Love to Love Her YAC (33 page)

I blink at her. “Is there a ‘but’ in there
somewhere?”

She grins as she continues. “
However
,
if someone beautiful sinks his claws in you and you seem to be
enjoying yourself, then forget it – all bets are off.”

Green eyes and perfect lips flash to the
surface of my mind at the mention of “someone beautiful,” and I
wince in pain. Thankfully Ruthie seems not to notice.

An hour later I’ve finished four beers, the
latter three of which were very thoughtfully given to me by Ace
Ventura, Cap’n Crunch and Malibu from American Gladiator (in that
order). We’ve found our way down a flight of narrow steps to the
basement (
so here’s the mosh pit)
, where the music is set at
maximum volume and a strobe light flickers over the mass of
gyrating bodies. I’m currently jumping and swaying to the beat of
“Dynamite,” any sense of propriety long since vanished, while
Ruthie dutifully intercepts any unwanted dance partners—the girl is
the most skilled cock blocker I’ve ever seen. A guy dressed as
Brett Favre grabs at my ass, and I laugh when Ruthie slides in
between us and turns around to face me as she presses up against
him. That’s all it takes for him to become sidetracked—truly, men
are such simple creatures.

The song changes to a techno remix of “Don’t
Stop Believin,’” and the strobe light switches off in favor of
multiple roaming purple and yellow spotlights (
thank Jesus
).
Suddenly a different set of hands grabs me around the waist and I’m
jerked backward. “Guess who,” says a low voice against my ear. I
shiver in spite of myself, my mind racing as my fight or flight
response kicks in. I spin around and gasp in relief when I
recognize the person holding on to me.

“Andy!” I shriek in alcohol-enhanced
excitement. I throw my arms around his neck, and he hugs me back as
he laughs.

“We have to stop meeting like this,” he yells
over the music. “I’m beginning to think it’s fate.” I throw my head
back in laughter, then take a small step back to look at him. He’s
wearing a black shirt and gaudy gold chain under a maroon polyester
suit (
God, he must be burning up in that
), and his sandy
hair is slicked back.

“Who are you supposed to be?” I ask, shouting
to be heard.

He places his mouth close to my ear, standing
much closer than I’ve allowed anyone else tonight. “One of the
Roxbury guys from that SNL skit,” he answers. “I came with a couple
other guys. It makes more sense when you see all three of us
together.”

“Oh, that’s a funny one! I haven’t heard them
play your song yet tonight though.”

He shrugs, smiling. “It’s only a matter of
time.” His eyes wander over my body, and he asks, “And what are you
supposed to be?”

I look down and notice for the first time
that, unsurprisingly, most of my Christmas ornaments have been
broken, leaving me with dozens of plain metal hooks dangling from
the bodice of my dress.

“I used to be a Christmas tree,” I explain,
“but now I guess I’m the fish that can’t be caught.” I flick at one
of the empty hooks as I look back up at his grinning face.

“I’ll say,” he says, his words full of double
meaning.

The next song comes on, and we resume
dancing. At first Andy just looks at me. He has full lips and high,
sculpted cheekbones—I’ll bet he could be a model in one of those
gritty, editorial fashion magazines. I can picture him with
windblown hair wearing a billowy scarf or something equally
homoerotic. He isn’t as tall as Blake, and his jaw isn’t as strong,
but—
Goddammit!
Stop comparing him to Blake!

I smile a little to cover up my discomfort,
and he seems to mistake it as an invitation. Growing more daring,
he pulls me up against him and starts grinding. My eyes search for
Ruthie in the crowd, and for some reason I begin to giggle all over
again when I see her standing a little ways off, watching me with
an approving smile on her face. Obviously she has no intention of
intervening on this one.

I dance the next several songs with Andy, the
mixture of beer and adrenaline in my bloodstream wearing away at
what’s left of my reserve as I allow his hands to rove. Finally
“What is Love” by Haddaway starts blasting, and Andy’s Roxbury
counterparts materialize at his side as if magic is at play.
Everyone stands back, clapping and cheering as the three of them
assume position and begin bobbing their heads, jaws offset, to the
beat of the song. By the end I’m nearly doubled over in laughter,
and my stomach hurts as much as if I had just done a hundred
crunches.

