“Kitty.” Her name is out before my brain fully acknowledges it’s her.
You could knock me over with a feather. Maybe it’s one of those weird dissonance things where your mind fails to associate a person outside of the usual place you see them or maybe I’m just that hammered. I’ve never run into Katrina anywhere but the café, but it’s clear I’m also drunk because it’s the only reason I’d be using nerdy words like dissonance. Even in my head.
The dress she’s wearing shows off long, toned legs, and the tits I’ve been admiring under the layers of material she usually has on are happily not the result of a miracle push-up bra. Her profile is to me, but I watch her react to my voice. She stills and her lips part as she turns toward me. She doesn’t respond until the girl next to her, a dark redhead who eyes me with a mixture of confusion and intrigue, elbows her.
“Joel Moreno.” The way she says my name is like a double shot from the bottle of Jack I hold in one hand. It burns so good.
“What are you doing here?”
One brow raises and a hand goes to her hip. It’s the same mocking look and stance she gives me every week, but tonight she looks nervous without the counter between us. “It’s a party. What do you think I’m doing?”
“Good point.” I give her friend, who looks familiar but thankfully not in an I’ve seen her naked way, a small head nod and step closer to Katrina. I grab three cups and fill each of them with a healthy shot from the bottle I’ve nearly finished off. I hand a cup to Katrina and her friend and then lift the other toward them. “Cheers to doing what people do at parties.”
Her friend smirks and looks between Kitty and me. Katrina lifts her cup to her pink lips but pauses before drinking. She grimaces at the smell, proceeds to take a sip, coughs, and then forces the rest down like a champ. “That’s disgusting.”
“Shots usually are,” the redhead says and takes hers all at once. She consolidates the cups in her hand and chases the shot with whatever she’s drinking.
Kitty watches and does the same. “What’s the point of drinking something that tastes bad?” Her face flushes. “I don’t drink very often.”
I file that tidbit away. “First of all, don’t talk about my boy Jack like that. Secondly, depends on what you want from the night. Different kinds of alcohol make people feel different ways. Wine drunk is emotional. “Oh my God, I love you so much,” I say in a mock high-pitched voice that pulls a small laugh from her friend. Beer drunk is loud and obnoxious…” I wave my hand toward the keg in the dining room. The guys around it push and shove while they take turns filling their cups, smack talking so loud you can hear their taunts above the rest of the noise in the house.
“And this.” She lifts her empty cup. “What kind of drunk will I be?”
“Fun and invincible.”
The girl next to her snorts. “Until tomorrow morning anyway.”
“Some truth to that,” I admit.
“Tabitha,” the redhead introduces herself.
Katrina glances between us. “Sorry, I thought maybe you two already knew each other.”
“Joel, nice to meet you.” I extend a hand to Tabitha.
Before she can shake, Nathan butts in. “Shots, shots, shots,” he sings in his best Lil Jon impersonation, which is fucking terrible.
He has an empty pizza box he’s using as a serving tray and it’s filled with shot glasses of whatever party concoction he’s created.
He offers it first to Tabitha and Katrina who both take one.
I hold up a hand to pass. I know my limits. I like to teeter right on the brink of wasted. I’m toeing the line as it is. The mixture of booze and the adrenaline pumping through me at the sight of Katrina right here when I least expected it has me lit.
“Shut up. You’re not pussing out. It’s only ten o’clock. Party’s just getting started.”
“I’m pacing myself,” I say, annoyed, but take one anyway. I lift it to my nose and sniff, try and get some idea what I’m getting myself into. All I smell is a fruity punch of some sort.
“What is this?”
His smile is fast and wicked.
Ah fuck. “There Everclear in this?”
Fuck that. I place the shot back on his tray. And no way in hell I’m letting Katrina drink this. Girl will be blackout drunk before she knows it.
Too late. I look over in time to see her pretty face contort in a mixture of confusion and disgust.
“Oh God, what is that?” she asks after she’s taken half the shot.
I swipe it from her hand and drink the rest of it before responding. I catch only the slightest hint of the ridiculously high proof alcohol, but my body shivers as if it knows I’ve just fucked it.
“Hey, I was gonna drink that.”
“Trust me. I did you a solid.”
