"Oh my god, I love this song!" Tossing my hands above my head, I sway my hips to the beat of the music, letting the bass pulse through my body and fully consume me. I become one with the notes, fully aware of being the only person on the dance floor. With all this liquor in me, I almost forget the anguish I carry. The hollowed-out version of myself is replaced with the young, wild, carefree version, and it's freeing.

A large pair of hands wrap around my waist. "I'm so glad you love it, but the bar is closing, baby. We've gotta go."

Connor.

Oh, this is bad. This is so, so bad. But I've never been one to make rational decisions. Not when I'm more liquor than food. And right now, when I spin to face the six-foot-two sexy-ass man? I throw rationality directly out the window.

The young, reckless Aria is a terrible influence. Connor's already experienced it once before.

"You need help, man?" Levi.

"Nah, I've got her. You guys go. I'll make sure she gets back to her room."

Connor keeps his hands around my waist to steady me, but as we walk to the bar's exit, I stumble again in my heels, giggling nonstop when the room begins to spin.

"Fuck, your laugh is perfect," he says, guiding me outside.

With another uncontrollable laugh, I place my hand on my hips, whirling to face him on the sidewalk. "How strong are those muscles of yours, Connie?" I whimper at the blisters already formed on my heel. "My feet hurt."

"Let's find out, shall we?" Before I can blink, he hauls me into his arms until my legs are wrapped around his waist, his large hands supporting my ass. I'm pressed up against his cock, which has already hardened from the contact. "Light as a feather," he says, heading toward the hotel.

I can't stop smiling with my arms hooked around his neck. Connor is a fucking work of art, his face chiseled like a statue, but his eyes are soft and warm. They're so inviting. Before I can stop myself, I take the backward cap off his head and rake my fingers through his curls, more than pleased when his eyes don't seem so soft anymore. They're filled with lust now.

"I've been wanting to do that all fucking day," I admit.

He quirks a brow. "Yeah?"

"Mhmmm." I continue doing it, watching his eyes flutter shut from the feeling. "And you have really kissable lips."

"Do I?"

"Are you going to respond to every observation I have with a question?"

"When you're drunk? Yes."

"That never stopped you five years ago," I point out.

He groans as the memories from that night seem to come back to him. "We were both drunk that night, Aria. That was different."

"So if you weren't drunk, you wouldn't have slept with me?"

He chuckles deeply as we continue walking down the street. "Never said that."

"Well, do you like it when I run my fingers through your hair like this?"

He nods.

"And do you like it when I tell you you have kissable lips?"

A low rumble echoes in his chest. "Very much so."

I tug on the ends of his curls, loving when his expression turns feral. "Then I'm guessing you'd also like it if I confessed you ate my pussy better than anyone before? That your tongue between my thighs is all I've thought about for the past five years when I've made myself come?"

"Jesus Christ," he mutters. "You and whiskey are a very dangerous combination."

"I've been told I'm a bad influence," I admit. "Which is why I think you'd like to watch me make myself come, wouldn't you?"

Inhaling a sharp breath, I watch the tension bracket his face, his self-control beginning to slip. "When you're sober, if you still want to do that, then you have no fucking idea how much I'd love to watch you play with that pretty fucking pussy of yours."

"Would you taste it?" I ask.

"You already know the answer to that, baby. I'd eat it all night long to make up for lost time."

My head falls forward on his shoulder, my arms remaining loose around his neck. "You're not going to give me what I want tonight, are you?"

"Not a chance. However, if you wake up in the morning and still feel the same, I'll stop by your hotel room before we fly back home and follow through on all of these promises."

"Fine. Can we at least order food, then? I want chicken nuggets. Wait, no. A cheeseburger! Or ice cream. Yes. Ice cream."

Connor kisses the top of my head. "On it. Ordering one of everything to be delivered to the hotel."

With my head in the crook of his neck and my arms dangling over his shoulders, a sense of rightness stirs in my chest. I'm too drunk to care, too drunk to make good decisions. Although the street is empty, a photographer could lurk around the corner. Doubtful since we're not in LA, where he's primarily well-known, but still. I'm so intoxicated that I'm highly confident I wouldn't be able to walk if he put me down. That's the only reason I'm straddling him like a damn koala.

At least, that's what I tell myself.

***

When we return to my room, Connor takes the hotel key to retrieve the food from the lobby. As suspected, I'm so fucking drunk I can hardly stand. The room is spinning as I slip my heels off, tugging my jeans off and removing the corset top, discarding everything on the floor. When the door clicks open, I land on my back against the mattress, groaning from how soft the bed is.

