Sparring Partners [18+]

Chapter Nineteen: Yes, We'll Never Get Caught in Here (18+)

The entire group, now including Sam, who had only recently arrived per Andre's invite, were playing some convoluted drinking game that only Roman seemed to understand the rules of. Everyone was well into their drinks by now. Markus' friends were all shouting and talking over one another, enjoying themselves in the chaotic way most intoxicated people typically did.

I found it difficult to keep up with the conversations, or to focus on the game and not the peeling label on my wine bottle that I'd spent the last ten minutes picking at. I was feeling tired and overwhelmed, growing increasingly irritated by every small thing. And it was so fucking warm in this room, I could barely cope.

Across the table, Roman downed the last of his glass. With a beaming grin, he pointed over at me, tilting his head to ask, "Another drink, yeah?" He didn't wait for my reply, already pushing back from the table. "I brought a bottle of Asti we can share."

Markus appeared behind him and eased him back into his seat with a firm hand on his shoulder. "I'll get it."

"See, Lynch," Roman cooed, leaning into the dark-haired man beside him. "That's what we call manners."

"Don't get him another drink, Grim," Lynch called out, simultaneously pushing Roman away with a hand to his face and selecting a card from the centre of the table. "He doesn't deserve it."

"Ha!" Roman cried, laughing at the card. "Drink, you knob-head."

When Markus returned, he handed Roman a glass first before rounding the table to stand behind me. I pulled a face at the size of the glass he had poured for me and took a tentative sip. The unmistakable taste of sparkling apple juice delighted my tongue. I turned to Markus, confused.

His head dipped towards mine. Quietly, he asked, "You okay?"

I hummed, and nodded, but it did little to ease the frown furrowed softly across his thick brows. He still seemed concerned.

"You had too much to drink?"

This time, I shook my head. "But I don't want to drink any more," I whispered back to him, barely able to hear myself over the chants of Andres and Sam and they encouraged Lynch to down his drink. "Thanks for the juice."

The rest of the group cheered loudly, drawing my attention back to the game and effectively ending the private conversation between Markus and I. He didn't move away though. Instead, he pulled up a chair beside me. It was a tight fit between me and Alec, but nobody seemed to bat an eye and his new place at the table, nor when Markus' hand found its way into my lap.

I stared at him out of the corner of my eye, my focus completely stripped from the game as his palm settled on my upper thigh. His thumb stoked my leg beneath my leggings, and when his hand flexed, and he squeezed my thigh, my breath hitched.

I don't remember standing. Nor do I remember leaving the table. But I was abundantly aware of my hand, clasped tightly in Markus' - hot and clammy as I pulled him down the hallway. His steps were heavy and staggered as he followed me, no better than my own.

We were drunk. And often, drunk people made silly decisions. Such as, for example, sneaking off from your own birthday party to have sex only a few rooms over.

Unless I'd seriously misread all of Markus' flirty touches throughout the afternoon and his openly lustful stares, Markus was more than happy with my plan. It was only just as we reached his door that he halted. With an unexpected tug of my hand, he had me spinning back, off balance, into him with an embarrassing squeal. The weight of his arm pressed against my shoulder.

As I peaked up at him, wide eyed and a little breathless, I found him grinning down at me as if I were the best thing he'd seen all day.

"What are we doing?" He asked slowly, in a way that suggested he knew exactly what we were doing, and found it amusing.