by Katy Evans
To that feeling you can’t express,
but can’t suppress.
PLAYLIST
PRAYER IN C by Robin Schulz
DON’T GET ME WRONG by The Pretenders
WALK by Kwabs
SAME OLD LOVE by Selena Gomez
PHOTOGRAPH by Ed Sheeran
REALIZE by Colbie Caillat
BURNING LOVE by Elvis Presley
WAITING by Dash Berlin, featuring Emma Hewitt
RESOLUTION by Matt Corby
TONIGHT’S THE NIGHT
Robin Schulz’s “Prayer in C” reverberates through the club. It’s an upscale place—to the point of being obnoxious. The walls are covered by frosted glass and sleek waterfalls. Long, cascading, modern crystal chandeliers hang from a domed, diamond-dusted ceiling. Everything is a different shade of blue—light blue drinks in crystal flutes, blue flashing lights, blue-hued water fountains.
Hundreds of guests yell and bounce on the dance floor. Artfully presented drinks are passed around on expensive trays.
Everyone is celebrating their host’s twenty-sixth birthday. Guys have driven thousands of miles and flown in from around the world to be here. Girls have maxed out their credit cards to dress for this event.
My bestie Wynn and I push our way to the back rooms, where the pool and wet bar are.
We’re probably the only ones who didn’t have to sell our future firstborns for an invitation. We’re also probably the only ones overdressed in dresses that are two sizes too small. But since the club is called Waves, and its main attractions are dozens of swimming pools in the back rooms, anything more than a skimpy swimsuit or cover-up is “overdressed.”
I thought being this covered up in a room full of scantily clad girls would keep the wackos away.
Not so.
I’ve already had to fend off three butt-grabs and one blatant boob-cup.
Wynn squeaks every time someone touches her. I suspect she feels secretly flattered by the attention, but I’m starting to get tired of slapping away all the hands.
Seriously, this is not how I usually spend my Saturday nights. Me with a tub of salty light popcorn and my favorite TV show is more like it. Casual jeans and smaller, more intimate gatherings are my thing.
Wynn has been on some sort of crusade to entertain me almost daily since our other bestie (and my former roommate), Rachel, got married last weekend.
Why I let Wynn convince me to come here tonight, I don’t know, but my heart has been pounding since we left.
God, what am I doing here?
“Ginaaaaa!” Wynn sounds frustrated as she squeezes my hand and tugs me forward.
She’s trying to create a path for us. Trying to help me find…him. I have an urge to snatch my hand away and head straight back out the front door because…what am I doing here?
My attention is drawn to the naked women with blue-glitter moons on their nipples, hanging from the crystal chandeliers. They’re basically humping the crystals, all shimmering bodies and exposed skin, squirming around like lizards, wiggling their perfect asses.
My outfit and makeup are the tamest things here. Why did I spend hours getting ready?
My heart is beating fast. Because HE is here. I saw his car parked in the lot—a white Rolls-Royce Ghost that screams money, and the off-road dirt clinging to the wheels that screams “I don’t give a shit.”
It’s been a long time since I’ve been in such a packed club, but then, I should’ve known that a master partier would celebrate his 26th birthday in style.
His name is Tahoe Roth. And he’s just a friend. That’s the only reason I’m here. Because friends celebrate their friends’ birthdays. Don’t they?
“Look, we’ll just walk up to him, say ‘happy birthday,’ and then be on our way,” I say firmly in Wynn’s ear.
She turns around, eyes flaring wide.
“So soon? Before Emmett gets here? No way!” Wynn shoots me a chiding frown and pulls me forward more firmly. “You’re going to strut your stuff, say ‘happy birthday,’ and tell him that you have a present for his eyes only. Then you’ll take him home for the night and get him out of your system once and for all.”
“Um…that would be a hard no.”
“Gina! That was the plan—to get him out of your system.”
I bristle. “That so wasn’t the plan. You can’t work something out of your system that you don’t have in your system!”
