by Logan Chance
He stares at me for a second, and I get trapped in the sky-blue color of his eyes.
I lick my lips and step away, but he rounds the island, and in an instant his arm is around my waist, and I slam my mouth to his. My heart thuds and thumps, striking against my chest as we cling and grapple at each other.
“We can’t just keep kissing,” I whisper when he breaks his lips from mine to kiss a path down my neck.
“Why not?”
“Well…” I have no words. No way to explain how I’m feeling. Or even what I’m feeling. All I know is I can’t keep kissing him. “We just can’t.”
He pulls back and his hooded gaze searches mine. “Do you want to kiss me?”
“Yeah.”
“Then what’s the problem?” He has a real look of concern, like I’m a puzzle and he can’t seem to find the missing piece of why on Earth I’d have a problem kissing him.
“The problem is,” I push him away and he steps back, “tabloids. And is this a one-time thing and then you go back to LA?”
He blows out a breath, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. “Ok, I realize it’s not ideal, but…”
He doesn’t finish his thought, because I cut him off. “No, it’s not ideal.” I cross my arms. “Are we fuck buddies? Do we tell our parents? Or do we sneak? Clandestine stolen moments at holidays dressed in our matching pajamas?”
“Listen, I don’t know the answer to those questions. I just wanted to kiss you.”
“There is no just kissing you,” I say, softly. “You’re a movie star about to become my stepbrother and whether it’s wrong or not, they’ll make it wrong.” He runs a hand through his hair in agitation, but he has to know I’m right. “I can’t risk the job in Seattle because I’m plastered on tabloids for,” I struggle with the next words but finally say them, “just a kiss.”
His brows draw together. “No, you’re right. I just…”
He doesn’t finish his sentence, and he doesn’t have to. It’s just not going to ever work.
His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he fishes it out. “Fuck,” he curses, staring at the screen.
“What?”
When he looks up at me, it reminds me of what I saw on Charla’s face: trepidation. “Jared just sent this over.”
He turns the phone toward me, and I really don’t want to look, but I inch over with feet made of stone and immediately regret it.
A very angry Ethan has Chris, one of the rodeo clowns, shoved against the concrete wall of the arena by his throat.
The headline reads: ‘Ethan Hale defending his soon to be stepsister’s honor, against a clown? Is there more going on than meets the eye?’
This is not good. Not good at all. Who comes up with this stuff?
“How do you get them to stop?” I ask, biting my lower lip with nervous energy.
He slides the phone back into the pocket of his shorts with a caustic smirk. “Stay inside.”
“That’s sad.”
He shrugs. “It’s life.”
“Your life.” I feel the sting of my words as soon as they leave my mouth.
“You’re right.” He turns to walk away. “Just friends then.”
“Wait,” I reach for his arm, “I didn’t mean it like that.”
But he’s already out the front door.
It slams.
I spend the rest of the day cleaning and debating whether to reach out to him or let it go.
He decides for me.
I get a text that reads: Meet me at the airport tomorrow at noon.
Chapter 17
Ethan
I can’t stay away from Nova. As hard as I might try.
Being a movie star has perks. One of those perks is having access to connections who can pull strings so tight you have a private jet waiting on the tarmac of a Mayberry airport in less than twenty hours.
Nova parks her car and saunters toward me in a white sundress that cascades around her golden thighs. Seriously, what the fuck is with this torture? The breeze taunts me, lifting it just enough to make my dick ache. Never have I wanted to dive under a dress and taste what’s beneath as bad as I do right now.
“Hey,” she greets me, stopping about three feet away as if I’m going to bite her. And I certainly will at some point. “Are you leaving?”
“I borrowed a friend’s jet,” I tell her, distracted by the stiff peaks of her nipples straining against the cotton material. There’s no way she’s wearing a bra.
I’m a man, so I don’t know the technical flowery terms to describe her dress. A shirt without sleeves and two thin straps circling her neck where a collar would be. It’s fucking hot. Five little buttons tempt me to undo them.
“Where are you going?”
“You’re taking a job in Seattle. Ever been there?”
She tilts her head at me. “No.”
“Well, let’s go check it out.”
