Chapter 17

seventeen

"You have to come out with us tonight," Beth called to Regan from across the back room at Topped Off.

"Oh, I have to?" Regan teased back, reaching for her large purse after she hung her apron up in her locker. She pawed through her bag, making sure that her keys, wallet, and phone were all in sight – there was absolutely nothing worse than leaving work and getting all the way back home, only to realize that she'd left one of her essentials at the café.

Which, unfortunately, had happened to Regan more times than she'd like to admit.

Satisfied that she had everything, she reached in and grabbed her phone. She usually kept it secured in her back pocket during her shifts, as it was always handy to answer messages when a brief lull hit. Or to take a silly picture. Or to leave herself quick reminders about scheduling, or observations about coffee blends or pastries.

Or to text Emma.

Which, admittedly, was what Regan was doing more than anything, these days. And was the main reason she'd made herself leave her phone in her locker after her break a few hours ago.

Regan had never before had a problem ignoring the vibrations against her butt cheek signaling a new text when there was an influx of customers needing attention. She did have a work ethic. She also had a love for tips.

She'd found, though, that it was very, very hard for her to ignore when Emma texted her, even when she was facing a line of customers. It was addictive; what was Emma saying, now?! Had Regan made her laugh with her last quippy – if she did say so herself – message?

And she was so, so relieved that Emma hadn't turned away from their friendship or shut Regan out after the Couch Kiss Debacle of last week.

Regan really did consider herself lucky that they were both totally normal, post-kiss. After all, it wasn't like Regan was super familiar with what to do in this situation, either! The only people she'd ever been super attracted to and kissed were guys she was dating or wanting to sleep with, never a friend. Never someone she cared about, beyond a sex/dating sphere.

She could see it going so terribly, horribly wrong in her head. Emma getting the wrong idea – that Regan was, like, uncontrollably, unstoppably in love with her or something – and putting an end to their closeness.

But, nope. Emma seemed to have been able to act like the kiss had never happened. In the last six days, they'd slipped back into this rhythm they'd seemed to have found, and that was great .

Really.

Okay, the only thing that maybe wasn't super great was that Regan couldn't slip into normalcy with the ease Emma seemed to be able to.

It really made no sense, right? Because Regan considered herself to be an amazing friend! Being a friend came to her as easily as breathing. After all, she'd spent most of her life with her biggest defining quality being Sutton's best friend . Could she be a little exuberant? Perhaps. A little dramatic? Sometimes.

But if there was one thing Regan never, ever doubted about herself – no matter how poorly she did in school or what her parents said – it was that she was a damn good friend.

So, it really made no sense that Regan had to remind herself that she was just Emma's totally platonic friend multiple times in the last few days.

It's what she told herself in the aftermath of the kiss, when Emma seemed so freaked out. There was no other word for it – freaked out really summed up the look on Emma's face. While Regan really wished that hadn't been the expression on Emma's face in the minutes after they'd shared the most thrilling first kiss of Regan's life, there was no denying it.

And after she'd listened to Emma's side of everything, Regan came around to Emma's way of thinking… generally. Mostly, she agreed that having an attraction didn't have to mean anything more. They were friends that were attracted to each other. Big deal! She really liked place they were in. She did have fun with Emma and all of her acerbic, dry commentary and the way she got really into reality television even though she'd been so reluctant to watch it in the first place. She didn't want any of that to change, that was all the truth.

So, in that regard, yeah. They could absolutely just be normal friends, still.

Yet, she'd had to remind herself of that fact again only two days later. When she'd texted Emma I don't know how I'm going to make it through this shift without my head exploding from this migraine. Please come and collect my remains, I want to be sprinkled in the apartment .

Emma's response in text had been simple – … like, your ashes or the remains of your literally exploded skull? I'm going to have to check the lease before I comply.

But when Regan had returned home, Emma had picked them both up dinner from the Italian place that Regan had found weeks ago, recommended by an influencer she followed. She'd sent Emma the post, telling her: We should go here sometime – it's close to your work I think!

Emma had then lit candles to keep the living room in low light, informing Regan in a soothing voice, "I get migraines sometimes, too. Just, relax."

Very thoughtful. Very sweet. Enticingly so. She'd sat in the living room with Regan, quietly working on her laptop while Regan had napped.

"Just in case your head really did explode; I figured you could use a witness," Emma had drolly informed Regan when she'd woken up.

