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Drunken Confessions

Owen

“Come on, that’s it. Nice and easy. One step at a time.”

With my hands on her hips, I guide Becca slowly down the hallway toward my bedroom and away from our friends still partying hard, including my sister, Elise, and my best friend, Justin, who have recently become an item.

“But I’m not even tired,” Becca says, a huge yawn interrupting her in the middle of that statement. “I could keep going for hours.”

I chuckle. “Right. Humor me, then.”

Our group of friends had gone out for some drinks to celebrate after we obliterated our opponents in tonight’s hockey game, and then several of us ended up back here at my place to continue the celebration.

It’s almost two in the morning, and like any good friend would do, I’m helping a very drunk Becca to my room where she can sleep it off, since there’s no way I’m putting her in an Uber with a stranger at this time of night. That’s definitely not happening.

“Take my bed. I can sleep on the couch in the media room,” I say after steering her into my room.

I close the door behind us, shutting out the noise of the party. Most people have gone home by now, but there are still a couple of guys hanging out in the living room.

“You mean you’re actually going to take a break from sleeping around tonight?” she murmurs, her voice playful and a little surprised.

“I don’t sleep around that much.”

Okay, yeah, I do, but still, I don’t know why she’s calling me on it. Becca and I have been friends for years, and she’s never commented on my overly enthusiastic sex life. Just like I don’t comment on hers, or the lack of it. Which is exactly the way I prefer it. I’ve never let myself think about Becca as anything but a friend.

While she sits on the edge of my bed to remove her boots and socks, I hunt around in my dresser for a clean T-shirt she can wear to sleep in. When I turn to hand it to her, she’s halfway through undressing, her pants unbuttoned as she tries to shove them down her hips, awkwardly and with a lot of grunting.

I toss the T-shirt on the bed beside her and turn my back to give her some privacy.

She seems unconcerned right now about putting on a free show, but I know in the morning she’ll be horrified to learn she did that. Becca is normally so modest and composed. I don’t remember the last time I saw her get drunk like this.

“I’m safe now. You can look.”

When I turn, she’s standing across from me dressed in a soft gray T-shirt with my team’s logo that engulfs her five-foot-four frame, hitting her below the knees. She looks so small, I can’t help but grin at her.

“You good now?”

“Yup. But don’t lie to me, Owen.” She takes a step closer and jabs her finger at my chest. “I know you better than you think.”

I smirk at her. “Oh yeah? And what is it that you think you know?”

I’m suddenly a little worried about what she might say next.

My sexual appetite isn’t exactly a secret. Ever since making it to the pros, I’ve indulged probably a little more than was necessary, but I have no qualms about this. I’m young and single, living my best life after years of hard work and dedication to my sport.