Andy walks back over to me as soon as the
song has ended, a huge smile spread over his face and a sheen of
sweat on his forehead. “Do you want to go up and get some air with
me?” he asks, his hand on my waist. I nod, not having realized
until he suggested it how desperate I am for cool air and something
to drink.

We walk upstairs, and he parks me on the back
step before going back in to get us each a beer. The deck is now
almost empty, most of the partygoers having migrated down to the
drunken orgy taking place in the basement.

When he rejoins me, Andy’s jacket is off, and
I’m able to appreciate his muscular arms and toned chest for the
first time this evening. Something perks up inside me, and an
uncomfortable warmth spreads between my legs. For a split second a
vision of Blake, hovering over me in all his naked glory, snaps
into my mind, but I quickly take a gulp of my beer to suppress the
thought, along with the realization that Andy’s forearms aren’t as
toned as Blake’s.

“Your stamina is impressive,” says Andy as he
sits down next to me, allowing his knee to bump up against mine.
I’m suddenly very aware of how short my dress is as it rides up,
revealing most of my thighs. He appears not to notice, or at least
he’s too much of a gentleman to say anything or candidly stare.

“I was reaching my limit in there,” I reply.
“It’s good to recharge.” I find myself staring at his lips as he
licks them, and suddenly I want very badly to replace the images
that have been flashing through my brain for days with something
altogether different.

“I’m just lucky I got you to myself for so
long,” Andy says, a smug grin touching his face. “I could see half
the guys here waiting in the wings to take my place.”

“They wouldn’t have gotten far,” I tell him.
“Ruthie was designated cock blocker tonight. She’s been fighting
them off for me ever since we got here.” Probably not something I
would have mentioned had I been sober, but I’m always unashamedly
straightforward when I’m drunk. “It’s pretty much been ‘look but
don’t touch,’” I finish, gesturing at my body.

Andy laughs as his eyes follow my gesture,
making a full sweep of my body. I feel like I’ve been lit on fire.
“Ouch,” he says. “You’re evil—now I feel sorry for the poor sons of
bitches.”

I shrug my lack of concern and go back to
drinking my beer. Andy ducks his head closer and says in a husky
whisper, “And what did I do to deserve being the only bastard lucky
enough to get to touch you?”

I look at him, and a smile spreads slowly
over my face. “You’ll have to ask Ruthie that question. She’s the
judge.”

He chuckles softly, then leans back and
braces his arm behind me. Setting his beer down on the step he
twists toward me, craning his neck to tuck a gentle kiss just
behind my ear. “Do I have to ask her permission to kiss you, too?”
he asks.

My head snaps to the side, and I’m taken
aback by the lust in his eyes even if I’m not particularly
surprised by it. His lips are so close, just centimeters away. It
would be so easy to bridge that distance, but there’s a war raging
inside me—this could either be a very, very
good
idea, or it
could be monumentally
stupid
.

In the end he makes my decision for me,
closing the space between us and pressing his lips against mine.
His mouth moves against mine, trying to get me to open up as his
hands grasp my neck and tangle in my hair. For a moment I’m frozen,
but then, slowly but surely, something inside me melts, and I begin
to kiss him back with wild abandon.

When Andy pulls back a minute later, the
neediness in his eyes is unmistakable. This isn’t surprising
either—it’s no secret I’m a good kisser. As for me, I feel like I
may be having an out of body experience. He climbs to his feet and
pulls me up after him, kissing me again before he drops his hand to
twine his fingers with mine and lead me inside. I feel completely
numb, as if I’m hovering over the pair of us, watching from above
as I stumble after him up the stairs to a hallway I’ve never seen
before.

We go to a room at the end of the hall that
clearly belongs to a guy with an unhealthy Transformers obsession.
It has a queen-sized bed in it that’s covered with other people’s
coats. Andy walks over and pushes them all off, then turns and
waves at me as I stand tentatively in the doorway. It occurs to me
he’s being awfully presumptuous bringing me up here, but I can’t
quite bring myself to care. I take a step inside and lean back
against the door to shut it.