Tabitha sets her still full shot glass down and glares at Nathan. “What’s in that?”
“Relax.” Nathan bumps my shoulder. “It’s only got a little bit of Everclear in it.”
“That shit will mess you up so fast you don’t even realize it.”
I’m pleased when Katrina makes no move to get another cup from Nathan’s tray, but instead lifts her empty cup and says, “I’m going to get a beer.”
Nathan is already off on his quest to get everyone shit-faced, so I follow Katrina to the keg.
“I can’t believe you’re here. I’ve never seen you out before.”
She attempts a pour. Flow is weak and she messes with the tap and gives it a shake like that’ll help.
“Needs to be pumped.”
“Uh, what?” She drops it and looks to me helplessly.
“I’m starting to think this might be your first time pouring from a keg.” I step forward and give the keg a couple slow pumps. “The key is not to over pump. You pump too much, and you’ll be able to ski on the head.”
I motion her over with a head tilt and hold out the nozzle. She places the cup underneath and I fill it like a pro.
“You’re staring,” she says as I hand her the cup and do indeed keep watching her.
“Sorry. I’m just… surprised to see you. Come on, let’s go outside. It’s quieter out there and we can talk.”
Talk, make out, whatever.
“I should get back to Tabitha.” She motions with her head and I look over to see her friend watching us carefully. “We came together.”
Girls are weird as shit about sticking with their friends at parties. Typically this is when I’d offer they both join me outside, but I’m not in the mood for a three-way. My attention is focused solely on Katrina. But she’s not getting out of my sight, either. I’m afraid she might be a hallucination or maybe I’ve already passed the fuck out and I’m dreaming.
I place an arm around her shoulders, enjoying every inch of bare skin that heats my forearm. “Tabitha,” I call out as we approach. “How do you feel about drinking games?”
Her expression doesn’t look the least bit staged or put off at my domineering their plans. “I love them.”
I let my arm drop and grab Katrina’s free hand. Her small palm is limp for the briefest of moments before she relaxes and curls her fingers around mine. I lead them to the table in the middle of the kitchen and thank karma or God or just dumb luck that there are three empty seats.
Mario and Vanessa are seated with some other baseball guys and girls I recognize as baseball house regulars. “Yo, Mario, cool if we join you?”
He groans as Vanessa shoots a quarter into the shot glass in front of her and raises both arms overhead in victory. “Sucker, drink again!”
“Fair warning, Vanessa is unnaturally good at shooting quarters,” he says as he fills his shot glass with the Captain Morgan bottle in front of him and then shoots it back.
“It’s true,” Vanessa says with pride. Her eyes land on Katrina and her smile widens. “Hey, you’re Katrina. You work at the café with Blair… or well, did before she quit.”
Katrina nods. “I thought I recognized you. You’re her roommate, right? It’s not the same without her.”
Vanessa is hot but ruthless. I wouldn’t cross her for any amount of money, but right now she smiles so sweetly as she motions for Katrina to take the seat next to her that I’m at a total loss. My Kitty seems to have a weird effect on everyone. The remaining seats are on the other side of the table, so I pull out a chair for Tabitha and then take the one directly across from Katrina. At least this way I can watch her more carefully. So much for getting handsy, though.
We play quarters and Vanessa destroys us as Mario predicted. My eyes stay glued to Katrina who watches and copies the movements of everyone else. I can’t get a read on her. She’s not a party hopper because I’ve never seen her out, but she seems to be enjoying herself if not more timidly than everyone else.
“Okay, I’m out,” Mario says after he’s forced to take another shot.
Vanessa scrunches up her nose at him. “Good call. I don’t want you to have whiskey dick later.”
“TMI, V,” I say with a chuckle and watch as Mario hangs his head and mumbles something under his breath.
“How about Drunk Jenga? You still got that one?” I ask, not having any interest in playing anything, but suddenly feeling like I need to be Martha-fucking-Stewart playing hostess and ensuring everyone has a good time. Well, not everyone, just Katrina.
“Good call,” the jersey chaser next to me says with more enthusiasm than Jenga deserves.
“What’s Drunk Jenga?” Katrina asks hesitant and quiet, directed to me.
“You’ll like it,” I promise. And she will. Her having a good time has become my only goal for the night. Well, and getting her home with me.
