Page 32 of House of Bass

“Are you an alcoholic?” MJ asks in the most serious tone, I can’t help but sigh at the ridiculous turn in conversation, my head still pounding a little.

“Just because the rest of you are suffering from alcoholism,” She says drily with a pointed look my way, “does not mean I have to as well, I want water. Or a fucking apple juice with ice I can chew on.”

“So strange,” Dan mutters to himself, as he makes her exactly what she asked for. Honestly he is probably a tiny bit let down that she won’t get to have a taste of his infamous drinks.

No longer the centre of attention in the room, I watch everyone getting to enjoy their night. The lovebirds are cuddled up together in the same embrace as they were earlier but this time Arden isn’t even looking my way. Dan has an animated conversation on Liverpool and Arsenal with Devon and Harley but makes sure to pass me water to sober up. My sweet friend.

Feeling severely alone out of nowhere, I stand up abruptly announcing my departure to the loo. In there I see the truth laid bare on my face. I really did look like shit: my mascara is smeared, my lipstick smudged and the bags under my eyes are clear as day. I pinch my eyes together as a wave of exhaustion passes through me, my hands grip the basin just to hold myself upright.

“I figured you’d be hiding in here.”

I flinch in surprise as Richard’s voice fills the room. I ignore the way his presence looms and wash the smudges off my face.

“This is the girls bathroom so unless you suddenly have something to tell us,” I give him a mocking smile, “I suggest you get out.”

He laughs under his breath, “How are you?” he says with concern that wasn’t there before, it makes me want to scream. Can he just make his mind up? Did he hate me or did he not? My brain is not in the right state to figure that out right now.

“What do you want, Richard?” I ask exasperated, as he seems to have no reaction to any of this other than the small twitch in his eyebrow that highlights his irritation.

Suddenly, he rises to his full height and in one full step is standing right in front of me.

“Was the little show you were putting on earlier for me?” He asks so quietly, I almost don’t hear it. He is referring to my slutty performance upstairs in the bar.

“That would require me to even think about you,” I snap, but it comes out weaker than intended. He is too close, and I can’t think straight. I trip in my heels and he wraps his hands around my waist to catch me tightly. He absentmindedly tucks a blonde curl behind my ear as if he’s been doing it forever. As if we hadn’t spent the better half of a decade avoiding one another. As if I didn’t spend the first two years he stopped talking to me begging for him to look my way again.

“You and I both know that’s not true,” he mutters. I might have asked if he was drunk, or even out of his mind, but Richard had never once been drunk. There is only the faintest whiff of wine on his breath, he would never allow himself to be so vulnerable. So out of control.

See, that was the thing. I knew Richard Arden Thorne better than I knew myself, like the stars you’ve looked at your whole life: always there, always the same.

So when he lifts my chin and kisses me in one fell swoop, everything I do to talk myself out of this seems to fly out the window. The only thing I could focus on is his lips on mine, they are so soft. He tugs on my bottom lip, biting and unforgiving, as he uses this moment to lift me onto the countertop. My hands grips his hair with such force, my mouth never leaves his like we’d never have another chance to do this again.

My legs wrap around him to pull him even closer, his hands move up my thigh, his fingers touching the rim of my pink lace underwear. We briefly pull back and I see his eyes are glazed over. His face is a wonder, it’s no surprise every newspaper in the country agrees he is an esoteric beauty. One of a kind.

Lost in a trance, I find my way back to his swollen lips. I’m not sure how long we kiss for but a loud bang has us drifting apart, which is when I finally come back to my senses.

Too close, he is too close.

In an instant I shove him away, remembering exactly why we wouldn’t be doing this, and he staggers back then tries to touch me but I flinch.

“St. Annabel.”

“Don’t… don’t say anything,” I whisper, the realisation of what I have done settles in and the crippling guilt that fills my lungs makes it too hard to breathe. I claw at my throat and basically run out on him.

I exit the bathroom, walking as fast as I can on shaky legs, without looking back to see if Arden follows behind. Hoping no one has noticed how long I have been gone. How long we have both been gone. I stew on it and decide it best that I go home and come up with an excuse as to why I have to leave so abruptly.

I text our group chat fibbing about a headache, although at this point I’m not so sure it is much of a lie.

Then I send a separate text to the cause, Make sure Harley gets home safe .

I switch off my phone without waiting to see a response. And that is the last of all I remember before I get home and pass out.

The violent headache that greets me the next morning is nothing compared to the sinking feeling that returns once I remembered the details of the night before.

I kissed a man who isn’t mine. And I loved it. What kind of a person does that make me? Willing to indulge in fleeting temptation at the expense of someone who is dear to me. I can’t even blame the alcohol. I was mostly sober by then.

“Looking like crap must be a common occurrence for you,” Harley says from the entrance of the sitting room, I lift my head up from my sofa as she passes me a cup of coffee. She splits the curtains wide open, not even apologetic as the sun blinds me.

“Regret is the vibe for the day,” I grumble, muttering my thanks before taking a sip. Yuck. There is almost no milk in this, but I can’t complain, Harley making this is her extending an olive branch.