Page 10 of Troublemaker: The Big Picture Edition

I gotta say, I like his fingers in my hair.

I gotta say, I’d like his fingers all over and inside of me, and…

Whaaaaaat?

I don’t even hear the music or the other people anymore.

Just the blood rushing in my ears.

My heart pounding.

I push my glasses up the bridge of my nose as I inhale and grab his shirt.

His hands cradle my face, thumbs brushing my cheeks, and he kisses me differently this time. Harshly, gently. Determined but hesitant. And then I moan and bite his bottom lip so lightly, but it flips a switch and there’s no more hesitation. For him or for me.

He pulls my hair aside, kisses his way down my neck, andholy shit I could fall so hard and fast for this man.

I don’t know or even care where we go from here.

I’m here for this.

I want to give him every kind of kiss I can think of, but if all we have is this moment, then I will just do this…

I place my hands on either side of his face and kiss him, quickly. Once, twice on the mouth. And then I drag the tip of my tongue up from his slightly stubbly chin to his bottom lip, and he pulls me in by the waist and takes charge of my mouth. Everything that I need to know about this person is distilled down to the way he communicates with his hands and his lips and his tongue. Everything that I needed to be reminded about what’s great about men and taking chances and my instincts are in this kiss.

He tastes like peach pie and vanilla ice cream and hops and the kind of fun I want to have on non-school nights.

Or every night.

I could live in this kiss forever.

But everything’s spinning, and my eyes aren’t even open.

Uh-oh.

I might not feel good.

Fuck you, my liver. Not now!

I pull away from Alejandro as graciously as possible, cover my mouth, and serpentine as quickly as possible through all of the idiots standing between me and the ladies’ room.

I’m nauseated.

I’m cold.

It’s just me and this terrible feeling now.

I somehow manage to make it past all the other girls in line for the two toilets—fuck you, nightclub designer—and the angel at the front of the line lets me go ahead of her when one of the stalls opens up.

Yeah.

Now I remember why I hate going out to have fun.

Not one night at home while reading or knitting or making lists has ever ended with my face in a toilet.

This is what I like to call “a teachable moment.”

Raw fish, plus sake, plus German herbal digestif that’s popular with horny frat boys, plus dizzying interaction with dreamy stranger equals harsh realities of stepping outside of my comfort zone before I’m ready.