I want to get drunk with you. Not at a bar, surrounded by strangers and blaring music that will make it hard for us to have an actual conversation. And not at a party, where our flirting will have to be done in bits and pieces, whenever we have a rare moment alone. I want to get drunk–just you and me–inside of your apartment.
I want you to pour me a drink I’ve never tried before and laugh when I squinch up my face–but then reassure me that I looked adorable while doing so. I want you to ask me about my favorite mixed drinks and tease me about my bad taste. I want you to trade stories with me about our past drunken nights, about embarrassing moments that you wouldn’t reveal to just anyone.
I want your eyes to fill with more and more lust as the liquor fills your stomach. I want your muscles to relax and your nerves to evaporate until we’re both completely comfortable.
Then I want you to challenge me to a drinking game, where we sit shoulder-to-shoulder on your bed and take shots while watching Netflix. While pretending to pay attention to the storyline, even though it’s obvious we’re both thinking about how close our bodies have become–and how much closer they will become before the night ends.
But most of all, I want to hear what you have to say when your words fall from your lips without being filtered through your mind. When you’re uninhibited. When you’re completely and utterly honest. I want to know how you feel about me and how far you’ll take your flirting.
I want to get close to you. Want to feel the muscles in your tattooed arm as it’s draped around me. Want to feel the warmth of your body as you gradually shift closer and closer to me, destroying the distance between us. And when we get tired, when we decide to recline instead of sit, I want my back pressed against your chest. I want your face smothered by the sweet scent of my hair.
But I don’t want to kiss you. Not yet. I don’t want to be considered one of your drunken mistakes. I don’t want you to forget the moment in the morning, because you blacked out. I want to wait.
Wait until we’re sober. Until we’re sure that we’re both making the right move. Because I can imagine starting something serious with you, and I don’t want to be reduced to a one-night stand. I don’t want to be remembered as the girl that you got wasted with and shared clumsy kisses with. I want to be more than that.
I want to get drunk with you, to get as close as humanly possible to you without getting intimate. But as soon as we’re sober again, when our minds are clear and breath is fresh, I want that kiss. I want you. All of you.