He looks tormented. I may not have felt the whiskey burn, but he did. Pain flashes through his eyes. He stands and walks away. “No, Clara. That was wrong. I was wrong to do that.”
“But why?” How could that be wrong? That was the best thing that ever happened to me. On a night when I wanted to be bad, I experienced my first kiss. It’s the best bad thing I could have imagined. And it tasted so sweet.
He’s still shaking his head, so vehemently I’m not sure who he’s trying to convince—me or himself. “You’ve been drinking.”
“One drink,” I say, kind of insulted. I may be new to this, but I’m not drunk.
“One drink is enough.”
“You had one drink too,” I point out, accusing.
He laughs, the sound unsteady and harsh. “I’m bigger than you.”
I don’t know if he means the drink affects him less or if it’s just another reason why the kiss was a bad idea—as if he might have overpowered me. But there is no reason why this is a bad idea. I’ve wanted him to kiss me forever. And judging by the way he kissed just now, he liked it too. Unless…
My voice is small. “Did I…do it wrong?”
He lets out a string of curse words. “No, bella. You did nothing wrong. This is me. I can’t touch you when you’ve been drinking. I can’t touch you at all.”