My finger softly flicks the top of one of Hendrix’s devil horns hovering eye level with me. “Hm?” My low hum mimics his.
His eyes lift to my crown. “It’s . . . cute.”
Why does that one word falling from his lips send my pulse racing?
“These,” he murmurs, and a thumb brushes over my collarbone. I know by the change in texture that he is touching one of the glittery kisses. A moment passes in which I wait for him to say more. He doesn’t.
I swallow, feeling his thumb press a little harder at the movement. “Aleks did them,” I admit in a near whisper. “Kisses are kind of his thing, you know.”
“Hmph.”
This time, I don’t push for him to tell me more. I can’t . . . Jesus, my heart is pounding so hard I don’t think I can handle whatever opinion he has about Aleks kissing my skin to leave the marks behind. While it was happening, Aleks and I couldn’t stop laughing at how ridiculous he looked or how ticklish I was. It wasn’t romantic or sexual in the least.
But standing here, Hendrix’s thumb caressing my throat, I can’t breathe with the overwhelming desire to fall into him. Or fall to my knees. Both options are just as appealing.
We’re friends—possibly closer than Aleks and me, considering some of the secrets I’ve shared with Hendrix—but I’ll be damned if I’d turn down the possibility of more.
There is no possibility, I remind myself. Hendrix has already assured me that he is straight.
Clearing my throat makes his eyes snap up to meet mine, but I quickly turn my head away to pretend to inspect the collection of video games lining the interior of the entertainment center. I eventually manage to take a step back, severing his touch. All at once, I can breathe again, and I take a deep gulp of air in relief.
Despite me disengaging from the situation, despite me specifically not pushing for more, Hendrix—damn him—opens his mouth. My heart stops, then fast-tracks until I can barely hear over the thumping in my ears. “I don’t—”
“Whoo!” A loud holler cuts him off, and a second later, an arm slings over my shoulders. Aleks, three sheets to the wind, leans heavily on me. “I missed you, love bug!” He slams a sloppy kiss on one of the glittery ones on my shoulder. I can’t help but laugh at the tickling sensation, but my cheeks flame at the action that seemed so innocent earlier—when Hendrix wasn’t tracking the movement with dark, stormy eyes I can’t decipher.
What had he been going to say? “I don’t want to be friends anymore”? “I don’t want to be in here with you”? “I don’t care about your costume”? . . . “I don’t want you to go home alone tonight”?
The last one is only wishful thinking on my part.
“Bro, this diaper fucking itches,” Aleks complains in my ear. His hand holding a plastic red cup moves to adjust himself inside the adult diaper that . . . yeah, I don’t know what happened there. We were debating whether I should wear one for my costume—I was strongly against the idea—and then he just decided to wear one himself. He partnered it with a pair of white wings and cherry-red cheeks. Or is that the alcohol?
I eye his cup warily. “How much have you had to drink?”
“All of it!”
Oh, boy.
Aleks holds his cup high as a few other teammates join us in his man cave. “Now, it’s a party! Let’s play a drinking game.”
Cheers sound from the guys who have joined us, all of whom seem to be highly inebriated. Hendrix and I share concerned looks.
“How about something with beer?” I suggest as Hendrix spots a stumbling Micah and crosses the room to steady him.
“Beer pong,” someone slurs.
“No fair! Not everyone can participate,” someone else responds.
“Spin the bottle,” Aleks yells beside my ear.
“That isn’t a drinking game, Kiss,” I inform him while rolling my eyes. He suggests that game every time.
Kit digs around the entertainment center cabinets, the halo of his angel costume askew on his head. “I found Twister!” he announces as he pulls out the box. While it also isn’t a drinking game, I’m not going to complain about them not getting any more drunk.
Tank, Gallon, and Blow quickly agree to play the childish game with Kit, but when Aleks tries to join, I pull his wobbly ass back to my side. “Not enough room for anyone else,” I tell him. And I don’t need you falling and breaking anything, I add silently in my head.
“Never Have I Ever,” Micah suggests, suddenly appearing with Hendrix in tow.
Hendrix looks about as happy with the suggestion as I am, but Aleks lights up with excitement.
“Yes, yes, yes! Gin, you have to play. You too, Sour.”
I point to his cup of liquor. “Only if you switch to beer.”
He pouts and looks longingly at the drink. “But my cup is still full—”
To all our surprise, Hendrix nabs the cup from him and downs it in one go. Shit, for a lightweight, he sure does drink like a champ.
I swallow against the sudden rock in my throat.
Stop. You don’t need it.
You don’t want it.
You are stronger than the urge.
Hendrix gives me a hard look. “I’ll go get the four of us some beer. You guys find a place to sit.”
Working around the Twister group in the middle of the room is a little challenging, especially with Aleks still leaning against me. The only thing he contributes is a dopey smile thrown Micah’s way. I manage to turn two couches to face each other near the corner of the room and set Aleks’ heavy body down with obvious relief.