Mine Would Be You (9)

Our eyes connect as I look up, feeling confidence surge through me as he slowly unwraps his hand from around mine.

“Girlfriend?”

His tongue darts out, licking his lip. “Nope.”

“Well, come on.” I reach out to the hand that was just on mine.

His dimples pop. “Already can’t let go of me, huh?”

“Oh, Cállete,”

He raises an eyebrow, and if it’s possible his smile widens. “I don’t know what that means, but I’ll do whatever you say.”

The urge to smile is fighting to come out.

“Do you want to come dance with me or not?”

He’s watching me with those deep blue eyes, and the essence of his presence is so different from anyone else in the bar. Everything about it is alluring, enchanting. He reminds me of a summer day at the beach. When the waves are calm for a moment so you can wade in and let the water envelop you instead of blindly diving headfirst into the crash.

“Never wanted to do anything more.”





I know with unyielding certainty I am not in my own bed.

I’m not even in my apartment.

Qué demonios.

The brightness flooding in from the large windows onto the light gray walls of the large bedroom is completely foreign to me, and there are three things I can gather through my barely open eyes at this very second.

One, I’m buttoned backwards into a men’s dress shirt.

Two, there is a wall of pillows next to me.

Three, I am certain there is someone on the other side of those pillows.

A groan crawls at the back of my throat as my head pounds like a jackhammer, but I am terrified at waking up whoever is lying next to me, so I stay quiet. I move slowly to take in my surroundings, sitting up a tiny bit from under the down comforter.

My phone is on the nightstand, my shoes are haphazardly on the floor, and my skirt is still on, though uncomfortably so. I lean up, peeking my head over the pillow wall to see blond, curly hair and a well-toned and tanned back.

His arms are curled under his pillow and the band of his boxers peeks out before the comforter covers the rest. Even sleeping, his muscles stretch taut as he breathes, shifting when he does.

I lay back and pull the collar of the shirt up and over my face, slightly concerned with why it’s on backwards, and sit in my thoughts for a minute. The amber and suede scent surrounds me, and I breath in deep, getting the tiniest hint of vanilla and letting it comfort my spinning head.

There is no way I slept with him, that’s for certain. But if not, why didn’t I get a ride home? Did I tell Harper and Sloan I was leaving with him? Why am I in a buttoned in backwards? Why the hell is it so bright?

“Morning, sunshine.”

My heart almost bursts out of my chest at his morning voice and the intrusion it has on my running thoughts. How did I get from the dance floor to his bedroom?

I remember his hands on my hips, the touch lighting me up under the strobe lights last night. The way he held me close to him as the music played, the way I enjoyed it. Leaned into him, relished the feel of him on me. The way he moved his hips in sync with me.

I remember kissing him.

The memory is hazy at best. Just the phantom feeling of his lips on mine. That’s it, but it’s there.

I pull the shirt away from my face. Those eyes are focused on me like they were all last night, and his full lips are pulled into the smallest of smirks.

My teeth grip my lip, nerves spreading under my skin.

“Hi,” is about all I can muster in this moment. As my eyes flicker between us, between the pillow wall and the button up and him, my brain feels like mush. “Did you, uh, do all this for a reason?”

He smiles fully as he watches me put together a small puzzle piece of last night. He sits up, leaning against the headboard. Those stupid, beautiful blue eyes are even brighter in the sunlight, and I’ve never liked the color blue so much in my life.

Not that I would ever admit that to him. But it’s true.

“I did.”

My face turns hot; my cheeks are on fire. “What was the goal?”

“Protection measures for myself of course. As much as I genuinely wouldn’t have complained, you were also extremely drunk, and if we hook up, I’d want you to remember it. And more importantly, enjoy it.”

He says it so casually, so nonchalantly, like it’s nothing. His voice is low and soft since he just woke up, and I swear I catch the smallest hint of an accent, but I can’t place it. I also can’t escape his words: I want you to remember it. Enjoy it.

While we didn’t hook up, his words hold some truth because he’s the first person I’ve felt sincerely attracted to since Myles and my failed one-night stand attempts. The fact that we didn’t hook up because of my drunkenness says more for his character than anything, and the thought alone sends heat straight between my legs.

“So, you thought a pillow fort and makeshift straight jacket would save you?”

He runs a hand through the soft blond curls on top of his head before extending into a stretch, causing his muscles to tighten up, and my eyes are hyper focused on him.

“It did the trick.” He laughs softly, and the sound washes over me.

Those eyes flicker to mine, and they soften, moving slowly over my face, taking in every blush-covered inch.

“But to be honest, I wouldn’t have minded if it didn’t.”