Bonus 3/3 - Amelia and the Worst Orientation Ever

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Thankfully, an ounce of my common sense returned, just enough that I remembered there was a crucial bit of information that the boy hadn't shared with me. Some information that would be splendid to know before we got a bit too familiar with each other. "But wait--first tell me your name. And--and any criminal background history."

"Chris." He was so close that the word puffed out in a breath against my forehead. "The only criminal history I have is the one I'm about to make by driving you insane."

Holy mother of--I had not seen that one coming. Not in my wildest dreams, not out of the kinkiest steamy romance novel on the planet. Even buzzed, I didn't know how to respond, except to say, "Wow. Chris. That's such a unique name."

Chris coughed, his lips pulling up into an amused smile. "We're just going to ignore my incredible one-liner?"

I was flushing from head to foot. I could just feel it. "I--I'm Am--"

But before I could choke out my name, Chris's lips were on mine. Crushing them. Without hesitation. Without shame. Like we were lovers instead of complete strangers. Like he was every bit as intoxicated as I was.

Feeling giddy, scared, and like I was running off a high that would crash down on me any moment, I kissed him back just as fiercely. It was my first real kiss, and I had absolutely no clue what I was doing, but none of that mattered to me. Nothing really mattered to me. I was drunk.

Chris's hands traveled down my back, under my football jersey--God, of all the stupid things to be wearing, a football jersey?--pulling me closer to him.

I had no clue where to put my own hands, so I just kept them fixed around the back of his neck. Prayed I was doing this right. This was nothing like pecking Tommy Gregor on the lips. This was electrifying. A full on makeout session, with roving tongues, swollen lips, and raw, animalistic desperation.

Chris's hands snaked their way up my legs, skimming my thighs, slowly reaching higher and higher. I was still conscious enough of my actions to recognize that this was the first warning sign of The Number One Thing I Must Not Do Before Marriage, lest my uber-conservative Chinese parents disown me. Using all of my remaining brain power, I shimmied my body just out of Chris's grasp. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "Um...I can't."

He took the rejection surprisingly well, and rested his hand on the small of my back instead. Pulled slightly away from me. "Whoa, you have some serious Asian flush," Chris said, blinding me with a crooked smile. He swept a strand of hair off of my cheek and examined me in a way that made my already warm cheeks turn hotter. "That's cute."

"Asian f-flush?"

"You know. A lot of Asians lack the enzyme to properly process alcohol, and as soon as the smallest amount hits their system--boom. You get the Asian flush."

I blinked. "That explains...a lot." It explained why my dad always turned the shade of a newborn's freshly slapped behind whenever he had beer with his dinner. And trust me when I say that was definitely not cute.

Tentatively, I pressed my hands to my cheeks. They did feel hot. Feverishly hot. But I had no clue if it was from alcohol or a very intense makeout session. "What are you, a biology major?" I demanded.

"Pre-med, actually. But this is just common knowledge."

Pre-med. Of course. Cute and intelligent. Don't fall so hard for some stranger, the sensible voice inside me urged. But sensibility was not in control today. Another giggle escaped out of my lips, thanks to me and my Asian flushing, delirious self.

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