Morgan Rielly Imagine

Part Twenty-Five

"Is my sober Y/N back now?" Morgan asks he pulls into his parking spot in the garage.

"She's been here the whole time," I say, waving a now much steadier hand dismissively.

Despite my protests, not that I had many, Morgan takes my hand to 'help me upstairs' even though we're taking an elevator. I glance at him repeatedly in the mirror doors, and every time he meets my gaze with a soft smile and I want to hide my face in his shoulder like a teenager. So I do.

I lean against his shoulder and breathe in the scent that I had become addicted to. I even took another one of his scarves so I would always have one on hand. Staring down at our entwined fingers I feel something in my chest that I hadn't felt in years, or ever in fact. Overflowing affection and those butterflies that could only mean my heart is in trouble.

"Come on," Morgan murmurs as the doors to the ninetieth floor. "Where?" He asks as we near our parallel doors.

Unable to find words, I tug his hand towards mine and he chuckles. "Should have guessed, I don't have the PlayStation set up," he says and I laugh.

"You know me so well," I say and wait as he unlocks my door with his set of keys. To my surprise he reaches out and ever so gently tucks a strand of lose hair behind my ear.

"I'd like you know you better," he says quietly and I nearly collapse.

"In," I say and he obliges, tugging me inside my apartment.

We delve into my kitchen out of habit, neither of us in a rush for anything and I get the feeling that we both don't have overly exciting plans for tonight, silently, we agreed to take it slow.

"Wine?" I ask him over my shoulder as I run a finger over the various labels looking back at me. He scrunches his nose at me. "Alright, beer for you then," I amend, bending to grab him a bottle. I slide off my coat as I feel my body temperature rising from the too warm apartment. The older couple seemed to enjoy a warm environment and I had yet to figure out how to change it over a month later.

I drape my coat over the nearest barstool and look back in time to see Morgan quickly shift his gaze elsewhere and I can't help my blush. I take a long drink from my waiting glass and eye him over the rim. I hadn't noticed in the flurry of colors at the club just how nice he looks in his tight black shirt that doesn't look overly comfortable against his biceps. My eyes roam over his broad chest and at the slight 'V' of his shirt collar.

"Do I have something on me?" Morgan asks, trying to pull his shirt out to look at it and I look away embarrassed, pretending that didn't happen.

Forty-five minutes later I'm smacking his chest while howling with laughter at something he had just said. My bottle of wine is gone as is two of Morgan's beers and its well into the next morning.

"Morgan," I say, looking at the clock and trying to focus on the numbers. "You have a game tomorrow, we need to go to bed."

He looks at the clock in surprise as well and stands. "You're such a bad influence Y/L/N. I have a noon game tomorrow!"

"That's what I ju- never mind," I shake my head and make to stand as well only to stumble back into the counter.

"Alright, how about we get you to bed first," he laughs, grabbing my hand and leading me down the hallway to my bedroom.

"But you'll stay, right?" I ask, the wine not making me the least bit nervous or embarrassed.

He hesitates for a split second before reaching for my bedroom lights and dimming them so we don't have to squint. "Do you want me to?" He asks.