Wynn and I squeeze together as people bump past us and toward one of the pool rooms. For the twelfth time today, I regret telling Wynn that I don’t know if I want to punch Tahoe or do him all night long. She’s been on my case ever since.
I’m wearing the sexy underwear that I bought today, thinking of his blue eyes.
My stomach knots as I imagine his dimple.
And now I’m having an anxiety attack, wondering how many tequilas I need to get drunk enough to do what I’ve been fantasizing about all day.
“Let’s get Tahoe in the pool—we need to get those clothes off!”
The whisper comes from my right as a girl and her friend push past us and head to the same pool room we’re walking toward.
“Oooh! Look! There he is!” Wynn says.
I inhale sharply and feel that frustration I always experience when I look at him. He’s infuriating. He’s annoying. He’s cocky. Selfish. Self-centered. Really, I don’t even know why we’re friends.
I stop a passing waiter and steal a tequila shot from his tray, toss it back in one gulp, then turn to where Tahoe is standing. And the tequila does nothing to soothe his effect on me.
He stands with a group of men. But Tahoe Roth is the only one I see.
Beneath the lights his blond hair gleams. His eyes are so blue they look electric. He’s rugged, imperfectly raw. He has a day’s growth of facial hair, and a primal, beastly look about him. Vikings is one of my favorite shows and I can’t help but notice that he bears a striking resemblance to Ragnar. I’m breathless.
And then…his smile, his smile is so contagious and comes so easily. I’ve never seen a guy smile as much as he does. It’s an irreverent smile, a mocking smile, because really, Tahoe never seems to respect anything.
My stomach twists up around my windpipe at the sight of him and that gorgeous, sometimes filthy mouth of his.
The two stalkers who wanted to undress him approach, and he curls his arms around each of them. Just like that, he’s standing with a woman in each arm, and I feel a pang in my chest. An awful pang of fear, the kind that strikes when you’re surrounded by hundreds of strangers, and they all keep dancing, and talking, and drinking…and you’re staring at the guy who’s been haunting your dreams, and you don’t know what to do about it.
What to do about him.
“Gina!” Wynn nudges me. “Get on with the plan. Dude, you know he’s a horny beast. He has a late-October birthday, which means he’s Scorpio, and Scorpio is the sign of sex. And you’re this sultry dark-haired Marilyn Monroe, screaming sex with that little dress and those crimson lips.”
I inhale, trying to summon courage but failing, half turning back the way we came—but unable to leave because Wynn stops me.
“I can’t, Wynn, I really don’t want him, I don’t even like him,” I protest.
Scowling and mad at myself, I avoid looking at HIM when I spot a guy staring at me. He’s short and looks harmless, so I flash him a small smile, praying that he’s not a close friend of Tahoe’s.
The guy grins back and starts walking toward me. I break our eye contact when I hear yells at the end of the room.
“Roth!”
I turn as a girl calls from under the waterfall, and I can’t help but look at him again. Why can’t I just ignore him?
He’s standing with Callan Carmichael and two older men, and t
he two girls with him are stripping down to their bikinis. Carmichael and Tahoe are both just scorching hot. Callan is a copper-haired, tall athletic type, and then…Tahoe.
Tahoe, the beast.
He’s dressed in black from head to toe, his tan accentuated by the flashing lights; his hair appears blonder, his scruff seems darker. My nipples pucker, my thighs clench.
Tahoe Roth is…
Hot to the extreme. Six feet four, at least two hundred pounds of man. At Rachel and Saint’s wedding, even in a tux he looked raw. A power box of testosterone. The area around his eyes is a little crinkled from smiling too much, and maybe partying too hard, and not giving a shit about more than having a good time. His black jeans hang low on his narrow hips and give new meaning to sex-on-a-stick.
The two girls who are after Tahoe and the one who was just beneath the waterfall are tugging and whining and trying to cajole him into the pool.
“Hey.”
