Becca roused slowly, consciousness washing over her body like an incoming tide. She opened one eye, but the room was so dark it may as well have been closed. Though the room had no curtains, its tiny window allowed in only a modest glow from the moon, the room a collection of silhouettes.
She could tell that she was lying on her side, on a carpeted floor From the breathing and snoring sounds, there were at least five other people in the room.
As Becca's senses awakened, she realised she was curled up in the 'little spoon' position, someone taller providing a body for her to lean against, her head leaning into the crook of his arm, the two of them kept warm by a single quilt.
She tried to remember the end of the night.
Manisha's birthday parties were always raucous affairs. People came and went night but a hard core always committed to the bitter end and slept wherever they fell.
Becca had spent much of the night talking to Robbie, a guy she'd started flirting with in order to get some weed, but whose charisma had kept her interested, drinking and smoking with him for so long she'd wound up completely wasted.
Robbie was just shy of six feet tall, thick-built, and had a completely shaved head - his way, he'd explained, of taking ownership of premature male pattern baldness. It suited him - drawing attention to his mahogany eyes and complementing the short, neat beard he'd grown "To offset it".
Over the evening, Becca and Robbie had developed a very specific dynamic: She reminded him of people's names every time he forgot (which was often); he made sure there was always a joint on the go. The arrangement worked, until Robbie realised Becca had reached her limit.
"Let's get you upstairs," he said, taking Becca's arm and putting it over his broad shoulders. Coming from anyone else it might have seemed like a line, but Robbie could see she wasn't steady on her feet and the narrow, Dutch-style spiral staircase through Manisha's house was notoriously lethal.
Becca was in a state. Clinging on to Robbie as he helped her upstairs, she staggered into the guest room.
Robbie helped her navigate the passed out bodies, finding a space in the corner of the room which he'd reserved earlier with his belongings and the warm, wide quilt he'd brought.
Despite her inebriation, Becca was still a sight to behold; her mid-length auburn hair somehow in impeccable condition, her petite but curvy body not so much being complimented but outrageously hit on by her black cocktail dress. He caught himself loitering just a little too long on her breasts - full by any measure but particularly prominent in this outfit, before regaining his composure and looking her back in the eye.
"Do you want something warmer to sleep in?" Becca nodded. He produced a baggy t-shirt from his bag, gave it to her and turned around, shielding her from both the room and his own eyes. She slipped out the dress and pulled on the t-shirt. A medium on Robbie, a minidress on Becca. Unhooking her bra and savouring the release, the soft cotton of the t-shirt on her nipples.
Robbie made sure she was lying on her side, and pulled the duvet over her.
"It's cold - will you join me?" She asked, hoping equally for the feeling of safety, and the warmth of his body.
