High

F I V E

I wake up when I hear the sound of a car door shutting. Ezra is walking around the front of the car.

"Hi, I fell asleep," I admit when he opens the door. A hint of a smile is on his face when he hears that, and my hearts beats a little faster in my chest seeing it. He had a beautiful hint of a smile.

"I know," he says as he gathers me in his arms. I lay my head on his chest as he walks up a few steps.

Somehow he manages to get the door open and hold me. Which is weird, because I'm at least 140 pounds.

"I think I can walk," I tell him. I wiggle so that I can get out of his arms, but he just tightens his grip. I look up at him in confusion, and he's staring down at me with a straight face.

"No," he says simply.

I sigh in defeat and let him carry me upstairs. He knows his house extremely well, because it's very dark and I can hardly make out anything. I was surprised that he hadn't dropped my ass yet.

"Was I heavy?" I ask once he sets me down. He flicks on a light, and I squint as I wait for my eyes to adjust.

"No," he replies. There's nothing to really do except look around since he's so quiet and not really creating much conversation. I think he was really confusing. He drags me away from the party, then hardly says a word to me. It's been me sparking up conversation for the most part, and it was kind of irritating. It was obvious he didn't want my company right now.

"Is this your room?" I ask as I take a slow spin. I wasn't expecting his room to look like this, to be honest. I thought it would be a little messy, and dark, just like he seemed to be. And it was dark, but it was also quite. . .elegant. There was a brown hardwood floor that was so shiny it must've been recently polished. By the foot of his bed was a rug, holding designs that complimented the wooden floors. His bed was huge, as in California King huge, with the pillows arranged neatly at the top. I was so jealous he got to sleep here every night.

"Nah," he says sarcastically. "Of course not."

"Look, don't start being a dick again," I warn him, feeling annoyed. That wasn't what I came here for. I had one thing on my mind: sex. Speaking of that. . .

"So, what are we going to do?" I ask in a seductive tone. I try to get him to maintain eye contact with me, but he is hardly even looking at me. He keeps rummaging around in his dresser drawers, which was across from his bed.

"We're going to get you showered, and then we'll go to sleep," he replied in a clipped tone.

"What?" I ask, shocked. "That's it? No sex?"

He turns and walks over to me. In his hands are some basketball shorts and a huge black t-shirt. "Here you go. The bathroom is right through that door." He points across the room.

I huff out in annoyance, not taking the clothes. I don't like that he completely ignored my previous statement. "Why are you being so standoffish?"

He seems irked when he responds. "Because I'm not a pervert, Dylan. I'm not going to fuck you while you're drunk. That's fucked up."

My heart warmed a little knowing that it was because of moral reasons that he was acting the way he was. It felt good knowing that I was safe with him, he wouldn't push me past my limits. But right now, he wasn't pushing anything. "I'd want to have sex even if I was sober right now, trust me. That's all I think about when I'm with you."

"I'd rather you completely sober when I'm fucking you," he says, but there's a look on his face that tells me some part of him liked what I just revealed. "You smell, go shower. There's a clean towel on the counter."