If Only

Chapter 7 - Into You

Mariella

The alcohol didn't help with these indecent thoughts, these feelings, or the way he had me pinned against the bathroom wall. For some reason, as soon as I saw him tonight I couldn't stop looking at him, scanning him, taking in every part of him. The alcohol only made my body more aware of his presence. Of the fact that he was so ridiculously handsome.

He raised his eyebrows, attempting to figure out what was going on. He was intrigued. "What...what do you want to do?"

I hadn't let go of his tie. I held it firm in my hand, refusing to let him go. My brain disconnected from my limbs. I couldn't do anything about it even if I wanted to.

"I want to try something." I put the tequila down on the counter next to us. He was breathing hard and heavy from running after me, I could feel it on my face. "What if we...what if we just..."

He didn't move. He didn't pull away. He stayed exactly where I wanted him to stay. "Just what?"

"What if we kissed...just once, just to see what it feels like?"

It was like an ache. It started small this morning, then it grew as I thought about more. It grew when he kissed my hand, it grew when he sat across beside me at the bar with the lights shining off of his face, then it reached its capacity when he caught me, when he touched me. I was about to burst at the seams if something didn't happen. If we didn't try it...just once.

"Is this a joke?" Casimiro's arms leaned against the wall on either side of my head as his eyes closed for a moment. He exhaled. "You're drunk, Mariella."

Ok, I was, but that changed nothing for me. If anything, it made me realize what was going on here, that there was something under the surface.

"We never have to do it again." I met his gaze, watching as his eyes opened again, somehow the green and brown had altered into something completely different. He was considering it. "Just once, and we'll never speak of it."

"I can't fall back into this." He stated, moving his line of sight above my head. He was scared to look at me. "I can't, Mar."

"Fall back into what?"

"Into you."

"What do you mean—"

"If we kiss, what will that make us?" His chest was still heaving, his neck still restrained from my grip on his tie. It didn't seem to bother Casimiro, it was almost as if he liked it. "Still friends?"

Into me? What did he mean?

How could he fall into me?

My brain was filled to the top, there was no space to even consider what that meant. All I knew was that this had to happen. I was getting impatient. I felt like I was being teased, like the prize was being dangled right in front of me.

I had craved Casimiro's hands on me. Grabbing at my dress, pulling on my neck, my hair, touching my face. I wanted him to consume me. I didn't want to breathe unless it was his air filling my lungs.

God, I was drunk.

It took me getting drunk to realize that I had always found him attractive. I always liked to look at him, to stare at his face a little longer than necessary. I liked to admire his body, the way his muscles flexed when he was training, or how his thighs looked as he leaned back in the driver's seat of a car.

"Best friends," I said, my free hand reaching for the end of his suit jacket to pull him even closer. Our bodies grazed, and soon enough I didn't have to do the work. We fit together like puzzle pieces. "Always."