We set up Jenga and Katrina laughs as she reads out some of the tiles. “Flash the table.”
One of my personal favorites.
“Make a rule for the table.” And “Dare two people to kiss.”
I read the look on her face that asks if we’re seriously going to play such a ridiculous game that could have been made up by middle school boys. Yep, sweetheart, college is just puberty on steroids. Playing games like Spin the Bottle, Truth or Dare, or I’ve Never is totally legit because there is alcohol involved. Tomorrow people will blame their actions tonight on being drunk when the truth is they were super horny and looking to get laid.
“I’ll go first,” the girl next to me says, side-eyeing me. Ah, hell. I hadn’t considered that I might have to partake in the festivities. I mean, I’m usually game, but with Kitty here – no fucking way I’m wasting time making out with some other girl.
“Actually, how about we let Kitty go first seeing as how it’s her first time.” I stand and move around the table. With one hand on the back of the chair, I lean down.
“I know how to play Jenga,” she says with a smirk.
“I just want to make sure you choose wisely.” I point to a tile in the middle of the tower.
She eyes me suspiciously but pulls at the one I picked anyway. I try and hide the smile pulling at my lips as she reads it to herself.
“What’s it say?” someone asks, but neither Kitty or I answer.
She finally looks up and around the table and I can almost hear her weighing out her options. I step back and wait. When I’ve almost given up hope, she sighs, turns to me, stands, and says, “This doesn’t count as a date.”
There’s laughter from the table as Vanessa reads the discarded tile aloud. “Seven Minutes in Heaven.”
When we’re upstairs in Mario’s room, she finally speaks. “I’m not sure if I should be insulted or impressed that you got me in a bedroom within an hour of my arriving at the party.”
“Impressed.” I walk all the way in, hoping she’ll follow, and place the bottle of Jack I’m still carrying onto the desk. She hovers in the doorway, and I step back to her and brush her hair away from the side of her neck. Leaning in, I press a kiss just below her ear before murmuring, “Definitely impressed.”
“I’m not having sex with you,” she whispers in a shaky voice. I pull back. Indecision wars in her eyes. She wants me, I’ve always known this, but something still holds her back. Even here with no one else and no barriers between us, she’s throwing up a stop sign with the way she looks almost guilty.
Somehow, I manage to step away. Her scent follows me, and I try and find some semblance of sanity as I pick up the bottle of Jack. “We don’t have to do anything except stay in here for seven minutes.”
I settle onto Mario’s bed with the alcohol and pat for her to follow.
She looks around the space which is clean and not at all what she pictured judging by the look on her face. I’ll have to thank Vanessa for that. I see touches of her all over the room, including the bed that has been made and sheets that smell like they’ve been washed recently.
“Come on. I’ve been asking you out for five months. Throw a guy a bone.”
Or, you know, let me stick mine in you.
“Okay, but door stays open and I’m not touching that bed.”
She moves into the room and stands, arms crossed, eyes guarded.
My head is heavy, probably from the alcohol, but I wrack my brain for an idea. Anything to keep her here and all to myself. “How about we do something else to pass the time? We could get to know each other. Seven questions in heaven.” Look at me all clever. Won’t exactly be adding this one to the game though. Seven minutes in heaven shouldn’t normally be altered. Drastic times and all that.
She seems to consider this. “I can ask you anything?”
“Sure. As long as I can do the same.”
Her arms go to her sides and she moves to the bed and sits on the edge. Progress.
“Okay.”
I lob her a softball. “What’s your major?”
“Screenwriting. Yours?”
“Communications,” I answer and then fire back to keep the game going. “What made you decide to come out tonight?”
She shrugs. “Tabitha invited me out.”
“Yeah, okay, but I’ve never seen you out so why tonight and not before?”
Her lips part and her chest rises and falls before she answers. “I guess the stars just aligned. I was free and she asked. I honestly don’t get invited to that many parties. And that was two questions.”
I hold my palm out in a gesture that it’s her turn.
“How many girls have you brought up here? Ballpark.”
I’m pleased this is a question I can answer honestly and to my credit. “None.”
She narrows her gaze. “I don’t believe you.”
“It’s true. The official Seven Minutes in Heaven room is actually the closet downstairs.”
