Tommy lets go of me as Austin scoops me up in his arms. My alcohol-soaked mind rambles off something about brides, thresholds and wedding nights. I’m sober enough to pray to the party gods I didn’t say any of it out loud.

“Jessie, can you grab a bottle of water?” I hear Austin ask.

Who’s Jessie?

“Sure. She’s pretty trashed.” A surprising amount of concern laces Barbie’s voice as she replies.

Of course she’s got a cool name. Elizabeth is so lame. It’s the name of a little old lady who knits ugly sweaters for her fifty cats.

“Jessie’s her nickname actually.” Austin’s response confirms I no longer have an internal monologue.

That’s just what this situation needs, an unfiltered drunk Elizabeth.

“Short for Jessica. And I think Elizabeth fits you.” His velvet voice is in my ear, soft enough only I can hear it. It’s intimate and sexy. And of course I tell him so, because I haven’t had enough embarrassment yet tonight.

Screw it.

There’s no recovering from tonight. I might as well go all in. I wrap my arms around Austin’s neck and bury my face in the soft skin on the nape of his neck. He smells delicious, a rich spicy vanilla, sweet and intense. I’m overcome by the need to know how he tastes. Salty.

“Did you just lick me?” he asks with a snicker.

“Smell like dessert. Taste like ocean,” is the excuse I give him.

That’s not even an excuse. That’s a random string of words.

My eyes fly open and I cling to Austin at the sudden sensation of falling.

“Don’t worry, Goose, I’ve got you,” he whispers, settling us into an overstuffed armchair. We’re sitting back with his friends, where he was happily being manhandled by Barbie before I cannonballed into his evening. The same group I watched most of the night are now staring down at me and Austin. He’s unfazed by the attention as he leans back in the chair and adjusts me in his lap, not letting go.

Three simple words. I’ve got you. And I’m at ease. I trust him completely.

When did that happen? Is it just the alcohol?

No.

The licking, yes.

That’s entirely the alcohol’s fault.

But the way I feel in Austin’s arms, that’s all him. I shamelessly snuggle into his chest. If I’m going to have to live with the regrets from tonight, I might as well take advantage where I can.

He tries to pull my tiny dress down over my exposed thighs. It’s a sweet gesture, but it only serves to expose more of my chest, which is literally right under his nose.

“Not enough dress. Jackie’s fault,” I explain my wardrobe choice like a petulant five-year-old.