Which was very – platonically – sweet. And had made Regan's stomach – platonically – swoop.

She'd reminded herself yet again that she was merely Emma's friend only a couple days later, come Wednesday afternoon.

Because Regan had realized – shit. She was going to be responsible for all of the desserts at a child's birthday party in only days, and she'd never had that kind of responsibility on her shoulders!

So, she'd buckled down and created a vision board for all of her ideas, which had been approved by both Kimberly and Everly. Then, still a little apprehensive, she'd shown the board to Emma.

But Emma had pulled out her phone and showed Regan a picture of cupcakes posted from Topped Off that she'd made earlier this summer, designed to look like upside-down, melting ice cream cones. "Look – these are incredible , and you made them. You can do this." She given Regan such a strong reaffirming look, it offered no room for disagreement.

Beth cleared her throat, regaining Regan's attention. "Yes, you have to come out tonight. For a multitude of reasons. First, because Mike actually has a slot in the comedy show, at the dive bar," Beth gleefully informed her.

Regan nearly dropped her purse in surprise. "No fucking way! How?!"

Mike was one of their vendors, who frequently updated them on his comedy dreams. Which was actually hilarious because Mike was one of the least funny people Regan knew.

Beth shrugged. "Bribery, I'm guessing? Either way, he's on at nine, and everyone from the day crew is meeting us there."

Regan slowly tilted her head in thought. All right, that was a fairly convincing argument. On the other hand, though, it was Friday night, which meant Emma was going to be much more likely to stay up and hang out later into the night. The sooner Regan got home, the sooner they could hang out, and the more time they could spend together before Emma went to bed.

"Secondly," Beth pointedly cleared her throat. "It's Liz's birthday this weekend. Thirdly, and most importantly, you haven't gone out with us in over a month."

Reeling back, Regan refuted, "That can't be true."

Ever since she'd started at Topped Off, Regan had been the person to spearhead inter-shift staff bonding. She'd covered for people on every shift, much like she did now, and she'd been looking to widen her social circle. Ever since then, she'd made a point to go out with people from work a couple of times a month. Sometimes even more frequently after Sutton had started dating Charlotte.

Beth arched a look at her. "It's very true."

Shaking her head, Regan leaned back against her locker, thinking back…

And she startled when she realized that Beth was right .

She hadn't gone out with work friends since before she and Emma had started bonding, which was over a month ago, now.

"Holy shit," she whispered to herself.

How that that happened?

Even when Sutton was living with her, Regan had always spent time with her other – more casual – friends. Mostly because Sutton didn't enjoy going out very much, plus she often had paper/grading deadlines and stuck to a strict schedule.

"That's what I'm saying." Beth tossed her hands in the air, baffled. "Every time we've gone out in the last six weeks, everyone's been asking where you are. Why you never hang out anymore. Who you're always texting. And they keep asking me , as if I know the answer." She bit her lip, eyeing Regan. "On that note… who are you always texting? A new beau?"

Regan blinked widely back at Beth, still at a loss for words as her thoughts were spinning beyond her control. "Uh. No. It's no one." As soon as the words left her mouth, Regan cringed. Her stomach cramped with them, because it felt like a lie. More than that, it felt insulting to Emma, to refer to her as no one . "It's just my roommate."

"Ohhhh, Emily."

"Emma," Regan quickly corrected, feeling absurdly slighted that Beth didn't remember.

"Right." Beth accepted with an apologetic wince. "Anyway – are you coming tonight? We should probably head out soon, so we can meet up with everyone and have Liz's celebratory birthday shot before Mike goes on stage."

"Ah…" Regan bit at her cheek, as she looked down at her phone. Her lifeline to Emma.

As if reading her mind – granted, fine , her phone was set to light up and remind her of unread notifications every five minutes – her lock screen lit up to reveal a text from the woman in question.

Emma – 7:07PM

Just wanted to let you know that I made some soup for dinner. I put some away for you – don't pick anything up on your way home

Unless you don't want soup. Then you should pick something up for dinner on your way home

Regan's stomach burst to life with those crazy strong butterflies. Emma made her soup for dinner!

She didn't want to go out with everyone from work when Emma was at home with soup. She wanted to curl up on the couch and listen to Emma tell her about the rest of her day. She wanted to watch a movie or a show and listen to the way Emma commented as if she weren't totally invested.