Rolling her eyes, her stance closes off a bit. “You know what I meant.”
Yeah, of course I do.
“I don’t know. A lot. Does it matter?”
“No, I guess it doesn’t. That’s four questions.” She holds three fingers in the air with a smirk. “Why do you keep coming to the café asking me out every week? You have to know that I’m never going to say yes.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” I argue. “You want to say yes. I don’t know why you keep saying no, but I know I’m not wrong about the attraction between us being mutual.”
“And you’re what? Hoping to wear me down by buying coffee?”
“Winners want the ball.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“I don’t understand how that fits this scenario. Am I the ball?”
Reaching out, I let my fingertips graze her arm – elbow to wrist. Goosebumps meet my touch, but she doesn’t pull back. “It means that I’m willing to risk you turning me down every week because there’s always a chance you’ll say yes. I might fail ninety-nine times before I succeed, but I’m going to keep trying because I want you. You’re not the ball, Kitty, you’re the goal.”
She scrunches up her nose. “The goal? You can ‘score,’” —she air quotes the word— “with any girl you want. So, I’m not sure I buy it. If I’m just a goal…”
“Don’t twist my words. You’re not just anything.”
Our eyes lock and the air shifts. I don’t dare move even though I’m dying to taste her, to show her how good we can be together.
She lets out a long breath and shakes her head. “Can I have a drink of that?”
I hand over the bottle and watch as she tips it back and proceeds to grimace as the liquor meets her tongue. She hands it back with a cough. “Thanks.”
“Lo que tu quieras hermosa.”
Her eyes widen. “You speak Spanish?”
Damn. I haven’t pulled out the Spanish on her? In all my attempts to get her to go out with me, I’d forgotten Blair’s advice that tossing out my ability to speak Spanish was the ultimate panty dropper. Admittedly it doesn’t usually come to that. My handsome mug and the body that comes with the workouts and practices of being a college athlete do practically all the work for me.
“My parents wanted us to be able to communicate with our extended family in Mexico.”
She shifts so she’s sitting fully on the bed. “Did your parents grow up here or in Mexico?”
“Both. My father’s family moved here when he was a baby. My mother came over with her sister after high school.”
Whatever hesitation and block she’d been throwing up is down as she leans forward and asks the next question. “How’d they meet?”
I shake my head and click my tongue against the roof of my mouth twice. “Oh no, you’ve used up your seven questions. It’s my turn.”
She holds her hand out for the bottle.
I pass it over, watching mesmerized as she takes another small drink and hands it back. “I’m ready. Shoot.”
“Admit you’re attracted to me.”
“That’s not a question.”
“Fine. Are you attracted to me?”
Her face pinks. If I’d been doubting it, which I haven’t, I’d be certain now. Katrina is attracted to me, but I need to hear her say it. I need her to admit it to herself. She rolls her eyes. “You know you’re hot, you don’t need me to pad your ego.”
“That’s not the same thing. I asked if you were attracted to me?”
She throws her hands up, exasperation bouncing off her. “Of course, I am. I’m pretty sure the entire female population is attracted to you.” More eye rolling.
I take a drink to hide the cocky grin that is threatening to spread across my face. The burn of the alcohol and the excitement of her admission has me lightheaded.
“Final question.”
“I’m pretty sure you still have at least two left.”
That cocky grin I was trying to hide? Yep, no hiding it now. It pulls across my face and, thank you, Jesus, this night is about to get good. Good and dirty. “I only need one.”
She arches a brow, looking at me suspiciously.
Leaning forward, I hear the intake of breath as my thumb moves to the corner of her mouth and I trace her full, bottom lip before moving up to the center of her perfect cupid’s bow. She’s coated them in a glossy, light pink, and I want to taste it and smear it in equal measures. She trembles under my touch and it’s such an honest reaction that my pulse quickens.
I drop my hand from her face to neck and thread it through her hair, watching the path and admiring the goosebumps that rise on her ivory skin. “Can I kiss you?”
When I meet her beautiful multi-colored eyes, they’re wide and dark like maybe she’s as jacked about this finally happening as I am.
“Your eyes…” Her lips part as I get closer and her gaze darts from my mouth to my eyes. “Tienes los ojos más bonitos que he visto.”
