing my legs. 

"It'll smudge," he pouted. 

"Then draw it again," I shrugged. 

"You're being rude." 

"I hate you." 

He looked a little sad. "Why? What did I do?" 

"Who said you could draw on me like that again?" 

"Like what?" He laughed, looking at me weirdly. 

"Like you're still my boyfriend!" 

"Drawing on you makes me your boyfriend?" He lifted a brow at me sharply. 

I stared at him, clenching and unclenching my jaw. "You made me feel things I should never have left again." 

"Like what?" 

I let out a groan, looking away and at the window. 

He scooted forward, closer to me, and held either side of my face, turning me to look at him. 

I sighed, "Tristan—" 

"Trust me." 

I looked at him doubtfully. 

"Just trust me," he whispered. "I won't kiss you. You'll kiss me, I promise." He let go of me and grabbed my arm, looking at the red butterfly I have inked on me. He ran a finger over it and I felt chills all over my body. He kept tracing it with his finger, just staring at it and I kept staring at him. 

My heart was pounding beneath my rib cage, I was so sure he could hear it. 

He looked up at me but he didn't say anything. "Let me draw more, please." 

"How long has it been since you drew?" 

"A while. So, let me draw." 

"Where?" I whispered. 

"Tailbone." 

My heart stuttered and my breath hitched. I shook my head. "Not there." 

"Ribs?" 

I'm not even wearing a bra. 

He leaned over and grabbed the pen. "Lay down." 

I huffed and lay down, putting an arm over my eyes. He lifted my shirt and I sat back up. "Tristan don't—" 

He rolled his eyes, looking at me expectantly. "Just don't think about it. I won't do anything you don't want me to." 

I lay back down and he lifted my shirt. It tickles a lot whenever he does this but I haven't felt it in so long, I was not prepared. "Tristan," I laughed, feeling the nib of the pen slide over my skin. 

"Don't laugh," he scolded. 

I kept laughing, trying not to make a sound and after a while, he started laughing with me. I felt his finger from his free hand brushing over the butterflies I have tattooed. 

He stopped and pulled back. "You need to stop laughing!" 

"I can't, it tickles!" 

He clicked his tongue and then resumed drawing on me. 

"What are you drawing?" I asked, chuckling softly. 

"Flowers," he mumbled. 

I removed my arm and looked at him. 

His bottom lip was stuck between his teeth while he focused and concentrated on the tattoo. 

I want to kiss him. I want to kiss him so fucking bad. "Tristan." 

He stopped and looked up at me. "Hmm?" He pulled his arm back and I sat up. We were close, so close. "Yeah?" 

I can't take it anymore. 

"Emma?" 

I leaned forward, pressing my lips to his. He froze, I felt him stiffen. I felt him drop the pen on my thigh. 

No, no, no!!! What the hell am I doing? What the absolute fuck am I doing? What fuckery am I doing? 

I pulled away quickly, smacking my hand over my mouth. "What did I do?" 

"You kissed me." 

"Why did I do that?" 

"I- I don't know, I didn't ask you to, this time." 

"I shouldn't have done that." 

"I don't agree with that." 

"Get out." 

He frowned, "You kissed me and you're telling me to get out?" 

"Well, you can't tell me to get out of my apartment now, can you? I kissed you, oh god," I groaned. I covered my face with my hands, suppressing a scream. "I mean, am I crazy?! Why would I—" I froze, I stopped mid-sentence and my eyes shut tightly when he grabbed the back of my neck and pulled me forward, smashing his lips on mine. 

Oh. My God. 

I pulled away, giving him a hard shove. "Tristan!" I smacked his arms multiple times. 

"What? We're in too deep now. No point in stopping," he shrugged, tossing the pen to my desk. 

"We're in too deep? That doesn't matter, if we go deeper we'll drown," I scoffed. 

"I'm fine with that." He leaned in, silencing me with another kiss. We really are too deep now.

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Chapter 21

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