Rory's Christmas

Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Janet was confused. She looked at the empty bottles on the floor of the strange room she was in. Alright, so that wasn’t such a surprise; she’d woken up with a pounding headache in some stranger’s bed more times than she could count. But what didn’t make sense at all was the smell.

Coffee, pancakes and…cinnamon?

She sat up slowly, rubbing her tired eyes. She couldn’t remember much of last night—the blurry face of a young boy, a phone call from somebody, some vague recollections of draining another bottle of vodka—which didn’t really alarm her, but the fact that there was enough space next to her on this bed, enough warm space, for a person to have been sleeping there perhaps just mere moments ago, was a bit unsettling. Janet wasn’t one to stay the night after she’d had some fun. Her motto was “fuck and chuck”—vulgar and wanton, yes, but it was the way she was. Her sister had been trying for months to change her, but Janet knew the truth. She was beyond saving—damaged. Very damaged. Too much shitty curveballs in life did that to a person.

The bedroom door opened, startling her, and a young face popped in. “Hey, Nettie.”

She blinked a few times. Only one person called her that. “Steve?”

He looked relieved and opened the door wider, coming into the room. “Good, you still remember me,” he said, then got straight down to business. “Didn’t I tell you to stay away from the vodka?”

“Didn’t you tell me wha…oh.”

She could remember now. She had come to Steve’s because Rory’s house had been too lonely, too quiet and stifling and cold; and Steve had let her stay, had talked with her and understood her and fucking connected with her in a way nobody had since years and years ago, and then he had left to get some groceries for dinner and she hadn’t been able to resist poking around…and when she found his stash of vodka…

“I’m sorry,” she croaked, honestly contrite. “I…couldn’t help it.”

Steve sighed, and sat down on the bed beside her. She squirmed a little, but all he did was reach and take her hand with a tenderness she wasn’t used to. It unnerved her and made a flock of butterflies take flight in her stomach, just like those fucking romance books described, and she wasn’t sure she liked the feeling.

“I know.” He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. Now that she liked. Physical contact was something she could comprehend. Emotional? Not so much. “We talked last night, remember? You do remember, right?”

“Yeah.” Janet coughed. Damn, why didn’t she just lie? “Um…thanks for listening to me rant about my shit, by the way.”

Steve looked at her seriously, but with the beginnings of a small smile. “Don’t thank me,” he told her. “I’d do it any time.”

She froze a little at that comment, but he didn’t notice—or if he did he just ignored it—and reached up to stroke her cheeks. Then he cupped her face, and leaned in and kissed her, morning breath and all.

She kissed him back automatically, savoring his minty taste and the hesitant touch of his lips as they moved against hers a little unsurely—she remembered again that he had been a virgin until he met her, just a week ago, which really felt like a lifetime—and she coaxed his mouth open, teasing him with little flicks of her tongue. He moaned into their kiss, and Janet loved that. She loved being in control, loved knowing that she could make him make that sound.

They pulled apart at the same time, breathing a little more heavily, Steve’s eyes glazed over with lust and a little something else that shocked Janet back into reality. Fucking reality. Fucking feelings.