She still doesn’t respond with words but nods ever so slightly as I hover so close our breaths mingle. Her eyes stay locked on mine until our mouths meet. Lashes flutter closed and she meets my kiss tentatively. I want to fucking devour her, but I hold back, refusing to rush this moment. Her kiss is soft and unassuming like she’s trying to savor this moment too. Maybe I’m projecting.
She opens wider and I sweep my tongue in tasting the lingering liquor and a sweetness that I want to bottle up and gulp. In fact, my head spins and as my hands find her hips and dig in, the kiss turns frantic. Her moans meet mine. When did I become a moaner? I feel the blackness creeping in as I push away all questions and try to hold on to her and to the moment, not wanting it to end.
“Ojos bonitos,” I whisper the words against her neck. My hips search for contact, dick so hard it’s painful.
“Wake up, Moreno.” Something hits my face and I register the pillow and the loss of her at the same time. Without opening my eyes, I let my other senses play catch up to the situation. I’m not in my bed, or any bed. The lumpy cushion beneath me and the pillow I spoon. My pulse throbs between my eyes.
“He alive?” I hear someone ask followed by a chuckle.
“Yeah, he’s alive.” I recognize Mario’s voice this time. “Probably nursing a hangover to rival all hangovers.”
I groan in response, all I can manage without fear of my head exploding.
“Wes called looking for you. He said to tell you to get your ass moving. Practice in thirty minutes.”
Well, that’s not good news, but I’m less concerned about that than I am with what happened with Katrina last night. A vague recollection of her getting a text and insisting she needed to go is the only thing I remember after kissing her. I sit up slowly and take in myself and the situation around me. I’m passed out on the living room couch.
I check the time on the cable box underneath the TV. Assuming it’s right, I’m hella fucking late. Our usual morning practice got bumped to mid-day, hence the night of drinking. From November through April we don’t get a lot of nights to let loose. Early morning practices, afternoon workouts that sometimes go well into the evening. Then there are game tapes and oh right I’m also taking a full load of college classes.
So, when Coach moved our morning practice, Nathan and I took full advantage.
“Nathan crash here too?”
“Nah, he stumbled out last night. You were passed out in my room. Took everything I had to get your tall ass down the stairs and onto the couch.”
“And Katrina?”
“The chick you took up to my room?” He shakes his head. “Didn’t see her after you two went upstairs to do the nasty on my bed. Vanessa insisted on changing the bedding and then burning your sex sheets.”
Normally she’d be right on the money, but the way I feel right now? Something tells me there wasn’t any sex to be had.
“Sorry, man. I owe you.”
I feel for my phone in my pocket, relieved when I find it, but disappointed when I see the battery is dunzo.
I pocket it and pull my ass up off the couch. With a salute to Mario, I’m out. When I walk the two blocks to my house, the guys are already out the door as I’m heading up the sidewalk which means I’ve got shit for time. Looks like I’ll be wearing whatever rumpled, smelly clothes I left in my locker.
Wes hobbles toward me all grumpy and pissed off – his new MO. The boot on his right foot from the injury that ended his college career thunks on the pavement and echoes like a cannon in my goddamn head.
“Walk of shame? Really?”
“I hate that phrase. This is the walk of awesome. Don’t be jealous I had a good night and you probably tucked your lame ass in at eight.”
The smallest lift of his lips makes me second-guess my assumption. “Ah, you stayed in with Blair. Nice. You lock that down yet, make it official?”
He doesn’t respond, but he doesn’t need to. Wes’ silence tells me everything.
“Good for you. ‘Bout damn time.”
Nathan hustles forward, taking his walk to a jog and leaving us behind. I lift my head in his direction. “He was drinking Everclear last night and now look at him. He’s either got an unbelievable tolerance or…”
“Don’t finish that sentence,” Wes instructs. “I’m putting in for that coaching job next year. The less I know, the better.”
“Coach Reynolds,” I try it out. “Coach Wes.” Shake my head. “Nah, how about Coach Dubya – ya know like George Dubya Bush.”
“Those all sound super weird, but if you call me Coach Dubya, your ass will be doing a lot of extra miles.”
“Cold, Dubya. Cold.”