𝐦𝐲 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐨𝐧.✓ completed

Untitled Part 12

Chapter Twelve

Willow

I used to believe I was allergic to parties. Every time I went to one, my body physically reacted. My muscles tightened, stomach churned, and my blood pressure went up, like a gazillion notches.

Okay, maybe I didn't really believe I was allergic. Rowdy crowds, loud noises, and drunken stupidity just make me edgy. Tonight, though, I've turned into a hypocrite. Tonight, I'm at Beck's party, and I've had enough to drink that the loud music isn't horrible, the drunken stupidity is more funny than annoying, and the crowd ... Well, all the people crammed into the spacious living room are still kind of overwhelming yet not enough to make me want to leave.

I blame my relaxed state of mind on the whiskey I drank before I left Luna's place. I hadn't planned on drinking, but as the weight of life began to splinter my chest apart, I decided I needed to calm down. So, I took a few drinks, or three or four or ten, and then I headed off to my favorite place in the world—Beck's.

Beck has stuck to my side the entire night, adding to my relaxed state of euphoria.

Beck and whiskey equal forgetting all of my shitty choices.

Beck and Beck equal happy drunk Willow.

Beck. And Beck. And Beck. He's a stream through my mind, my favorite song stuck on repeat.

Shit, I'm so drunk.

Every so often, worry creeps up in my drunken stupidity, warning me I'm playing with fire and am about to get burned. Right now, that probably sounds more appealing than it should.

"Relax, Princess," Beck breathes into my ear as the bass of the song throbs through my chest. He moves up behind me, aligning his chest with my back, folding his fingertips into my hips. "Dancing's supposed to be fun." He grins at me from over my shoulder, his hips pressed against my ass.

Sober, I might panic the hell out with the intimate move. Drunk ...? Well, it feels kind of good.

Okay, really, really good.

"I am having fun," I announce, which is the partial truth. I'm not having a shitty time or anything. It's just, every time too many people get all up in my business, I have flashbacks of being at work or at the apartment during one of my mom's parties.

"No, you're not. You're all worked up." He molds his palms around my hips, and I slump against his chest, my head bobbing back. "Stop worrying so much about whatever everyone else is doing and dance with me." He draws me even closer, if that's possible, and slips his arm around my waist, splaying his fingers across my abdomen.

Soberness attempts to press through my numbed mind, and my voice of reason attempts to make a grand appearance. We're too close. Way, way, I-can-feel everything close. Beck is touching me. Beck is grinding against my ass. Beck is enjoying this dancing thing a little too much. I'm enjoying this dirty dancing a little too much. Remember what happened the last time we both enjoyed dancing too much.

I should probably stop this, right? Suddenly, my voice of reason sounds drunk, too.

I sneak a glance at Ari, Luna, and Grey to see what they think of this dirty dancing going on between Beck and me.

Ari is too distracted, busting out disco moves, and Luna is too busy gazing lustfully into her boyfriend's eyes. If Wynter were here, she'd totally notice the one-step-away-from-a-porn-show dancing going on. Wynter misses nothing.

Even though only Beck and I seem to be aware of how much we're touching each other, I still feel as if I'm secretly doing something naughty. If I were sober, I'd bail out now. But I'm not sober. I'm drunk and dizzy and confused about what I want and what I don't want. Who I am and who I'm not. Where I belong and where I don't.

Up until a couple of months ago, I was a plan-everything, play-by-the-book kind of girl, even if my decisions weren't always the best. So, this reckless, dancing with confusion thing is foreign, wild, crazy, out-of-control territory.

What the hell do I want? To stop dancing with Beck? For him to stop touching me?

I shake my head a few times to clear the fogginess in my mind. All that does is make the room spin.

"Stop overthinking," Beck playfully scolds, softly pinching my hip. When I freeze, he si

ghs. "You said you wanted to have fun tonight, remember?"

I bob my head up and down.

"Well, in order to have fun, you have to relax. Trust me, I know. I'm all about the fun." He massages my hips with his fingertips. "You're too tense. You need to loosen up. And not just tonight, but every damn day. I think I'm going to make that my goal ... to make you loosen up every single day."

I giggle because he's drunk and babbling, and it's hilarious.

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah." He puts his lips to my ear, grazing his teeth along my earlobe. "You must be really drunk since you're not arguing with me."

I shiver in the best way ever. "I probably should ... You're too good to me."

"No way. I'm not good enough. I'll never be until I find a way for you to live a stress-free life."

"I don't know if that's possible ... I'm always tense. Life is tense. If life weren't tense, then maybe I could chillax. I don't think I'll ever be able to do that," I murmur, reaching back to run my fingers through his hair. I don't even know why I do it other than I've lost complete control of my obsessive need to harness my feelings.

My hand and fingers develop a mind of their own, needing to feel how soft his hair is, something I've thought about a time or two over the years if I'm being totally honest with myself.

"I've been like this since the day you met me, so you shouldn't be so surprised."

He chuckles softly in my ear. "That's not true at all."

"Is so."

"Is not."

"Is—"

"Shh ..." he whispers hotly against my ear. "Less arguing, more sexy dancing."

I giggle again for probably the umpteenth time. Then we start to move to the beat, a soft, sultry tempo. Slowly, I unwind, matching his rhythm effortlessly. As the song quickens, we grind faster, our bodies in sync. His hands explore up and down my sides, around the curve of my hips, along my arm, over my breasts. Goose bumps sprout across my flesh with each brush of his fingers.

I try to fight back another shiver unsuccessfully. Honestly, I don't care.