Startled, I glance into the stranger’s kind brown eyes and absently say, “Hey,” as I hear a splash and squeals from the girls. I try to glance at the pool but a group that’s come over to cheer blocks me.
A guy in front of me shifts slightly, and I get a glimpse of the pool. And inside…Tahoe, slicking his hair back, his wet shirt plastered to his muscled chest. Then he makes a grab for the ankles of the girls who are standing at the edge of the pool, and they squeal and leap away.
“You three are going to get it,” Tahoe playfully teases them. His irreverent smile displays his dimple. As they giggle flirtatiously, he leaps out, scoops them up and tosses them in, one by one, and they fall into the pool with yelps of delight.
He dives in after them. One of the girls comes up to splash water in his face, but he’s able to splash back more with his big hands. The girls start splashing each other when he stops playing along. He signals for a pool waiter to bring him a drink as he peels off his shirt and tosses it aside. He stretches his arms out on the pool ledge like Roman royalty and then he skims his gaze across the pool as if deciding whether to get out or not.
He pulls himself up, wraps a towel around his waist, and drops his jeans. He steps out of them, and—our eyes meet. Beads of water drip down his torso. He’s cut and golden—cut and golden everywhere; his six-pack, his flat pecs, his muscular arms, even the sides of his calves peeking from under the towel.
He looks at me, his eyes sparkling with recognition, then he looks to the guy standing next to me. He stares at him, then at me, and one of his brows rises in question.
I stand here, amped up and nervous. He steps away from the pool in my direction, radiating heat. His smile quirks, and I see amusement in his eyes at my speechlessness.
I struggle with what to do next. Hug him? Oh god.
Just say happy birthday, Gina!
“Get over here,” he growls under his breath.
“Excuse me?”
“I said come here.”
“No,” I say, scowling.
He smiles and cocks his head back, tilting it to the side just a little. “They’re coming for you.”
“What?” I ask. My nerves are making me shiver.
He signals at two men in swimsuits coming over with mischief in their eyes.
He steps over, grabs me by the waist, and says, “I got her.” He lifts me up over his shoulder like a sack of rice, carries me to the edge of the pool, and then looks past his shoulder and shoots me a grin.
No. He is not going to do what I think he’s going to do.
“Don’t. You. Dare,” I warn, clinging to his wet torso.
Before I know it, he throws me in. I don’t have time to hold my breath. One moment I’m dry, the next I’m falling in an ungraceful splash, sinking.
Sputtering, I surface, and he just stands there, smirking at me.
He then drops his towel and dives in, a perfect dive. His head pops up out of the water and I splash him. I’m so mad I can’t see straight.
“This was my favorite dress, you—”
He dips half of his face under the water as he floats in front of me, only his eyes and nose above the surface. His eyes reflect the water, luminescent.
Frustration is eating at me.
I want to grab his wet hair and kiss him.
I want to pull him underwater and kiss him.
I want to take him home and kiss him.
I want him to take me home and kiss me.
And then I want to forget I ever kissed him, and ever wanted to.
“Roth!” one of the girls calls from the pool steps. The moment Tahoe glances in her direction, she ceremoniously takes off her top.
“Very nice, baby,” he says, smirking, getting a long look at her boobs.
Disgusted, I start to swim to the edge of the pool.
With one powerful stroke, he reaches it first.
He lifts his brows as both our hands curl on the ledge and again, our eyes meet.
His expression is unreadable.
“Fine, so you got me wet,” I finally say, releasing my anger. “I know how you can make it up to me.”
He lunges out of the pool. I pull myself up and he hands me a towel.
“I’m not a one-night-stand kind of girl, which is why I’m giving you the chance only a few others have ever had. One night with me. Happy birthday.”
He scowls as he towels off his chest. “Is this some sort of joke?”
“Excuse me?”
He straightens as he wraps the towel around his hips, his lips quirking sardonically. “How many?”
“What? How many guys?”
