Rum & Regret.
what happens when you say the wrong person’s name in bed? #womeninmalefields
Her eyes flutter shut, vision sparking, body rendered entirely speechless save for the name coursing through her veins, the name falling through her parted lips -
“Ethan…”
His name on her lips feel like second nature; akin to breathing, a fervent prayer eliciting a whirlwind of unbidden memories within her -
The twinkle of amusement alight in those azures as he watches her scrutinize him, the corner of his lips failing to hide their upwards twitch as she accurately predicts his drink of choice -
The steadfast warmth of his hand beneath hers a source of solitude, a welcome respite from the deafening whoosh of the ventilator and the weight of uncertainty that lay ahead -
The distinct hues of amber and scarlet adorning his features, making it rather difficult for her to concentrate on the game unfolding below, skeptical that the intoxication she felt had more to do with the man sitting beside her rather than the crimson liquid lingering on her lips -
The inexplicable pang of contentment she feels as the tension visibly departs from his shoulders, hand moving to cover his as if drawn by an invisible force -
The involuntary shiver that runs down her spine as his gaze lands on her, heart skipping a beat as she catches the uncharacteristically warm smile he gives her before turning to the barista and placing their orders -
The caress of the cool Miami air a pale comparison to the feel of his arms winding around her, pulling her impossibly closer -
The pad of his thumb running across the expanse of her cheekbone, wiping away her tears with a tangible gentleness -
Tears cascading down her shoulder as he buries his face into the crook of her neck, his grip on her waist tightening, holding on to her as if she were the anchor that would tether him from the storm to come -
The tantalizing scratch of his stubble against the nook of her inner thigh accompanied by the hungry look in his eyes an exhilarating blend -
The ecstatic anticipation thrumming through her body heightening as he took her hand in his, interlacing their fingers as though he never wanted to let go -
—
“Fuck”.
The expletive is followed by a sudden warmth, flooding her, snapping her out of her reverie, jostling her into consciousness.
Her eyes fly open, haze lifting to unveil the figure looming over her, hazel eyes etched with confusion.
Hazel.
Her breath catches as the waves of sapphire begin to seep away, unearthing the harsh reality before her. She frantically searches his features, eyes darting from his disheveled mahogany locks to the beads of sweat cascading down his glistening frame.
Heart beating a mile a minute, she chances a second glance at those eyes, the very same eyes strewn across a plethora of posters scattered all across the country, impossible to ignore. The very same eyes that people can’t seem to tear their gaze away from as they grip the edge of their seat, enthralled by the series of events that unfold on the screen before them. The very same eyes that grace the covers of glossy magazines, filled to the brim with gossip galore.
Those very same eyes are now right in front of her, as real as the blood flowing through her veins. Those eyes belong to none other than Matt Rodriguez, Hollywood Megastar & International Heartthrob. Months ago, if someone had told Lana that she would be tangled up in the sheets with the Matt Rodriguez, she would have scoffed; dismissing their words as if they were those of a deranged individual.
Yet here she was, sprawled bare across his mattress, the unmistakable scent of what had transpired between them lingering in the atmosphere.
“Ethan?”
The name on his parted lips is a question, albeit the tone that follows it isn’t the accusatory one she expects.
Instead, his voice is laced with a hint of amusement, eyes alight with mirth as he languidly slips out of her and onto the bed beside her.
One of his hands snake up the length of his body, fingers splaying as his palm comes to rest dutifully behind his head.
The other delicately makes its way up until it reaches her chin, two fingers tilting her head up until their eyes meet once again.
Shock overtakes guilt as she witnesses a lazy smirk forming across the expanse of his features, traces of anger or sadness nowhere to be found.
“Lana…”
Her name rolling off his tongue sets off something within her, the need to say something, anything, to make it better. To apologize.
But how in the world does one apologize for saying another man’s name in someone else’s bed?
“I- I’m so so sorry Matt. I-” she starts, shaky confidence unraveling with the utterance of each syllable.
The fingers once stationed at the tip of her chin make their way upwards, coming to rest on the flesh of her swollen lips, wordlessly silencing her.
“Hey, hey, look at me - seriously, Lana, look at me.”
And she does.
—