Which was precisely why she hadn't gone out with her work friends in weeks, she realized, gripping her phone tightly.

Because every offer of plans with anyone else felt so… unappealing when it was put up against the idea of going home and hanging out with Emma. Or going out to dinner with Emma. Or anything with Emma.

Regan just hadn't noticed what she was doing before now.

Fuck.

That wasn't what purely platonic friends did! They didn't plan as much of their availability around one another as they possibly could, because being around each other felt addictive and fun and just better than being around other people.

Regan's heart leapt in her chest. Oh, boy.

So, she did what she'd have done if Sutton was currently living with her – what she'd do with someone that was strictly a friend.

Regan – 8:08PM

Hey roomie! I'm totally looking forward to that soup. But I'm going to be home a little late tonight bc I'm going out with some friends from work. See you later and DON'T watch more of our show(s) without me!!!

Humming under her breath in a way that was maybe a liiiittle off-beat, Regan giggled to herself as she scraped her key into the lock.

Only to pout at the keys when the dumb thing didn't actually turn! Why did keys all look so similar, anyway? Who made that design choice?!

"The real question is who allowed other keys to fit in a lock that they don't open. What the hell is that about," she muttered, yanking her key ring away from the door before frowning down at them in her hand.

And why did she have so many keys?!

"That's the best question," she affirmed for herself, squinting at them all. "Lit-tle keys, lit-tle keys, which one fits in my door?" She sang her song to the tune of row, row, row your boat , before chuckling at herself all over again.

Leaning her forehead against the cool wood, she braced herself against the door and took a little break from the arduous process of finding the right key – a task that occasionally took more than one try when she hadn't had anything to drink.

A second later, her balance was completely ruined, as the door opened. With her weight braced against it, the door actually flew open, and Regan yelped in alarm.

She flailed her arms as she fell forward, already closing her eyes and bracing for impact…

Only to crash into something much better than the floor. Someone, more aptly. Some one much softer and warmer, who smelled so good…

"Emma," she identified, delighted with the new turn of events.

Regan contentedly leaned heavily into Emma, who let out a surprised grunt in her ear as her arms wrapped quickly around Regan's waist to catch her.

"Woah! Jesus. Are you okay?" Emma asked, her warm breath washing over the side of Regan's face, making her shiver.

Regan grinned, nodding against Emma and reveling in the softness of Emma's shirt brushing against her cheek. "Tot-ally good. Yep."

Indeed, she was really, really okay in this moment. This was great!

Emma huffed out a quiet laugh. So quiet that Regan wasn't sure she'd have been able to hear it if she weren't pressed right up against Emma like this.

Which, logically, meant that she should spend as much time as possible pressing against Emma. Right? Because Regan wanted to hear all of her little laughs and sighs and sounds.

At least, it was logical to her tipsy mind.

"All right, then, come on." Emma tightened her arms around Regan's waist and took a couple small steps backward, forcing Regan to walk forward to keep up with her and ensure their bodies didn't lose contact. One of Emma's arms disengaged its hold from Regan to swing their apartment door shut. "Is it safe to assume that you had fun with your coworkers?"

Regan inhaled deeply, loving this feeling of being wrapped up in Emma's scent. It made her stomach tingle so pleasantly. "Mmm. It was fine."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but being drunk enough that you aren't standing on your own seems like you had more than a fine time. Or less than a fine time, depending."

But – no. That was factually wrong, and Regan needed Emma to know that.

She needed Emma to know that Regan wasn't – she wasn't someone that went out and got so plastered that she couldn't enter her own home. That she wasn't a messy drunk that couldn't stand up by herself.

Even though it went against every fiber of Regan's being in this moment, she pulled away from Emma. Away from her warmth and the comfort and the way her body felt against Regan's, because she needed to prove herself.

"I can stand on my own," she insisted, reluctantly dropping her arms away from Emma so that Emma knew she really didn't need her support. "I just – the keys were hard. I was taking a short break!"

She scowled at the keys in question that were still clutched in her hand, before tossing them to the entry table. Then she dumped her purse on the table, too, feeling significantly lighter after.

"See?" She held her arms up and kicked her feet out in a little dance, making Emma see that she was still in control of her own body. Not a single stumble, thank you very much.

She might not be sober, but she wasn't a total lush. And Regan objected at her very core for Emma to see her that way.

Emma's eyebrows lifted as she slid her gaze down Regan's body in the dim lighting of their hallway. "I do see. Did you wear that to work ?" The incredulity dripped from Emma's voice.

