It’s me.
The killer’s call is coming from inside the house…
He leans closer. “So you don’t remember kissing me last night?”
I shake my head, wide-eyed in what I hope looks like innocence mixed with utter shock.
“No? Really?” he murmurs, resting a hand on the curve of my hip, making my skin burn even through the covers and the long skirt I’m wearing beneath. “Then I guess you don’t remember dragging me up to your room, stripping off all of your clothes, and riding me like the last roller coaster left standing?”
My eyeballs attempt to leap out of my skull, but thankfully there are muscles and ligaments in place to keep things like that from happening.
There are not, unfortunately, muscles in place to keep my tongue from flapping. “I did not, you dirty liar.”
“So you do remember,” he says, pointing a victorious finger at my face. “Now who’s the dirty liar, Larry?”
“Don’t call me that,” I mutter automatically, even though I love it when he uses the old nickname. And I hate it, and love to hate it, just like I love to hate this Lost Boy who keeps tempting me off the beaten path and into the jungles of Neverland.
Though, I’m the one who did the tempting this time. I still can’t quite wrap my head around what I did. Just…pouncing on him like that, with no consideration for the consequences or potential fallout. It’s so out of character that there can be only one reasonable explanation.
“Sex deprivation,” I whisper as he stretches out beside me, lying backward on his reclined chair so his head is close to mine. “It finally drove me over the edge of reason. I’m sorry.”
His brows snap together as he exhales. “Why are you sorry? You’re a great kisser, and I think your plan is brilliant.”
I bite my lip, but finally can’t help but ask, “What plan is that again?”
“The Fuck Buddy Last Hoorah Sex-Cation in Vegas plan,” he says in a tone that makes me suspect we must have officially named this plan sometime last night. “It’s a win-win. You break your sex fast and get the orgasms you so richly deserve, I make the most of my last week before I put on my chastity belt without risking any messy romantic entanglements, and we both come home with stories we can never tell anyone else, further ensuring the longevity of our unique friend bond.”
I smile weakly. “Sounds like a win, win, win.”
“Exactly.” He beams, his eyes glittering like dying stars. They always burn brightest right before they burn out—yet another reason I can’t go through with this, even if I thought it was a good idea now that I’m sober.
Colin is at a critical time in his career. He needs to relax, focus, and believe that he can craft a third album as uniquely heartfelt, yet radio ready, as the first two. He doesn’t need to complicate his relationship with the one person in his life he can trust not to blow smoke up his ass.
And I need…
Well, I need to get naked with Colin like I need my hands to fall off. Colin would wreck me; I just know it. He wouldn’t mean to do it, not even a little bit, but it would happen all the same.
I have to undo this. Reel the line back in before I catch something way too big for my boat.
“But I hate Vegas,” I say.
“You’ve never been to Vegas.”
I wrinkle my nose, cursing his steel-trap of a memory. “Yeah, well, some things you know you’re going to hate without having to experience them firsthand. Like bread pudding.”
“The kind with rum is actually pretty good.” Colin shifts onto his side, propping up on one arm as he draws my blanket over to cover him as well. “And Vegas can be a blast. You just have to know where to go, and I’ve already thought of at least five things I want to show you.”
“Like what?” I ask, intrigued in spite of myself. Colin can be unpredictable, but he’s also an excellent travel companion. He always finds the hidden gems the other tourists overlook.
“Like the Neon and Antique Sign Museum,” he says, his brows bobbing up and down beneath his shaggy hair. “Four acres of vintage signage, including a giant neon clown rumored to be haunted.”
A soft, hungry sound escapes my lips, and Colin scoots closer with a grin, “I could take your picture in front of it. It would be fucking sweet as hell for the Funhouse series page on your website…”
“I don’t care about that. I just want to feel its energy up close and see if it feels spooky.”
“I know this about you, but you can do both things.” He brushes my bangs to one side, making me even more aware of how close he is and how lovely he smells, like soap and birthday candle smoke, while I’m sure I smell like something a drunk raccoon puked up on the porch. “And guess what else we could do while we’re there?”
