Page 10 of Glass Jawed

Lucian

This is not easy.

How the hell is she this drunk on just three margaritas? Why did I even suggest spicy ones?

Fucking idiot, I mutter internally.

I had envisioned a chill night—some music, a few arcade games, maybe a casual kiss if the vibe was right. Not this. Now I can’t kiss her even though I really, really want to.

Instead, I’ve got a fully drunk Rohi—this tiny, chaotic hobbit—prancing around in an incredibly short black dress, high on citrus and tequila.

Fucking hell.

If she falls on her ass and flashes that perfect ass to this crowd of mouth-breathers, I will commit a felony.

I move fast, catching her mid-fumble and wrapping an arm around her waist. She giggles, leaning into me without resistance. The bass-heavy music in this seedy arcade bar makes everything feel fuzzier than it already is.

“Sweetheart,” I murmur in her ear, “I think you need some water.”

She turns to me with hazy, glazed-over eyes, dreamy and dazed and utterly fucking stunning.

“I’m not drunk,” she declares.

A hiccup punctuates the statement.

I raise a brow. “Sure you’re not. But... maybe I am. And I need water, baby.”

I suppress a grin when she rolls her eyes and lead her to the bar, signaling the bartender with a nod.

“Can you take me to my apartment?” she slurs while I hand her the glass. “I wanna go now. This... ugh. I need a bed. My bed.”

I wait for her to drink at least half, then wrap an arm around her again, steering us toward the exit.

Honestly? It was a great night.

I didn’t know she was a beast at ping-pong. She had this competitive gleam in her eyes every time I fumbled, and she destroyed me.

Also didn’t know that her sitting in that dangerously short dress would be the end of my composure. The way her thighs flattened against the chair? Jesus. Kill me.

What I wouldn’t give to have those golden legs wrapped around me.

And it’s been happening more often—the noticing. The slight curve of her hips, the way she walks, how her skin glows under warm light. I always knew she was gorgeous. But this dress?

She’d never worn a dress with me and I wasn’t prepared.

She’s quiet now in the car, looking out the window at the blur of traffic, head lolling slightly with each turn.

“I shouldn’t have had so many drinks,” she mumbles.

I open my mouth to reassure her, but she keeps going.

“My therapist said that I was blocking you,” she says, barely above a whisper. “So I unblocked you tonight. Let you see me in a dress.”

Then, she giggles.

“Fuck... you’ve already seen me naked. What am I even thinking ?!”

My hand tightens slightly on the steering wheel. That was... unexpected.

First—she’s talked about me in therapy? Me?

Second—I really, really don’t want her spiraling into that night right now. Not while she’s like this.

I gently rest my free hand on her bare thigh, giving it a soft squeeze.

“Rohi,” I say quietly, “I don’t remember you clearly from that night. So no, I haven’t seen you naked.”

She gasps. Like she just realized she brought it up when we hadn’t since our first date.

I lean in just a little, my voice low and rough with want.

“But I’d like to.” I smile before bringing my attention back to the road.

She stays silent the rest of the drive.

Instead of pulling up along the road like I usually do, I turn into her building’s guest parking. There’s no way I’m letting her stumble up to her apartment alone in this state.

She doesn’t object. Doesn’t ask questions when I park, get out, and walk around to her side to help her out of the car. She simply leans on me, her hand curling loosely around my forearm as we make our way toward the building entrance.

“You’re awfully quiet,” I murmur.

She looks up, blinking slowly. “I feel like I ruined the night by getting drunk.”

I laugh, genuinely. She looks so worried about it—like I’ve never seen someone adorable and hammered before. “Baby, I assure you... I enjoy your company. Inebriated or otherwise.”

She mumbles something under her breath as we walk. “Sweetheart... baby...”

“Yeah?” I glance at her with a smile. “I like calling you that.”

Just as we reach the glass doors, she fumbles around in her purse for her key fob. I wait while she finds it, her brows furrowed in tipsy concentration.

Once we’re inside, she waves at the concierge and leads me toward the elevators, her steps a little uneven in those heels.

I can’t figure her out.

She was all laughter and banter at the bar—spiky in that way she gets when she’s playful and half-challenging me. But ever since the alcohol really hit, she’s been quiet. Withdrawn. Not cold, just... somewhere far off.