Confused, Regan looked down at herself to take in her fitted crop top and sort of scandalously low-cut shorts. Ah. She scoffed out a laugh, which came out maybe a little louder than she'd intended. "Ohhhh, no. No, no." She lifted her eyes to meet Emma's. "You see, Emma, at work? I'm in charge; I'm a manager. I can't wear this to work."

"Mhmm, but you can go out and drink with the people you manage?" Emma asked, tilting her head.

Regan held up her hand to stop her right there. " First , I started our going out traditions way before I ever became a manager. And secondly, Emma Bordeaux, secondly – you see, without me there, who would be the responsible one? Hmm?"

She arched a victorious look at Emma, who was staring back at her dubiously. Mixed with that skepticism, though, was the softest little smile. A smile that made Regan's cheeks feel warm and her heart did that pitter-patter thing.

"And you're the responsible one?" Emma asked, teasingly.

It was teasing, yes. But it was also so… dare Regan say – affectionate?

Because she really, really wanted that.

God, she wanted it so badly. It ached inside of her, how very deeply she wanted Emma to feel as affectionate for Regan as Regan felt for Emma.

She wanted to have a picture of this look on Emma's face right now, this soft look, so that she could look at it whenever she felt down about herself. She wanted to document it, so she could study it when she was sober, wondering if what Regan felt when she looked at Emma was reflected in this look.

Unfortunately, Regan's phone was buried in her purse, and she didn't want to look away from Emma right now.

"Yes, I am the responsible one. If you think I'm drunk, you should have seen Liz and Beth and Mike and Dustin and Jackie. I'm the one who got them all in Ubers and sent them home to the right address! Addresses?" Which one was right? Anyway. "Ergo, therefore, my going out with them is also kind of my duty."

Emma slowly nodded, folding her arms over her chest. "Right."

Regan also saw – saw that Emma wasn't wearing a bra and that her nipples were hard and poking through her shirt. Damn it! Regan hadn't known that when they'd been pressed together a minute ago! If she'd known, she could have relished the feeling while it had lasted.

She slapped her hand to her forehead. Before she winced – ouch , too hard. Still. Bad Regan. Bad, bad Regan.

Platonic friendship meant that she shouldn't be noticing or caring about whether Emma was wearing a bra or not. Or how she felt about that fact.

In all honesty, Regan hadn't meant to get as drunk as she was. She'd intended to go out just long enough to see Mike's set and have a drink for Liz's birthday.

But every time she'd thought about going home, she'd gotten so excited to see Emma. Which, in turn, had driven Regan to not go home. It had been a very weird paradox.

Wait – Emma wasn't wearing her bra, and she was wearing her little shorts that she only ever wore to bed.

God, she had amazing thighs. So soft and so thick and Regan felt like they could squeeze her head off, but something about that made her want to clench her own thighs together.

Wait, what had she been thinking before?

Regan shook her head, dragging her gaze back up to Emma's, feeling stricken. "Did I wake you up? Were you in bed? I was trying really hard to be quiet!"

After all, it was… Regan squinted in thought. It was definitely almost midnight the last time she'd checked, a while ago.

But Emma shook her head. "No, you didn't wake me up and I wasn't in bed." She reached out and gently nudged Regan to turn around, facing the direction of their kitchen. "Did you have dinner?"

"Um… no." Had she? "Not unless a few chicken wings count."

"The jury rules that they don't. Come on, let's get you some soup." Emma brushed past her, leading her down the short hallway, through the archway into the kitchen.

"They were really good, though," Regan insisted distractedly, her gaze falling to Emma's butt.

Wow. In these shorts, she was so close to seeing Emma's actual butt! The shorts were so short , and they were so worn, it seemed like they were threadbare. Was Emma wearing underwear?

A heat she'd been so intent on avoiding all week long crept up. But she couldn't help being attracted to Emma, right? Attraction was beyond her control; people couldn't help who they were attracted to.

When Emma turned to face her with a mug of reheated soup in her hands, Regan blinked up at her in dazed shock. Had she really been caught up in staring at Emma for minutes ?

Emma tilted her head toward the living room. "Dinner time. Let's go."

Regan trailed Emma, caught between feeling like she would diligently follow Emma anywhere, like a puppy, and worried that Emma felt obliged to take care of her.