“What?” I ask, lifting a hand to hover in front of my lips.
“Why are you covering your mouth?”
“Because I have dragon breath.”
“You don’t,” he says, leaning closer. “You insisted on brushing your teeth at the airport before we boarded.”
I wince. “Should I be troubled by how little I remember about the journey to the airport and pretty much everything after?”
“Do you get blackout-drunk often?”
I shake my head. “Never. Well, almost never. There was that one time after the Fast Grass festival. Remember that weekend? When we fell asleep in what we thought was an empty field watching the stars come out and woke up to cars parked all around us.”
He laughs. “We’re lucky we weren’t killed.”
“Seriously. I’m never getting blackout-drunk again.”
“I support this plan,” he says, his fingers wrapping lightly around my wrist. “We don’t even have to drink in Vegas if you don’t want to. Now put your hand down.”
“No.” I resist the pressure as he tries to draw my fingers away from my lips. “Why?”
“So I can kiss you while you’re sober and remind you why we decided this was the best idea we’ve ever had.”
My eyeballs impersonate cliff divers again as I shake my head.
“Yes,” he insists, lids drooping to half-mast as he shoots me a look I’m sure has singed the panties off many a groupie and supermodel. “Let me kiss you, Kirby. If you don’t like it, I promise I’ll stop.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about,” I mutter.
“What are you worried about? Don’t be worried.”
“Breath. Bad breath,” I lie, even though I’m pretty sure Colin is right, and my breath is just fine. But I can’t very well tell him that the thought of kissing him while sober is terrifying to me. I can’t let Colin in on the secret I’ve been keeping since the night of the vampire snowmen, the night we walked alone through the snow and it felt like we were the only two people left on earth.
Kissing him is the first step on a road that ends with my complete and utter mortification. And probably the end of our friendship, which would be even worse.
I need Colin in my life. As crazy as it sounds, this bad-boy rock star is the only adult I can count on when shit gets real. My mom is a hot mess who I haven’t talked to since I was seventeen, my sister is a sweetheart, but far too anxious to turn to in times of trial, and my other friends—almost all of them artists of one kind or another—are even more socially awkward than I am. Gigi doesn’t leave the house except on Sunday afternoons, when she goes to buy more paint, Nisha is physically incapable of making plans in advance or showing up anywhere on time, and Lars is so afraid to drive he has to have his boyfriend chauffer him everywhere. Theo, my surrogate little sister and Bridget’s bestie, is the only semi-normal person in our group, and she talks so much she makes my ears bleed if I’m not careful to limit my exposure.
Colin is my safe place, the one person with whom I can let down my guard, and be my real, unfiltered self. He’s the only one who knows why I’m so weird around loud noises and people who yell in public places. People who yell, period. Peter witnessed a Mortifying Meltdown a couple of times, but I
refused to talk about the why of it all, even with the guy I’d been dating for almost two years.
Only Colin knows about my mom and how bad it was when I was really little, before I grew up enough to take care of myself and Bridget. Only he knows about the shit show in the courtroom when I became emancipated and actually got guardianship of my sister at seventeen because our mom was that much of a nightmare. He was there. He held my hand while we waited for the judge to make her decision, and he hugged me after when I cried so hard with relief it felt like I was turning inside out.
If I lost him…
I can’t even think about it.
I nod again, more emphatically. “It’s bad. The breath. I can tell.”
“Okay, okay,” Colin says, in a tone that makes it clear he thinks I’m full of it. “Then I won’t kiss you on the lips.”
Before I can say a word, he disappears under the blanket, and my heart leaps into my throat. “Stop it,” I whisper, fumbling for his head but getting tangled up in what has to be the world’s largest, most luxurious plane blankie. By the time I free my arms and locate the bulge that is his head, he’s pushed my T-shirt up and is kissing my stomach—soft but firm kisses that make my breath catch and my belly flip.
