7. A Beer Away From Kissing Trouble
1640 Words
Molly
It begins with the female lead walking in on her cheating boyfriend. With his childhood friend. Very original. Very cute. My chest twists painfully.
I see a few unopened beers beside him. Somehow I grab one, open it, and drink half before logic can stop me.
His gaze lands on me immediately.
“Molly… are you alright? You do not like the movie? I can change it.”
“No, no, no.” I wave him off and take another gulp. “What is done is done.”
I grab a second can and open it.
“Molly, please take it easy,” he says, voice firm and too gentle for my emotional stability.
Too late. I drink again.
He watches me carefully. His eyes soften just a little. “Wanna talk about it?”
The warmth of the alcohol makes everything in me melt and loosen. My courage finally wakes up from its coma.
The words pour out like someone cut the brake line.
“Josh… he chose Jade over me. Jade. His childhood friend. Five years, Charles. I gave him five years. And he kicked me out of his apartment like I was nothing.”
I laugh, except it breaks in the middle and turns into an embarrassing little hiccup sob. Very attractive.
“I feel so stupid. So damn stupid. I thought he loved me. I thought I mattered.”
Tears hit my cheeks and the room tilts a bit. Could be the alcohol. Could be heartbreak. Could be both having a competition.
Charles’s jaw tightens. His hands curl on his knees. He looks furious in that silent, controlled way attractive men always look furious in movies. And the worst part is that it is not at me. It is for me.
I reach for another can, but he is faster. He grabs it before I even touch it.
“Give it back,” I mutter, leaning forward to snatch it. Instead I lose my balance and fall straight into his chest.
Smooth, Molly. Very graceful.
His arms wrap around me instantly.
His scent hits me first, warm and clean with that woodsy edge that should be illegal. My cheek rests against his chest. His heart beats steady and solid and my fingers curl into his shirt.
“Come on,” he says softly. “Let’s get you inside.”
He lifts me so easily and I hide my face in his neck because it feels safe and warm and I am drunk enough to stop pretending I do not like it. My hands cling to him on their own.
He carries me into the room and lays me gently on the bed.
He moves back.
I grab his shirt and pull him toward me again. My arms wrap around his neck like my body has made an executive decision without consulting my brain.
“Don’t go,” I whisper. My vision is blurry, but I can still see him.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for, mate,” he husks.
Mate.
The word hits me in the chest, warm and confusing at the same time. My drunk brain tries to latch onto it, but it slips like water through my fingers. There is something in the way he says it that pulls at something low in my stomach.
“No… stay,” I breathe, because the thought of him walking away suddenly feels unbearable.
Something flickers across his face. Heat. Restraint. A kind of danger that makes the air thicken around us. My fingers tremble against the back of his neck, the heat of his skin sending a shiver right through me.
I am confused. So confused. But I am drawn to him in a way that makes the room tilt. His eyes hold mine and something inside me melts, soft and helpless.
For a moment, it feels like the entire world stops breathing when my gaze drifts to his lips.
……..
I wake up to the kind of headache that feels like someone is inside my skull swinging a hammer with unnecessary enthusiasm. The moment I open my eyes, the brightness of the room slaps me in the face and I instantly regret regaining consciousness. My mouth feels dry and fuzzy. When I open it to breathe, an awful smell hits me so hard I gag. It is the kind of stench that suggests something crawled in there, died, and continues to haunt me out of spite.
“Oh, yuck,” I rasp as I rub my tongue against my teeth. “What did I drink, fermented milk?”
I scratch my head, waiting for my brain to reboot, but my memory acts like an old TV giving me static and blurry fragments instead of a proper recap. I try to remember how much I drank, but the moment I sit up too quickly, the entire room tilts to the left. I steady myself, breathe, and then suddenly everything comes crashing back in one horrifying wave.
My eyes widen as the memories hit me. I remember crying about Josh, ranting about Jade, downing too much alcohol, and Charles taking the beer out of my hand. I remember him lifting me like I weighed nothing, carrying me to the bed, setting me down gently… and then I remember grabbing him. Wrapping myself around him. Trying, very clearly, to KISS HIM!
I drop back onto the bed and shove my face into the pillow, partly to hide from my own shame and partly to muffle the dramatic groan that escapes me. I lie there for several seconds, silently begging the universe to let last night be a collective hallucination. Unfortunately, I am fully aware that it was not.
The worst part is I cannot remember anything after I tried to kiss him. What if we went beyond kissing? No, absolutely not. I would know if we had s*x. Still… kissing a stranger on the first night? Really, Molly?
I peel myself off the pillow and drag my feet toward the mirror. The moment I catch sight of my reflection, I freeze. I look dehydrated. My hair sticks out in wild, tangled clumps. My eyes are swollen and puffy. There is a faint streak of mascara dried across my cheek that resembles war paint. I groan again. There is no universe where I can walk out and face him like this.
Before I can sink further into self pity, my phone starts ringing. I pick it up and see my mother’s name on the screen. Perfect. A crisis I am emotionally unprepared for. Since I am not in the mood to deal with her brand of stress, I let the call ring out. When the screen brightens again, I nearly drop the phone.
Ten missed calls.
I blink at it, unsure if my hangover is creating hallucinations. Something must be wrong, but I will have to check on her once I pull myself together. I cannot talk to anyone looking like I just escaped from a cave.
I inhale deeply and stare at my reflection again.
“Come on, Molly,” I whisper. “You survived being dumped, betrayed, and you live with a chihuahua that farts like a grown man. You can survive facing Charles.”
I finish getting dressed after my shower, trying to ignore the fact that my soul still feels hungover. It’s freezing, so I pull on a thick sweater, jeans, and boots. My hair is still damp at the ends, but at least I don’t look like an abandoned scarecrow anymore. Progress.
I sit on the edge of the bed and glance around. No Charles. No footsteps. No sarcastic comments about my drinking problem. Nothing. The silence stretches, and I groan into my hands.
Great. He’s avoiding me. He probably woke up this morning, remembered the drunk gremlin who tried to climb him like a tree, and ran for his life.
My phone suddenly starts ringing. I roll my eyes, fully expecting my mom and her daily interrogation. But when I look at the screen, it’s Amber, my bestie.
I instantly smile and pick up.
“Finally,” I say. “How’s Paris? How’s Antoine? How’s the Eiffel Tower? And please tell me you haven’t licked anything weird.”
Her voice bursts through the speaker excitedly.
“Molly, this city is a work of art. Ant took me to this tiny bakery and I swear the croissants tasted like angel thighs. And don’t get me started on last night. Girl, French men? They know how to fuck.”
I choke. “Amber! Oh my God.”
“What? It’s educational. Anyway, I’m living my best life. All the romance, all the pastries, all the… fucking.”
“You’re nasty.”
“You love me.”
I roll my eyes so hard they almost detach. “So? How’s everything with Josh?”
Instant regret. Instant silence.
Amber pauses. “Molly…? What happened?”
I swallow. “Amber, he… he cheated and kicked me out of his apartment.”
There’s a beat, then pure fury. “That absolute piece of barnyard trash. I knew I didn’t like him. I f*****g told you I didn’t like him. Did I not tell you? I told you.”
“You told me.”
“What exactly happened? And are you okay? Do I need to fly home and stab him with a baguette?”
I rub my forehead. “I’m not okay. I think I messed up.”
“How? Where are you?”
I bite my lip. “In a cabin. In Whispering Pine. With a man and his daughter.”
“What.”
Before I can blink, the call ends. I stare at my screen, baffled. Seconds later, a video call pops up.
She did not.
Oh, she’s going to freak out over this.
- Writer
