One Hot Night

Drinking Games

I didn't really think my escape plan through. Yeah, sure, hooking up with Cam was totally amazing, but I need to get the sight of him—sweaty, hard, and thrusting himself inside me—out of my mind. It'd be a challenging task on its own, but almost impossible being that I'm stuck at a party . . . in his apartment. For the next hour I avoid eye contact and conversation, and pretend he didn't just rock my world. I'm not sure I'm fooling anyone, but turning it into a drinking game helps.

Each time he catches me looking, I drink. Every time I picture his face as he falls over the edge, I drink. When I get stuck in a conversation with anyone who isn't him, I drink. Basically, I drink and drink and drink until I can't exactly remember why I left the cocoon of his sex dungeon.

My limbs feel loose and my body buzzes with the energy of a crowded room as I refill my cup yet again. I meander back to the living room as it buzzes and buzzes again. Right on my ass. What kind of voodoo party is this? Shit. My phone. I pull it out of my back pocket, confused as to who could be calling. Alicia and Callie are here, and there's no one else I know who'd try and reach me so late on a weekend.

Despite the fact I'm wearing my glasses, I squint to read the screen.

Preston: Looking forward to our date tomorrow.

Fuck.

Preston: I'll pick you up

Preston: I made reservations at 6

Preston. I haven't thought of him much since . . . well, since Cam's dick entered the picture. Does that make me a horrible person? Shit. It must. Guilt and shame churn in my belly. I was honest with Cam, but what I did wasn't respectful to the man I'm supposed to be dating—exclusively, no less. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I really fucked up. I'm not this person. I don't sleep around. I don't cheat. I don't blur lines or technicalities. How can I go out with Preston tomorrow? How can I keep seeing him and not tell him what I did tonight? Shit.

My fingers hover over the screen as I debate what to text back. I could cancel. Call things off. Bail and take the easy road of never coming clean with what I did. Only I really like Preston. He's a nice man. We're the same age. We have things in common. He's respectful. Nice. Safe.

I promised myself to give it a real try with Preston. I've never been open to relationships, not beyond a casual thing, but I wanted to try. This time I thought I could. Preston understood I didn't want to rush things. We decided to date and see what happened. We both agreed we weren't interested in seeing other people, and I hadn't even looked at another man. Until tonight. Until him. Cam. My gaze seeks him out in the crowd. He catches me looking and offers one of his panty-combusting smirks. Fucking dimples. Le sigh.

But I can't blame his features for any of this. I chose to go into his room. I may have had a few drinks beforehand, but I knew damn well what I was doing. And now I have to decide how to tell Preston. He won't forgive this, and if he does, do I want to be with a man like that?

This should be some new record. I fucked things up before they even had a chance to start. Shit. Did I sleep with Cam to sabotage my budding relationship with Preston?

"Jilly!" Alicia waves me over. "There's pizza!"

A stack of boxes balance in one of the party goer's arms before being deposited on a table next to the couch. Someone else yells "food!" and a group of guys practically mow each other over on the way to nab a slice.

"Ladies first. Have some fucking manners." Cam. I recognize his voice through the chaos. My body reacts even though I refuse to meet his stare.