He murmurs something I can’t make out, but that I suspect is a request for me to relax, and shifts lower, trailing kisses along the elastic waistband of my favorite black peasant skirt. It’s so comfortable I barely feel like I’m wearing anything from the waist down, and it can be up for an emergency pee break in two seconds flat.
It is also an easy-access garment for other things…
Things like Colin’s mouth as he draws the elastic down to my hip bones and then lower still until his fingers catch on the sides of my panties and they join the Coming Off on a Plane party.
Holy. Shit. This is really happening.
Colin is taking my panties off on a plane, while he presses increasingly hot kisses to the hollow by my hip, the top of the dark blond curls I haven’t tamed in probably far too long, and then…
“Oh my God,” I mouth almost silently as he kisses me there, his tongue teasing out to flick across my clit like he’s done this a hundred times before.
And he probably has, but not to me. Until last night, the closest Colin and I had ever gotten physically was a friendly hug or holding hands at a crowded music festival so we didn’t get separated in the crush of people.
But now I have kissed him, and it was completely fantastic, and now he’s urging my thighs apart and shifting his head. And then his tongue is swirling around the top of me as his finger finds where I’m wet and pushes inside. And then he adds a second finger and more delicious friction and—
Oh.
Oh my—
Oh my yes there. That. Oh my—
I smash my fist into my mouth, stifling my groan as I join the mile-high club.
Does it count as the mile-high club if it’s oral? I don’t know, but it feels like it should count. And after nine long, lonely months, an orgasm brought about by another person instead of my own sad fingers is like waking up to learn they’ve decided Halloween should be celebrated twice a year.
So. Damned. Good. I feel wicked, wonderful, and so satisfied that when Colin emerges from the blanket, his cheeks flushed and his wild hair even crazier than usual, all I can do is let out a ragged sigh.
He grins. “See? It’s going to be amazing.” He leans in, kissing my forehead before adding in a whisper, “And your pussy is magically delicious.”
My face goes hot, but I keep my tone casual as I ask, “Like Lucky Charms?”
“Nothing like Lucky Charms.” His fingers slip back over my mound to push inside me, making me suck in a surprised breath. “Sugary cereal is for children, Kirby, and this pussy is full grown and capable of asking for what she wants.”
“You have to stop,” I say, moaning softly against his lips as he kisses me in that same barely-contained, starved-for-me way he kissed me last night. But this time, he tastes like me, an intimate flavor that is so sexy I want to let go and get lost in him again, but I can’t, or we’re going to get caught sex-handed. “Seriously. I hear the beverage cart. Someone’s coming.”
“You, I hope,” he says, grinding the heel of his palm against my sensitized clit. “I want to make you come again. But first I want you to tell me what your pussy wants.”
“Colin, please…” I fist my fingers in his soft T-shirt, holding on for dear life as he takes me to the edge.
“Tell me.” His commanding tone isn’t anything like the Colin I’ve known for over a decade. But I’ve never seen this side of him, the side that only comes out to play with his kissing friends. “Tell me, Kirby,” he says again, “what does your pussy want?”
“You,” I gasp against his mouth, rocking into his hand, shamelessly seeking what I need. “You. Making me come. Please.”
“Good girl,” he says, increasing the pressure on my clit until my eyes roll back in my head. “Now, come for me. That’s it… Fuck, yes, I love feeling your pussy so tight and wet, Kirby. You’re hot as hell when you come.”
He keeps going, spilling out a stream of encouraging and complimentary filth until I dissolve into the seat beneath me, turning molten and sticky sweet with a cry he mutes with his lips on mine.
We pull ourselves together seconds before the beverage cart arrives. Lifting our seats to an upright position, Colin orders a coke with lime and I order a ginger ale with no ice.
And then we sit staring at each other, lips hidden behind the rims of our little plastic cups.
“You are bad,” I say.
“But good at it,” he says with a wink.
