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“I don’t care that you are drunk, but it’s a school night and I need my sleep.” I would stay up all night with him if I knew he wouldn’t say hurtful things to me the entire time.
“It’s a school night,” he mocks me. “Could you be more of a square?” He laughs like he’s just said the funniest thing ever.
“You should just go,” I say and lie back down, turning to face the wall. I don’t like this Hardin. I want my semisweet Hardin back. Not this drunk jerk.
“Aww, baby, don’t be mad at me,” he says, but I ignore him. “Do you really want me to go? You know what happens when I sleep without you,” he says, just above a whisper.
My heart sinks. I do know what happens, but it’s not fair for him to use that against me when he’s drunk and taunting me.
“Fine. You can stay, but I’m going back to sleep.”
“Why? You don’t want to hang out with me?”
“You are drunk and being mean.” I finally turn back around to face him.
“I’m not being mean,” he says, his expression neutral. “All I said was you were being annoying.”
“That’s sort of mean to say to someone. Especially when all I did was ask you about your job.”
“Oh God, not this again. Come on, Tessa, just drop it. I don’t want to talk about that right now.” His voice is whiny and he slurs his words.
“Why did you drink tonight?” I don’t mind if he drinks; I am not his mother, and he’s an adult. The thing that bothers me is that every time he drinks there is a reason behind it. He doesn’t just drink for fun.
He looks away from me and toward the door as if planning an escape. “I . . . I don’t know . . . I just felt like having a drink . . . well, drinks. Can you please stop being mad at me? I love you,” he says and brings his eyes to meet mine.
His simple words dissolve most of my anger and I find myself wanting his arms around me.
“I’m not mad at you, I just don’t want to backtrack in our relationship. I don’t like when you turn on me for no reason, then just leave. If you’re mad about something, I want you to talk to me about it.”
“You just don’t like to not have control over everything,” he says and wobbles a little.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re a control freak.” He shrugs as if it’s a known fact.
“No, I’m not. I just like things a certain way.”
“Yeah, your way.”
“So I guess we aren’t done fighting, then. Anything else you want to throw in there while you’re are it?” I snap.
“Nope, just that you’re a control freak and I really want you to move in with me.”
What? His moods give me whiplash.
“You should move in with me—I found an apartment today. I haven’t signed anything yet, but it’s a nice place.”
“When?” It’s hard to keep up with the five personalities of Hardin Scott.
“After I left here.”
“Before you got drunk?” I ask.
He rolls his eyes. The light from the lamp hits the metal of his eyebrow ring, and I fight to ignore how attractive that is.
“Yes, before I got drunk. So what do you say? Are you going to move in with me?”
“I know you are new at this dating thing, but people don’t usually insult their girlfriend and ask them to move in with them in the same sentence,” I inform him, chewing my bottom lip to suppress my smile.
“Well, sometimes the said girlfriend needs to lighten up.” He grins. Even drunk, he’s charming as hell.
“Well, then said boyfriend needs to stop being a jerk,” I say to retaliate.
He laughs and moves from the chair over to my bed. “I am trying not to be a jerk, I really am. Sometimes I can’t help it.” He sits on the edge of the bed. “I’m really, really good at it!”
“I know,” I sigh. Regardless of this episode tonight, I know he really has been trying to be nicer. I don’t want to make excuses for him, but he has done much better than I expected.
“So you will move in with me?” He smiles hopefully.
“Jesus, let’s take this one step at a time. I will stop being mad at you for now,” I tell him and sit up. “Now come to bed with me,” I instruct. He raises an eyebrow as if to say, “See, control freak,” but stands up to pull his jeans off anyway. When he removes his shirt he puts it on the bed before me, and I love that he wants me to wear his shirts as much as I want to.
I pull my shirt off to slip his over my head when he stops me.
“Fuck,” he blurts out and I look up. “What are you wearing?” His eyes are dark and wide.
“I . . . I got some new underwear today.” I flush and look away.
“I see that . . . Fuck,” he repeats.
“You already said that.” I giggle. The light in Hardin’s eyes is blazing for me—and it makes my skin tingle.
“You look incredible.” He gulps. “You always do, but this is just . . .”
With a dry mouth I look down to where his boxers strain against his growing bulge. The energy between us has changed for the fifth time tonight.
“I was going to show you earlier, but you were too busy being a jerk.”
“Mmm,” he mumbles, clearly not paying attention to what I’m actually saying. He places his knee on the bed and looks my body up and down again before climbing on top of me.
His lips taste like whiskey and mint, and the combination is heavenly. Our kisses are soft and teasing, coming together and drifting apart, his tongue playfully gliding over mine. His hand wraps into my hair and I can feel his erection press against my stomach as he brings his body closer to me. He lets go of my hair to hold himself up on his elbow and use his other hand to touch me. His long fingers run along the undersides of my lace bra, dipping down inside of it and back out. He licks his lips as he cups me with his large palms, rubbing up and down.