"Food delivery," Connor says. "I didn't know what kind of dipping sauce you wanted, so I—" A heavy intake of breath cuts off his sentence, and the sound travels directly to my pussy. "Do you have a shirt?" He asks in a strained voice.

"In my...In my suitcase," I mumble. It's on the other side of the bed, so I rise on all fours, hearing another strangled sound escape his mouth. The only item of clothing I'm wearing is a black thong, but it's not like he hasn't seen every part of me anyway.

"I'll...I'll get it," he says. "Just lay down, alright? Please."

I pout, pursing my lips together. "You don't like what you see?"

"More like, if you don't put at least one article of clothing on, I'm going to fuck you until you can't stand." He bends over to retrieve a large T-shirt from my suitcase, placing it in my hands.

"Sounds like if I continue to remain naked, I'll get what I want."

He chuckles. "Either you put that t-shirt on, or I'm returning to my room. Your choice."

"You are no fun, Connie."

That dimple comes out on his right cheek, and dammit, butterflies erupt all over the damn place. "I think that's the first time anyone's ever said that to me."

Sighing in defeat, I sling the t-shirt on as he carries the bags of food over to my bed. He sits beside me but keeps a decent amount of space between us, pulling everything I'm craving and placing it in front of me. "Sauce?" He asks.

"Sweet and sour," I reply.

Connor opens the container, placing it on the other side of the cardboard box before he sets it in my lap, and the gesture... He's being so sweet. "You're used to taking care of others, huh?"

He tilts his head to the side, taking a bite out of a chicken nugget. "Hmm?"

"It's just something I've noticed about you. Like, what happened with the team tonight? You carry that burden for them even when it wasn't entirely your fault. And you could have easily passed me off to Levi or Matti tonight, but you didn't. You took care of me yourself. Is that something you've always done? Or is it recent?"

"I don't think I've ever been asked that," he admits, "but, in a way, I always inherently took care of my siblings growing up, even if they'd never admit it. Our life was easy, being wealthy and all, growing up with a famous father, but there was also a lot of negative shit that came with it. When my siblings were going through a rough time, I'd always be the one to crack a joke or make them laugh, even if it meant I was putting my feelings to the side. Deflecting with humor is my thing. I don't know. I care too much sometimes, and I can lose myself in the process, I guess." When he's finished, I'm almost positive his cheeks turn red. "Sorry. I'm, ah, not used to doing this."

"Doing what?"

"Having a serious conversation." He winces. "Does that make me a jerk?"

Polishing off my cheeseburger, I grab some french fries and move closer to him. "I think it makes you selfless."

He snorts. "I wouldn't describe myself that way at all."

"I would." I grasp his cheek, forcing him to hold my stare. "What you asked earlier? If it was a good or a bad thing you were nothing like I expected? So far, It's a great thing, Connor, and if you'd let me, I'd probably kiss you right now to prove it to you."

The genuine smile, which I hope is just for me, appears on his face and sets off another flurry of butterflies."You have no idea how badly I want to kiss you, too, but when we kiss again... I don't want it to be like this."

"You're Connor Holden. I'm sure you've had plenty of kisses with other girls in far less...appropriate circumstances."

"You're probably right, but you're not just another girl to me, Ari. I want our next kiss to be special."

Ari.

The nickname causes me to cringe. I actually cringe, dropping the french fries and sobering right the hell up. All of the reprieve the liquor brought me vanishes with the use of those three letters, but more importantly, it's terrifying that it's the first time I've felt...happy someone has called me that, and I don't deserve to feel that way. Not at all.

"Please get out," I whisper shakily. My eyes are burning, but I refuse to cry in front of him.

Connor reaches for my hand as I pull away from him, keeping my eyes locked on the comforter. "Why?" He asks, thoroughly confused. "What did I say?"

"Please, Connor. I'm asking you to leave."

He remains beside me until he realizes I won't change my mind. Like the gentleman I'm learning he is, he rises from the bed, lingering before he asks, "Are you positive you want me to go? I don't want to leave you like this. Just tell me what I did, and I'll fix it."

He can't fix it. No one can fix it. What's done is done. It's in the past, but I won't let myself forget it. I refuse to allow myself an inkling of happiness because I don't fucking deserve it. I don't deserve nights like these. I don't deserve to have a man as lovely as Connor take care of me while I'm drunk. What I deserve is to sit in the fucking misery and let it fester and brew until it's fully consumed me.

I can't bear to look at his face as I continue to remain silent, unable to respond without becoming a crying, blubbering mess. He takes the hint and heads for the door, but not before releasing a heavy sigh that stabs me straight in the fucking heart.

Author's Note:

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