“Agreed.” I nod. “So good that you deserve a reward. But I’m going home as soon as I return the favor. I can’t stay an entire week in Vegas.”
He shrugs. “We’ll see.”
“Return the favor, then home,” I insist. “That’s it.”
He smiles smugly and takes a smug drink of his coke while his eyebrows do a smug dance of smugness over his smug eyes. He thinks he’s got my number, but he doesn’t. My will to maintain our friendship is stronger than my libido. And I’m going to prove it…
Right after I replay everything he just did to me about a hundred times in my mind.
Or maybe a thousand, if there’s enough flight left.
Chapter Three
Colin
Return the favor…
Who knew such an innocent phrase could inspire such an endless barrage of X-rated imagery? The naughtiness is still streaming nonstop on my mental screen as Kirby and I emerge from the Jetway into McCarren International Airport, her muttering into her open duffle bag and me busy imagining my best friend’s lips wrapped around my cock.
It’s scandalous, and maybe I should be ashamed of myself, but I’m not.
I’m just…excited. Excited to spend a week with one of my favorite people, excited to coax more sexy coming-sounds from her mouth, excited to find out if fucking Kirby is as amazing as I think it will be. I’m trying not to get my hopes—or anything else—up prematurely, but so far, the chemistry between us is intense.
Who would have thought?
That after all these years there were still stories left to tell about us?
“Stories left to tell about us,” I murmur, my brain beginning to tingle as I whip out my phone to make a note. “I think I’ve got a song coming in, Larry.” I nudge Kirby’s arm with my elbow. “See? Vegas was a great idea.”
“I’m glad someone has something. I’ve got three T-shirts, one pair of panties, and this…” Kirby pulls a pair of cat ears from her bag with an arched brow. “Are we attending a costume party I’ve forgotten about? One to which I was planning to wear nothing but panties, a T-shirt, and my cat ears?”
I laugh and nudge her again as the ears jog my memory. “No, but you did insist on bringing Murder along for the trip. You spent so much time making sure he had food and all the stuff he needed to travel as a checked pet, I don’t th
ink you gave yourself time to pack for yourself.”
With a sigh, she lets her shoulders relax away from her ears. “Oh good. That’s one thing I can mark off my list to text Bridget about. I’m glad we didn’t leave him for her to watch with the rest of the kitty kids. She’s so busy. Without me around to keep an eye on him, Murder would be an easy target.”
I frown. “I can’t believe someone threatened to kidnap your cat.”
“Kidnap him and ‘make him suffer the way I made them suffer,’ whatever that means.” She stuffs the cat ears back in her duffle and zips it up.
“And this just popped up in your email?”
“No, they sent the threat to my agent’s office in New York. We took it to the police, but they didn’t seem overly concerned, didn’t even try to test the paper for prints. They said it’s probably just a disgruntled fan venting their frustration about the end of the Funhouse series and nothing will come of it. But I’d rather not take any chances with my best friend.”
“I thought I was your best friend.”
“Nope.” She sniffs as she hitches her bag higher on her shoulder. “You’ve been downgraded to kissing friend, at least until I fulfill my obligation to your penis and book a ticket home.”
I grunt. “Several things I take issue with there, Larry. Firstly, a fuck buddy shouldn’t be a downgrade. I’m still your best friend but now conferred with additional carnal benefits—an upgrade any way you look at it. Also, you are not obligated to my penis. My penis and I only want your attention if you’re hot for us. If you can’t imagine going to sleep tonight without experiencing how much harder I can make you come when I’m inside you, for example.”
Kirby’s eyes slide my way before completing a scan of our surroundings. “So you just…talk like that? No matter who might hear you?”
“Talk like what?” I glance over my shoulder. “And no one’s close enough to hear me. I’m talking softly, using my bedroom voice so you’ll find it impossible not to think about what it would be like to have me in your bedroom. And your pussy.”
She exhales. “You’re impossible.”
The Bangover Page 3
