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DAY 13
Studying was so tedious.
Especially after having two glasses of Moscato and a brain that could only seem to focus on Steve Rogers these days - the wine probably hadn't helped much. Their encounter at the bar the other night had only made it worse. It wasn't as if Honey was waiting for something unexpected to happen, but she couldn't help but feel a little disheartened when nothing did.
In the moment, staring up at his serious, blue eyes as he demanded they leave, she was unsure of what would happen next. Excited, even. However, Steve was so aggravated that he had drove in complete, fuming silence the entire way to her apartment. Honey felt like his anger was slightly directed at her, particularly after she got out of the car without even so much as a glance from him.
She was appreciative that he stepped in when he did, but annoyed that he didn't even attempt to speak afterwards.
Honey had never met a man quite this confusing before, all of her past relationships never lasted very long but at least they were nice enough. Nice wasn't enough to keep her interest, though, as it would seem. No, one would have to be Steve Rogers to pique her interest, apparently.
She sighed profusely as she began to pour her third glass of wine, generously filling it up because why not? Honey felt as though she deserved to take the edge off a bit.
Three knocks on her door made her sigh once more, taking her wine glass with her as she walked towards the front door, standing on her tip-toes to peer through the tiny peephole. Butterflies swarmed inside of her belly at the sight of Rogers' face on the other side, looking slightly intoxicated himself. Taking a swig of her wine and wiping the wet residue from her top lip, Honey mustered up enough courage to open the door.
Steve stood in front of the doorway, donning a navy blue pullover and jeans, holding a giant bottle of Jack Daniels whiskey. His blue eyes were glazed over as he glanced up at her, undeniably inebriated, before the corner of his lip pulled up into the smirk that she was beginning to recognize.
As elated as her poor heart was to see him here, Honey knew that the only reason he was here at all was because he had been drinking.
"Well, are you just going to stand there or are you going to let me in?"
"You're drunk," she stated tentatively, stepping to the side as she motioned for him to come inside.
"Doesn't look like you're far behind me," he commented humorously, raising his eyebrow at the glass of wine in her hand before stepping inside with a drunken sway.
"Is everything okay?"
"No, actually," Steve muttered, propping himself against the back of the couch as his eyes trailed over her baggy crew-neck and jeans. "I was hoping you would be wearing one of your little skirts, make this whole conversation a lot easier for me."
Honey felt weak in the knees at his words, struggling to keep her mouth from popping open at the direction the conversation had taken.
"Oh?" she squeaked, wetting her bottom lip as she nervously brought the glass up to her mouth for another sip.
"Yeah, you're so frustrating, you know," he said in a matter-of-factly tone, pushing off the couch and pointing his finger clumsily at her. "You're so nice and innocent, but then you wear those short little skirts and dresses. It's very," hiccup. "Hard to keep my focus."
Honey fidgeted apprehensively under his intense stare, the wine buzz kicking in as her head spun around, completely speechless at his drunken confession. She could hear her heartbeat thudding inside of her ears as he stepped closer to her, setting his liquor bottle down on the table.
"Steve," she whispered softly. "You're drunk. And you wouldn't be saying this if you weren't."
Her words must have struck a chord inside of him - his eyes grew exceptionally softer, trailing across her face as he stood inches away from her now.
"I'm not that drunk," he denied gruffly, his full lips parting as his eyes examined her lips.
"Yes you are," Honey murmured breathlessly, the oxygen in the air depleting as she peeked timidly up at him. "So you can crash on the couch again, sleep it off. If you want to."
"I can't figure out why you're so nice to me."
The space between them was almost non-existent now, along with any grasp on her bearings that Honey had left. His compelling, rustic cologne swirled around in her head mixed with the faint hint of whiskey on his breath, making it damn near impossible to fight the urges that were building inside of her core.
"Because it seems like you need someone to be nice to you," she admitted gently, fumbling with her wine glass in her hands as she dropped her head to look at the ground between them.
"I don't think you know what you're getting into," Steve slurred slightly, his hand reaching up to tilt her head back up with his pointer finger, giving her no option but to look at him.
In what Honey would describe as a cop-out, she turned her head quickly to the side, rubbing her thigh shyly as she avoided his gaze. "I'm going to grab you some water."
Steve let out a throaty sigh, nodding his head understandingly as he turned to grab the whisky once again, finding a spot on the couch and plopping down.
Honey absolutely wanted see what his lips would feel like against hers, but not like this. Her core begged for it, her mind begged for it. But she wanted him to kiss her when he was sober, because he wanted to.
Drunk words apparently spoke sober thoughts, she'd heard that somewhere.
But there was no way that Steve Rogers looked at her in that way.