“That’s right.”
“I…well, two, and my ex, Paul. But that wasn’t a one-night stand; we were together for two years.”
“In either case, that’s nowhere near enough for you to recover after a night with me.”
I blink in disbelief. “Oh wow, you’re so full of yourself.”
“Hey.” He takes my chin and forces me to stare deeply—painfully—into those blue eyes. “You were vulnerable at Saint’s wedding, and I held you in my arms, and I liked it, but you were right to deny me. You were right and I was wrong.”
I scowl and follow him. “You think I can’t handle you?”
He stops and stands over me. I exhale.
His eyes darken a little.
I’m nervous and vulnerable, wondering if I completely misread him before.
But as we stand there, everything falls away until all I see are those blue eyes. Amusement is gone; something dark and watchful lurks in his gaze.
“Thanks for coming, Regina,” he says.
His words pierce like an arrow through my chest.
“You’re declining my birthday present…?”
He looks away, his jaw tight as he exhales. He draws me away from the crowd, and I see a flash of raw regret in his gaze. “I’ve got nothing good to offer you, Regina.” His gaze holds mine, and he leans forward. He smiles against my ear, my knees turn to rubber. “Seeing you wet was gift enough for me.”
He eases back then crooks a finger and signals for the floozies and the two stalker girls to follow him up a spiral staircase.
I grit my teeth and stare after him with an aching knot in my stomach, hating myself for putting myself in such a vulnerable position, hating that I didn’t work him out of my system when I had the chance. Hating that I’m wet, that he ruined my dress and my evening.
Wynn is waving, standing with Emmett, her eyes filled with concern.
I smile a fake smile at her.
Tahoe is right, it’s better that I rejected him, better to stay away from him. I’ve been hurt before, and knowing I’d have to see Tahoe again because of Saint and Rachel would make having sex an awkward mistake we would have to endure forever.
I just want to drink and forget him—how hard his chiseled muscles felt, forget the way he smelled, all wet and warm.
I’m ready to go home, but Wynn and Emmett are snuggled close together in a booth and I realize I still need sex, a one-night stand, a rem
inder that I’m human and alive and female.
As I turn to leave the pool room, I bump into the guy who’d been staring at me earlier in the night.
“Hey, you okay?” he asks, concerned.
“Oh, I’m perfect. Do you want to get a drink?”
“Hell yeah,” he says.
I ask the guy for his name, and after a few drinks, I take him—Trent—back home.
* * *
We’re in my bed. Hot lips on my neck, hands over my bare flesh. I removed my top but I’m still wearing my damp underwear. I tilt my neck to the side, and I’m transported to Rachel and Saint’s wedding…
After the church ceremony, after a couple of drinks, I steal away from the party and walk for a few minutes toward the beach. I sit and stare at the waves, trying not to think about how much I’m going to miss living with Rachel.
Suddenly, I sense something on the back of my neck, and I know I’m not alone. I know who’s sharing this moment with me.
Him.
Of all the people in the world I wouldn’t like to see me weak, he is at the top of that list.
We’re friends. I guess.
Otherwise I can’t account for why he sits quietly beside me and puts his jacket over my shoulders.
“Thanks,” I say, tugging at it. I feel like he’s hugging me. It smells like him and I realize I’ve never touched something that he’s touched. My skin tingles and my heart aches.
“Why are you crying?” he asks, staring ahead. We both do, as if eye contact would be too intimate.
He leans closer, puts his arm around me, and I feel guarded.
“What are you up to, Tahoe?”
“I’m up to many things.”
I rest my head tentatively on his chest. It feels so nice. Nicer than you’d expect a wall of muscle to feel. “Then go…do them or something,” I grumble.
His voice tickles the hair at my temple. “Do them? In the order I want them?”
My toes curl when he grins.
“I don’t…” I shake my head.
I’m not sure if I’m shaking my head at him, or at the dull throb he’s causing between my legs. He smells of expensive cologne.
