𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐲 | roger taylor

III

The night continued, and my alcohol levels ascended.

    My body was buzzing from the warmth it brought me, and the carefree, loose side of my personality was becoming dominant over my shy side. Without thinking beforehand, words were flying out of my mouth. My every thought hit the air with a slight slur. I didn't care enough to be embarrassed. I was on a high of my own, drunk off of liquor and sleep deprivation combined.

    The bar around me was shifting in my vision. Colors were brighter, sounds came slower. This feeling wasn't unfamiliar- it was what a lot of alcohol did to my body- so I wasn't panicking. It was normal. If anything, I reveled in it.

    The brightest colors were the two irises in front of me, large and intense, shockingly blue, yet softened by the gray edge they had. Roger Taylor was even prettier- if that was possible- in my drunken vision. His blonde hair seemed lusher, and his pale pink lips were brought up in a faint smile. My entire body had the urge to run my fingers through his hair and feel my lips against his... but the one sober voice in my head kept me away. This is dangerous. I can't let him affect me like this. It's only my body talking, not my head or my heart.

    Roger's drunken personality was much different from my own. He was more giggly, more full of existential thoughts and questions. And more turned on, I noticed. He was incessantly touching me- my hand, my thigh, my knee, my hair if a stray piece happened to fall out from behind my ear. It was innocent, so I let him. Besides, I liked the extra buzz his touch brought me. Was that so wrong? I wasn't leading him on, but I wasn't exactly pushing him away, either.

    "I've dated you before," I was telling him bluntly.

    "Trust me, I would've remembered," Roger answered, his hand currently resting on my thigh. I ignored his touch, telling myself that'd I only stop him if he tried to inch his hand any higher. Or would I? I definitely would.

    I shook my head lightly. "No, I have. I've dated your type. It never ends well."

    "How does it end?"

    "It ends with heartbreak." I glanced down at his hand. "Always."

    Roger's eyes brightened with sudden interest. "It doesn't have to." His tone was earnest. Why was he playing along like this? Did he really want to sleep with me so badly? I knew that if I went through with it and hooked up with him, like my body so badly wanted, he'd forget me the next day. I'd be old news, like every other girl he's seduced. I won't be reduced to that. Not again, and not by him.

    "But it always does," I said matter of factly. "I don't even know why I'm still here, talking to you. It's not going to happen."

    "Lighten up, won't you?" Roger removed his hand from my leg, reaching into his pocket for a pack of cigarettes and a lighter. He offered me one, but I shook my head. He lit one and breathed in, exhaling smoke into the air above him. He seemed to have given up, noticing my reluctance to sleep with him. He was now glancing around the bar, possibly looking for another woman to go after.

    "You're fun to talk to, though," I added, reclaiming hold of his attention.

    "I guess that's all that matters, huh?" Roger replied dryly. He was obviously wounded from my remark. I was close to giving up on him, too. If he'd lose interest once he knew I wouldn't submit to him, then what use was I? He certainly wasn't looking for a friend.

    I had let that one sober voice have too much control, and I had ruined things. How could I ever have fun if that voice kept me from it, every single time? I gave my head a quick shake, silencing that awful voice, and leaned forward. I found Roger's hand and intertwined it with mine. His eyes widened in shock, but he flashed a small, pleased smile.

    "You probably think I'm boring," I blurted, still with a grasp on his steady hand. "And I don't usually talk this much. I'm just really, really..."

    "Drunk," he finished.

    "Right."

    I tried to fight it. I really did. But the image of his hands on my body kept swirling through my mind. His lips on my neck, my legs around his waist. I squeezed my eyes briefly shut, willing the thoughts to leave. Why was I thinking about this? I didn't even know him that well. It was his face, his body- it left this delirium on my skin that was impossible to shake. Who gave him the right to look like that? It wasn't fair.

    It was the alcohol. It must've been. I wasn't thinking clearly.

    As if the situation couldn't have possibly gotten worse, Roger reached his hand forward to tuck my hair, gently, behind my ear. I shuddered, my stomach tightening in regret. Our faces were inches apart. I was positive there was hesitation in my eyes, but he was calm and collected. This was part of his game. A hand on the thigh first, then touching the hair, then... what came next?

    A kiss. That's what I supposed was next. His lips were now unbelievably close to mine- any small movement and we'd be kissing. I turned my cheek at just the right moment. His lips brushed lightly against my cheek, and after a tender second, he pulled away. Disappointment flashed in his eyes.

    "I have to go," I mumbled, the blood rushing to my cheeks as I regained custody of my hand, fleeing the room as quickly as I could. This would make it the second time I've left the bar without Josy.

    I stood outside, letting the brisk air wake me from my drunken haze. The fresh air helped a bit to clear my thoughts, but my heart was still racing. I hoped Roger wouldn't follow me.

    He didn't.

-

a/n

Sorry this was so short! It was supposed to be a continuation of the last chapter, since the last one was long (in my opinion) I split it up. Thank you so much for the positive feedback and comments! I appreciate them so so so much! As always, please comment your thoughts and constructive criticism if you have any. And thank you for over 100 reads!

- elizabeth