Escaping Grace

I stepped hastily to the bar and grabbed my phone, putting the case on it quickly.
I shoved it in my pocket and then turned for the door.
"Oh, hey, wait," I turned, and Andy had come around the bar. He was holding up my small case that held all my information in it. My hand went to my back poxket reflexively, but it was empty.
"Thanks, I didn't realize it was even gone," I mumbled, and took the case from him. I slipped it back into its rightful place, and stood awkwardly a moment.
Do I just leave or did I need to shake his hand or what?
Just leave before you get in over your head, my brain told me, and I could hear my mother's harsh voice ripe in the background, ready to chastise me if I even thought I could sleep with Andrew Biersack. That he would even want someone as small and mousy as me.
I looked down at my hands, and then took a step back hastily, except I happened to forget I was wearing heels and started to trip backward.
Andy reached out immediately, grabbing my arm and pulling me back towards him.
I cringed as I smacked into him, forcing him to take a step back. Why am I such a klutz? I wondered, my face pressed against his shoulder.
His scent filled my nose, and I sighed. I pulled away, and rubbed my face quickly, hoping he didn't see my eyes.
Don't show any feelings, I told myself.
"Sorry," I said, feeling my face redden. "I guess I'm a little more tipsy then I thought."
"Are you sure you don't want to stay?" he asked in concern, his hand one my arm to steady me.
"No," I said, "I really can't. Vale will be worried," I glanced up as I spoke and his eyes caught mine. Oh, those blue eyes, I thought, and then shook my head.
I was just going to make a fool out of myself, I knew that.
The whole flirting/seducing/anythingnotawkward thing I had always been awful at, and I really didn't want to humiliate myself and never be able to face him again. I wasn't a risktaker, I wasn't a one night stand kind of person either.
Hell, I only ordered one type of meal from any restaurant I ever went too.
"Well, you're gonna be cold if you leave," he said, and reached for his jacket. "Borrow this and you can give it back later," he draped it around my shoulders. "If you catch pnuemonia before my show and its my fault, no one would ever forgive me," he added quickly when I went to protest.
I relented after a moment and nodded.
"Okay," I hesitated, and then slipped my arms through the sleeves.
I turned to thank him for what had to be close to the hundredth time, but then paused, gazing up at him.
You know what? I thought, fuck it.
I reached up and caught the back of his hair and pulled his face down to mine. If he backed off, at least I could blame the alcohol and then make a hasty exit out the door.
But he didn't.
His hands circled my hips and pulled me against him, and I wrapped my arms around his neck. His lips hungrily devoured mine, and my hand tightened in his hair.
Then I was shirking out of his jacket and it was falling to the ground, and he was turning me so my back was against the bar.
I tugged at the hem of his t shirt and pulled it over his head, tossing it behind me. He muttered something and I heard the jingle of my keys as they slid off my jeans and somewhere across the floor.
He lifted me up, and I gasped as he carried me away from the bar. I locked my arms around his neck, and he strode toward the bedroom. He kicked the door open, and all I saw of his room was darkness before we tumbled onto the bed, his door swinging shut with a click.
I couldn't stop my giggle as we fell into the mess of pillows and blankets, and Andy murmured something as he kissed my jaw, his hands burning warmth against my waist. I had no idea what he'd said, and honestly I didn't care.
Still, the more sober part of my brain had to ask.
"What?"
"Are you sure about this?" Andy asked, his breath hot gainst my throat.
Oh.
I had never been so sure.
In response, I pulled my t shirt and tank top off, and he grinned. I kicked my fortunately not tightly laced boots off, and he pulled me to him across the bed, his hair brushing my cheek as he kissed me again.
"Say something in French," he murmured, and I hesitated, my brain abruptly sent spiraling.
"Je aime des crêpes et des gaufres," I whispered, running my fingers down his chest to the hem of his jeans. I tugged at the button, and he abruptly rolled with a growl, pulling me on top of him.
Did I seriously just tell him I like pancakes and waffles?
Don't even think about, I told myself.
I leaned down, feathering kisses against his tattoos, murmuring other nonsensical words in French as i did, and then back up his throat.
I nipped at his lips, and his hand tangled in my hair, holding my face against his. His other hand tugged at my jeans, and so I turned, pulling him back over me.
His body was burning against my skin, like he had a fire burning in him.
I wiggled out of my jeans in record time, and wrapped my legs around his hips.
I might be taking a risk, but I wanted to make sure it was going to be memorable, even if I did regret it.
So I then made sure it was going to be memorable for the both of us.

Notes