Emma set down the soup on the coffee table, followed by a bottle of water that Regan hadn't even noticed her carrying. "There's also some ibuprofen that I took out about an hour ago, when you weren't home yet. I figured you'd probably need it."

"Emma," Regan sighed out her name, and she wondered if it had ever sounded that way when she'd said it before. So… reverent. That's how she felt, anyway. "You don't have to do this, you know. I'm a big girl. I've come home after drinking at the bar with my friends and taken care of myself many times. Never died. Promise."

She held up her hands to prove she wasn't crossing any fingers.

"Obviously you haven't died," Emma dryly responded, before she shrugged and sat down on the couch. "Look, it's not a big deal. Just some food – which I was making for myself – and water."

Regan braced a hand on the couch as she kicked off her shoes, not taking her eyes off of Emma. She couldn't ; she felt like her stare was magnetized to her. She sat down next to her leaving scant inches between them, as she stared at the side of Emma's face. "I appreciate it, though. I really, really do."

"Sutton didn't wait up for you?" Emma asked, turning ever so slightly to face Regan. "When you went out without her?"

She didn't turn to face her completely, because they were so close , but Regan's stomach clenched just the same.

"No," she answered, scoffing out a laugh. "Sutton hardly ever stays up until midnight! Are you kidding?"

She leaned forward to eat a spoonful of the soup, closing her eyes and moaning at the taste. "Emma!" She exclaimed as soon as her mouth wasn't full. "This is amazing!"

"It's chicken noodle soup, let's not get too crazy."

"It's perfect." Regan took a few more mouthfuls, before reaching for the ibuprofen and her water. Only once she'd downed the majority of the water bottle did she turn to fully face Emma.

And realized that not only was Emma in her bedtime clothing, but she also had one of the soft throw blankets she kept on her bed draped over her lap. The only light that illuminated the room was from the small lamp on the table next to the couch, casting Emma in a warm glow, and there was a book placed on the arm of the couch.

Regan liked to think that had she not been drinking, she'd have put all of this together minutes ago.

As it was…

"Were you staying up to wait for me?" She asked, and her heart flip-flopped with the question, as she stared at Emma and waited for the confirmation.

Emma tapped her fingertips against the spine of her book, her plush bottom lip poking out in a subconscious pout. "No. I was reading, like I do every night before bed."

"But you never do it in the living room," Regan countered, a breathless giddiness sliding through her. Emma had waited up for her!

And with that feeling, she maneuvered so that she was firmly against the back cushion of the couch, pressed completely against Emma's side.

She'd been careful not to sit this close in the last week; it was the smart thing to do. Give a little breathing room, post-kiss.

But Regan didn't want to do the smart thing right now, and she was just drunk enough to disregard logic. She wanted to be as close to Emma as she could be, as this feeling completely took her over. This soft, sweet, powerful, yearning feeling.

Emma had made a little nest on the couch so that she could wait up for Regan to come home and make sure she was safe and sound. She'd made sure Regan had food and water and ibuprofen.

Emma took in a deep breath as Regan curled up next to her, her eyebrows furrowing. "Well, usually you're home. Tonight was different. So, I did something different."

"Sure," Regan graciously allowed Emma to lie to her. It didn't matter what Emma said , Regan knew the truth.

And if she wasn't growing more lethargic by the minute, that truth would be enough to make her do one of her happy dances in the middle of the room. Then again, she wasn't willing to sacrifice this snuggle for anything.

"Look, you're clearly not sober. I could hear you struggling to open the door. You have a really busy day tomorrow, given that you have to make all of the desserts for Everly's birthday party Sunday. And I thought," Emma cut herself off, rolling her lips. "I thought that you'd be home earlier, so when you weren't, it felt… strange."

"You were worried about me." Regan could hear the wonder in her tone, and she leaned right into it. Physically, she leaned even more into Emma.

God she was so soft . And she smelled so good. Regan turned her head even more so she could press her nose right against Emma's shoulder.

"I was mildly concerned, if anything," Emma corrected, staring down at Regan as best she could given their closeness.

"You were mildly concerned about me," Regan echoed, her words muffled against the thin fabric of Emma's t-shirt. Letting out a content sigh, she shifted to drop her head against Emma's shoulder to rest. "I'll take it."

She'd take just about anything Emma wanted to give her, she thought, stifling a yawn.

"If you don't want to have any more soup or anything, do you want to go to bed?"