Andy is silhouetted against the harsh
fluorescent light that spills through the blinds from a nearby
street lamp. He holds out his hands as I inch toward him, my head
pleasantly fuzzy. As soon as I’m within arm’s reach, he twines his
fingers with mine and pulls me down onto his lap. He kisses me
slowly as he wraps one hand around my waist and the other around my
neck, pulling me closer against him. In spite of my mind crying out
to throw caution to the winds, my body turns rigid beneath his
touch as my heart trips over itself, feeling somehow wrong. Through
an enormous force of will, I manage to thaw my nerves and loosen my
muscles. My murky brain overpowers my stuttering heart as it drives
me to twist and push Andy down flat on the mattress.

He braces himself on his elbows, desire
flaming in his brown eyes as he drinks me in.
He wants me
, I
tell myself. …
And what
good
reason is there to deny
him?

I stand up and position myself directly in
front of him, deliberating; he sits up again and runs his hands up
the backs of my thighs under my dress. Done thinking, I gather his
t-shirt in my fists and yank it off over his head. His chest is
muscular but nearly hairless. My thoughts flash involuntarily to a
different chiseled chest, but I force the vision from my mind’s eye
as I edge forward and shimmy back onto his lap.

“You are so sexy,” he croons, his voice gruff
but soft as he brushes his fingers over my stomach and squeezes my
waist. Yeah, he definitely thinks he’s getting some
… Not that
I’ve done much to discourage that line of thought
.

I snap forward as if breaking free of a
trance and reach down to tangle my fingers in his hair. The gold
chain hanging around his neck, glinting against his bare chest, is
actually kind of turning me on – who knew jewelry could be so
arousing on a man? (To drunk Rhiannon at least.) Again I push on
Andy’s shoulders until he’s fully reclined on the bed. This time I
crawl on top of him, and his hands come up to grab my bottom.
Ah, so he’s an ass man. Blake’s more of a boob guy…

I shake my head before I can think any
further on the subject. Damn my stupid brain and its inability to
just
forget
.

I tilt Andy’s chin up and consume his mouth,
unleashing the most feverish and best-practiced of kisses on his
lips and tongue. When I pull back a moment later his eyes are
glazed over, and the thirst emanating from their chocolaty depths
has kicked up a notch – just as I had intended. He blinks twice,
then raises his head and pulls rather forcefully on the back of my
neck, slamming his lips against mine. He shifts beneath me,
planting his hard-on directly between my legs. Apparently subtlety
isn’t really the angle he’s working tonight.

I ease back and sit into my tailbone directly
over his dick. “
Christ
,” he breathes the second I make
contact. Now his hands come up to grope at my breasts through the
flimsy material of my dress; my fingers flutter over his pecs and
the hard lines of his abs. He unconsciously bucks against me as my
hands move closer to his waistband, silently begging me to undress
him. Meanwhile, his hands slip down and tug gently at the hem of my
dress, an unspoken request to proceed.

My heart pounds so hard I feel like I might
pass out here and now…
Jesus, I can’t do this.

My hands slow and then still against him. I
watch as he lifts his gaze, the question evident on his face. I
withdraw slightly, trying desperately to think of a way to set us
on a different course without rocking the boat too much.

Kissing is really the best solution I can
come up with. I return my hands to Andy’s face, keeping my fingers
locked in his hair as I again cover him with my lips. He responds,
shifting me in his lap while groaning softly. His hands have found
the edge of my underwear beneath my short dress, and his breath has
accelerated to the point of hyperventilation. My internal stalemate
between yes-please-fuck-him and no-you’re-not-ready has me nearly
paralyzed and overcome with a feeling of perfect ambivalence. It
isn’t until he begins suggestively thumbing the elastic around my
panties that one side wins out over the other.

Without granting it any forethought, my hands
jerks down to grab his wrists and arrest any further undressing. I
hold perfectly still, my eyes shut because I’m a coward and can’t
bear to see the look in his eyes. When I finally do crack my
eyelids, he’s staring at me, panting, with a look of utter
confusion scrawled across his features.

“Tell me what you want, Rhiannon,” he says.
“Do you want me to stop?”

I take a deep breath and hold it in as I nod.
“Yes,” I exhale, my voice almost a squeak. “…I’m sorry.”