005:Indulgence
1090 Words
Sophia
I was on the wrong end of the hall.
"Oops," I muttered, turning around. Except my feet weren't cooperating, and I stumbled, catching myself against the wall next to 15D.
That's when the door opened.
Luca stood there in worn jeans and a black t-shirt, his dark hair damp like he'd just showered. Those tattooed fingers were holding what looked like a glass of wine p, and his expression shifted from surprise to concern when he saw me.
"Sophia?"
"Hi!" I said brightly, pushing off the wall and immediately swaying.
"I live here. Not here, here. Down there." I pointed vaguely in the direction of my apartment.
"Are you drunk?" There was amusement in his voice, and that dimple appeared in his cheek.
"A little bit. Maybe. Yes." I tried to straighten up and look dignified.
"I had a very good day. A great day. You know... My colleague tried to steal my designs but I proved they were mine and now they're going to be in the fashion show and she got fired and I'm in the main lineup!" The words tumbled out in a rush.
His eyebrows rose. "That does sound like a good day."
"It was. Is. Was." I blinked at him.
"You have really nice eyes. Has anyone told you that?"
Now he was definitely smiling. "Once or twice."
"Well, they should tell you more often. It's important that people know." I started to walk toward my door again and stumbled. His hand shot out, steadying me with those tattooed fingers wrapped around my elbow.
"Let me help you get home," he said.
"I'm fine," I insisted, even as I leaned into him. "Perfectly fine. Very professional. Very sober."
"Very drunk," he corrected, guiding me down the hall. "Which apartment?"
"15B. The one with the..." I trailed off, trying to remember if there was anything distinctive about my door. "The one that's mine."
Luca
She pointed at my apartment.
I paused, wine in hand. "Sophia, that's my apartment."
"No." She shook her head emphatically, then seemed to regret the movement, steadying herself against the wall.
"No, this is my apartment. 15D. I remember. The D stands for... designer. Yes."
Despite everything, I felt a smile tug at my mouth. She was completely drunk, her cheeks flushed and her eyes slightly unfocused but still bright with that intensity I'd noticed the first time we met in the elevator.
That elevator encounter had been three weeks ago, and I'd thought about her more than I wanted to admit.
The way she'd fumbled with all her bags, the adorable flush on her face when she'd introduced herself, those quick glances at my hands that she thought I hadn't noticed.
I'd wanted to ask her to dinner, to coffee, to anything—but the timing never seemed right. We just met, I didn't want to seem to forward.
And now here she was, drunk and confused and insisting my apartment was hers.
"Sophia, you live in 15B—"
"Open the door," she insisted, moving closer. She smelled like cocktails and something floral—her perfume, probably.
"Why are you at my door in those sweatpants?" She wiggled her eyebrows teasingly looking downward.
Fuck...
Every instinct told me this was a bad idea, but she looked so exhausted, so determined. And what was I supposed to do, leave her in the hallway?
"Alright," I said slowly, unlocking my door. "But just to prove to you that this isn't your apartment."
She breezed past me into my space, and I followed, already regretting this decision. My apartment was dim, just the light from the kitchen illuminating the open floor plan.
The layout should be identical but I was sure my furniture was completely different. Dark leather sofa, minimalist décor, my work materials scattered across the dining table.
"See?" I gestured around. "Not your apartment."
But she wasn't looking at the living room. She was already heading toward the bedroom, kicking off her heels as she went.
"Sophia, wait—"
"I'm so tired," she said, pushing open the bedroom door.
"Today was so long. Good, but long."
I followed her, my heart rate picking up for reasons I didn't want to examine.
She stood in the middle of my bedroom, looking around with a slight frown, like she couldn't quite figure out why everything was different.
Then she reached for the zipper at the back of her dress.
"Sophia, don't—" I started forward, but she'd already pulled it down, the fabric loosening around her shoulders.
"I'm feeling hot, I need to get rid of this dress" she said as she tried to unzip her dress.
I turned away immediately, my pulse hammering. This was wrong. She was drunk, confused, and I was standing in my bedroom watching her undress.
Every part of me knew I should stop this, should get her back to her own apartment, should do literally anything other than stand here fighting the attraction I'd been trying to ignore for weeks.
"Sophia, you need to stop." My voice came out rougher than intended.
"Why?" I heard the rustle of fabric, felt rather than saw her moving closer. "Don't you think I'm pretty?"
I closed my eyes, taking a deep breath. "That's not the point. You're drunk, and this is my apartment, and—"
Her hands pressed against my back, and I went completely still. Even through my shirt, I could feel the heat of her palms, the gentle pressure as she traced up to my shoulders.
"I've been thinking about you," she said softly, and there was something vulnerable in her voice that made my chest tight.
"Since the elevator. I wanted to say more, but I got nervous. I'm always nervous around you."
I turned around slowly, meaning to put distance between us, to be firm about getting her home. But she was right there, close enough that I could see the gold flecks in her brown eyes, close enough to touch.
She was still mostly dressed, thank God—just the straps of her dress fell down her shoulders.
But the way she was looking at me, open and wanting and completely unguarded, made something in my chest constrict.
She wrapped her fingers around my neck, her soft fingers grazing my hot skin, I felt blood rush southward. She pulled me down until our faces were a few inches apart.
I'm f****d.
"Sophia," I said carefully, "tomorrow you're going to regret this."
"I won't, so kiss me" Her lips hovered over mine.
- Writer