I don’t dislike it. I’m not irritated. If anything, I’m worried. It feels like she’s shutting down, going somewhere in her head that doesn’t include me.

Or maybe this is just how she is when drunk.

When we reach her floor, she unlocks her unit with a shaky hand and turns to look at me. There’s a flicker of hesitation in her expression.

“Are you... do you wanna... why...”

I bite my lip to keep from smiling. She’s flustered, and the sight of it is far too endearing for its own good.

“I just wanted to make sure you were safely deposited into your home,” I say.

She nods, then steps aside to let me in. “My flatmate Charlotte comes home later. Her shift ends at 3 am. So... you can... I don’t know. Want some water?”

I shake my head. “I’m good. But can I use your bathroom?”

“Yeah, of course.” She points toward the hallway. “That door.”

Then she practically disappears down the other end—retreating to what I assume is her bedroom.

I take a piss and lean over the sink to wash my hands, staring at the water swirling down the drain.

Every time we hang out, I think less about Tim. Less about that damn night. Less about the betrayal.

And more about her .

Aarohi isn’t some faceless mistake anymore. She’s not just the woman Tim cheated with. She’s... taken shape. She’s complicated. Bright. A little too sharp. And way too alluring.

I close my eyes and exhale.

Her laugh, her weird obsession with iced oat lattes, that goddamn little frown she gets when she’s concentrating—these things have started tattooing themselves onto my memory. Not the photo frames. Not the screaming. Not Tim’s voice.

And her lips. Fuck.

Even painted in that dark wine shade tonight, they looked like they could ruin a man. I wanted to drown in them. Bite them. Swallow whatever sound she made when I did.

If I stay here any longer, I’ll do something I won’t be able to take back.

I dry my hands and push the bathroom door open.

She’s back in the kitchen, leaning on the counter, sipping water from a mug that says World’s Best Boss. Of course she likes The Office . That tracks.

But my steps falter.

She’s changed. Into pale blue sleep shorts and a loose white tee that hangs just off her shoulder. Her face is bare, no makeup. Hair messy and falling softly down her back.

And those lips?

Still wine-colored.

That’s not lipstick. That’s just her .

Christ. My cock twitches, and I try to think of anything else before I embarrass myself like a goddamn teenager.

“I’m going to...” I clear my throat, fumbling like an idiot. “I’ll take my leave.”

She looks up, blinking slowly—and smiles. It’s soft, not mocking. I don’t think she even realizes how much she fucking affects me.

“Okay,” she says. “I hope I didn’t deter you from wanting to hang out again. With my... drunkenness.”

I chuckle. “Absolutely not, sweetheart.”

Then the words slip out before I can stop them. “I’m just afraid I’ll kiss those gorgeous lips of yours if I stay any longer.”

Her eyes widen.

She tilts her head slightly, as if considering. “Okay... kiss me then.”

My heart slams in my throat. I blink.

Jesus.

“You’re drunk,” I say, voice low.

“I washed my face,” she shrugs, stepping a little closer. “I don’t feel drunk anymore.”

God help me.

I search her face, looking for any hesitation. She’s flushed, eyes clear, not swaying. But there’s still that whisper of uncertainty in her gaze—like she doesn’t trust this moment will last.

She looks like temptation incarnate, barefoot in her kitchen, waiting for me to break the invisible line I’ve been toeing since the day we reconnected.

And I do.

“I’m warning you,” I murmur, closing the distance. “If I kiss you... I won’t stop at just one.”

Her breath hitches. She looks at me through her lashes. “Okay.”

That’s it. That’s the fucking end of my restraint.

I cup her face, fingers brushing the curve of her jaw, and crash my lips onto hers.

She tastes like toothpaste and danger.

She sighs against my mouth, gripping my shirt like she’s been waiting for this.

My other hand slips around her waist, dragging her closer.

Her body molds into mine, soft in all the right places, and I deepen the kiss without thinking—tongue sliding over hers, pulling a quiet whimper from her throat.

Fuck.

I can’t pretend this is just a revenge plan anymore. I can’t pretend she’s a symbol of my pain.

Because this woman?

She’s real .

And I’m fucking screwed.