My mouth was full of all the “I love you’s” I had caught in my throat that Fall, that now there was no stopping my tongue. Straddling him in the backseat of his car, I leaned closer to his ear and whispered in a vodka filled breath , “I love you”.
He doesn’t say anything so I say it again. “I love you”.
Right now I’m trying to make all sorts of deals with Jesus because I know there’s no way I’ll ever be able to live this down.
I am mortified because
a) He’s not saying anything.
b) I said it not once but TWICE.
(There’s no playing this off like it’s a joke)
c) This is the guy I told my friends I was “just going to play with” because my brain was still trying to process what happened in (Days). Clearly my heart had already chosen its own path 🤦🏾♀️. And
d) I meant it.
I got off his lap – Obviously.
Onda Lengwa at this point but the key to nipping an awkward humiliating mortifying situation in the bud is to not even acknowledge it. It’s all hazy from here but I think drunk me headed back into the club to take tequila shots before I let him take me home with my dignity still half intact.
Sober me wouldn’t know 🤷🏾♀️.
Nevertheless it’s all good now because:
a) We can laugh about this today
b) He just wasn’t about to take a drunk girl seriously