"With you?" Regan breathed the question out as she squirmed closer, close enough to essentially wedge herself in between Emma and the couch.

" What ?" Emma spluttered the question, her voice higher pitched than it typically was. "I – no. I meant to your bed. By yourself," she quickly added.

Even though Regan didn't lift her head up, she shook it. "Mm, then no. When I'm drunk, I like to snuggle."

"I thought you weren't drunk."

"I'm not that drunk," Regan corrected, giggling sleepily. "I'm not that drunk and I'm wide awake, and I want to hang out with you. My platonic friend and roommate. And I assume you're also wide awake, since you weren't waiting up for me or anything."

She could feel Emma's sharp, huffy inhale, and she smiled widely to herself. Gotcha.

"Yeah. I'm awake."

"Great. Why don't we put on a show, then?" Regan suggested, lifting an arm that was already starting to feel heavy with exhaustion, to gesture at the television. "Late night weekend drunken cuddle couch hang outs are a normal rite of passage for any roommate that you're friends with."

She felt the need to tack that on, in case Emma got any big ideas about moving away from her or putting space between them. In this moment, any space between them seemed downright offensive to Regan.

"I thought you said that Sutton didn't wait up for you?" Emma countered, even as she was turning on the TV.

"Don't get smart with me."

"Can't help who I am," Emma spoke through a yawn.

Regan's eyes were closed, but her lips curled into a grin. Not waiting up for her – yeah, right.

Her head felt pleasantly heavy, perched on Emma's perfectly sloped shoulder. Her muscles were absolutely lax as her entire body leaned into Emma's supple curves. And every breath she took filled her lungs with Emma .

So enticing. So relaxing. "What a combination."

"What was that?" Emma's voice was barely audible over the episode starting to play on the television.

"Nothing," she breathed. Honestly, she didn't even remember what she'd said. In this moment, Regan's mind was blissfully blank.

Regan blinked awake – drowsy and still not sober, judging by the way the room spun a little.

Apparently, she was in the living room, and there was a pop-up on the TV that asked Are you still watching? Through the windows, she could see that night sky was still pitch-black.

Slowly, she slid her gaze from across the room to herself.

Regan had fallen asleep on this couch many times before. But she'd never been as comfortable as she was right now.

She wasn't surprised that she'd fallen asleep, but she was a little surprised that Emma also had. Rather than both of them sitting up and leaning into each other as they'd been in Regan's last fuzzy memory, they'd both repositioned themselves. Emma was laying on her back, and Regan on her side, wedged snugly and comfortably between Emma and the back of the couch.

Emma's blanket now covered them both, and her arm was slid underneath Regan, pulling her in snug against her side. Not an inch between them.

She traced her gaze over the contours of Emma's face, bathed in the dim light coming from the television. Emma was always so… formidable. Solid and strong and opinionated, with those slashing cheekbones and wary eyes.

In sleep, like this, that softness that she'd slowly been revealing to Regan reflected in her face. She'd never seen Emma look so relaxed.

A voice in the back of Regan's brain told her that she should wake Emma. That they should both go to their own rooms. That they should let this cuddling session be pushed to the same place in their minds that their kiss lived in. A place that it seemed Emma was able to totally forget, but one that Regan had been reliving constantly.

She slid her hand from where it was resting – on the perfect curve of Emma's hip – up, ready to shake Emma's shoulder and do just that.

Yet, Regan couldn't bring herself to do it.

Her hand felt so cold after breaking contact with Emma's body, and Regan just knew that her very being would feel the same way, as soon as this was over. And she wasn't ready for that. Achingly, needily, she was so not ready for this feeling to be over.

"I'm in trouble," she finally admitted as she stared at Emma, listening to the very quiet – nearly nonexistent – snores that escaped her.

She was in deep, deep trouble, and it was high time Regan admitted it to herself.

Because this feeling wasn't merely attraction , and it definitely wasn't platonic.

It was much, much more. More than she'd ever felt for anyone before, which was a realization that both thrilled her and terrified her.

Slowly, gently, she laid her head back on Emma's shoulder and closed her eyes. Dealing with this realization in the middle of the night, still tipsy, was not a good idea.

Besides… Regan stroked her hand back down, ever-so-softly over the curve of Emma's waist, feeling both thrilled and calmed by the contact. If this was the only time she'd ever have like this with Emma, then she wasn't going to waste it.