“Well, tonight’s not one of those nights, is it?” he asks, “Nothing you have to urgently get back to your apartment for?”
“Well, no.”
“So just crash here tonight. We’ve got a guest room. And you’ve even got clean clothes here, we washed the stuff that you left here last week,” he says.
Brianna had gotten a little stomach bug last week and had wound up losing her lunch all over my outfit, so rather than sending me home in the mess, Dustin had found an old pair of Sarah’s sweatpants in a drawer and loaned me those, plus one of his own t-shirts, letting me leave my clothes there to go into their load of laundry that evening.
“Are you sure?” I ask hesitantly, not wanting to impose.
Admittedly, over the last few weeks, Rudy and Dustin have become what I would call friends, but they’re still technically my bosses, and I worry about crossing lines.
“Absolutely,” Rudy says firmly, “I’d rather have you here and know you’re safe than worry about you trying to drive in this mess.”
My heart flutters in my chest, and I remind myself for the millionth time that he is taken. They both are.
Maybe that’s why I worry about crossing lines so much. Because it’s all I can think about. I’ve been attracted to both of them since day one, but the more I get to know them, the deeper it grows.
Now, it’s not just physical, although that’s as strong as ever. Now I’ve gotten to know them, seen vulnerable sides of each of them, and it’s even harder to keep myself away. Especially when they say sweet things like that, Rudy expressing his worry, or when Dustin flirts with me playfully.
“Well, I guess it does make the commute shorter,” I quip.
Both of them are kind enough to chuckle politely at the lame joke.
The microwave dings and Dustin pulls out a large measuring cup with heated milk. He pulls out three mugs and a box of cocoa mix pouches. “Babe, what do you want in yours?” he calls.
“Hm…hazelnut, I think,” Rudy replies.
I’m expecting Dustin to pull out some kind of flavored syrups or coffee creamer or something, but to my surprise, he reaches into a high cabinet that sits over the fridge and pulls down a few bottles of liqueur. Then he reaches into the fridge and draws out a bottle of Irish cream.
He looks over his shoulder at me. “How about you, Ava, you want yours spiked? I can do any of these, or a mixture of a couple if you want,” he gestures to the bottles in front of him: amaretto, butterscotch schnapps, and some kind of hazelnut and chocolate liqueurs.
“Um…I wouldn’t know what to try,” I admit, “I don’t do a lot of drinking.”
I’d had a few experiences with college parties and wine coolers like most girls, but in general, I was just kind of a weenie who didn’t much like the taste of alcohol.
“If you want to try it, I can throw something together for you,” Dustin offers, “But you don’t have to.”
“I don’t mind that idea, I trust you,” I assure him, “I’ll leave it in your hands.”
“Those can be dangerous words when he’s mixing cocktails for you,” Rudy warns with a chuckle, “But this stuff is pretty tame, so nothing too worrisome.”
“And I’m light-handed when it comes to cocoa,” Dustin says with protest in his tone, “It probably wouldn’t be enough for a noticeable buzz.”
“Well, not like I’m driving either way, right?” I shrug.
“You like dangerous games, don’t you?” Rudy asks, as Dustin crows gleefully.
“Maybe a little,” I shoot back without thinking.
My face flames and my heart races, and I quickly glance at Rudy to see if he’s noticed, but if he has, his poker face is immaculate. Did that sound as flirty to him as it did in my own ears?
Dustin strides over with a mug in each hand and passes one to me and the other to Rudy. I take a cautious sip, worried more about temperature than anything else. It’s hot, but not scalding, and while I definitely detect a very faint hint of alcohol, it’s mild, and actually kind of complements the sweet, creamy chocolate.
I definitely detect something nutty, but I’m not sure if it’s the hazelnut liqueur, the amaretto, or perhaps a mix of both. Whatever’s in it, it’s delicious and warms my insides. “How is it? I wasn’t too rough on you?” Dustin asks.
I shake my head. “Not at all, it’s perfect,” I assure him, taking another sip.
It’s funny that not even three months ago, I was hesitant to take a water bottle from this man for worry that there might be something in it. Now, I’m giving him free reign to spike my drink. Go figure.