Her eyes widen. “Really?”
“Yep,” I answer.
She looks at the plane and back at me, and it never crossed my mind she might say no. But she just might. She chews her lip, and I should’ve known she wouldn’t just board. I never know what I’m going to get with her.
“I’ve never even been on a plane before, ever,” she tells me with worried brown eyes. “It doesn’t seem natural.”
Ah, she’s scared. Some odd feeling of protectiveness encompasses me.
“Flying is safer than driving.”
“I’ve heard that, but I still don’t believe it.” Me neither, but I’m not going to tell her that. Can’t really say I enjoy it, but it’s a necessary evil. “I can control a car, but I can’t control that plane.”
“Sometimes you have to stop trying to control everything and think about the destination.” This girl turns me into Buddha or some shit. “Yes?”
She sighs. “Ok.”
I grin at her answer and usher her to the plane before she can back out.
We board, and as we wait for takeoff, she reaches over to place her small hand in mine. She squeezes, tight, resting our hands in her lap.
“I’m scared. Really fucking scared. And when I’m scared, I fucking curse.” The engines amplify, and we roll down the runway. “When I was stuck on that wall at the rodeo, I told that motherfucker to get me over.” I hold back a laugh as the plane gains speed. “Why are we going so fucking fast? If I fucking die, I’m going to be so damn upset.” She looks over at me with big eyes. “I never got to have sex with you.”
My heart thumps faster than the plane barreling toward lift off. I release her hand and trail my hand up her silky thigh, forgetting about her rule of no contact. Her breath hitches, and I groan when I trace a finger along her panties and then slip underneath to glide along her bare lips. She’s so wet. When I dip inside, her eyes flutter closed. And as we jet down the runway and begin to ascend, I get her off, taking her into the metaphoric clouds as we aim toward the heavens above. It’s a religious experience when her pussy clenches around my finger. After the tremors subside, I leave her heat and suck the sweetness off my finger. So good.
Doe eyed, she watches, and then finally speaks, “I, uh…”
Her breathy voice falters, and I absolve her of her guilt. “It’s ok, we don’t have to discuss it.”
“That would be great,” she says, turning to gaze out the window.
The rest of the flight is filled by her with idle chit-chat between white-knuckled bouts of silence. She handles the descent like a seasoned flyer, though, with no curse words. Much to my disappointment. When the plane touches down in Seattle, it’s definitely a whole new world. We leave the airport and snag a cab.
“Where to first?” I ask.
“Oh, hm. I don’t know. I guess we can go visit the news station.”
“Great idea.”
She gives the cabbie the address, and I sit back to enjoy the view from behind my shades. Yes, I should be looking out the window, taking in the great architecture and skyline of the city, but I can�
��t peel my eyes from her. From her demure neckline, and the way I want to suck along her collarbone.
“We should definitely see the Space Needle,” she says with excitement. “And there’s an underground city from The Great Fire we can do.”
“Cool, sure.”
Is it bad that all I can think about doing is her? Seriously, what is wrong with me?
This lust I have has multiplied and expanded. And now I can’t contain it. It’s bursting from my pores. Can’t ward it off or fight against it. And now that I know what she looks like when she comes, I want her so much more.
“You’re acting funny,” she says with a frown line between her brows, “Is this about...”
I shake my head. “No.”
“What’s it about? You hate Seattle?”
I smile. “No, I don’t hate it.”
In fact I might love it. It’s a cool city. I might love it even more being here with her.
She doesn’t say anymore. We sit silently next to each other as the cab takes us downtown.
When we stop in front of the glass and steel skyscraper where she’ll be working, she sucks in an awestruck breath. “I’ve never seen anything so big.”
“That’s what she said,” I say, cracking a grin at my own joke, as we climb out of the cab,
She laughs, and I kind of wish she didn’t, because the sound makes me want it again, and well, I’m not really a joke teller.
We decide not to go inside the building once we see the security sign-in at the front, and instead we meander down the sidewalk, taking in the atmosphere of this cool city.
“Do you feel a bit like a caged animal waiting for these people to stop and stare?” she asks, referring to the crowd moving around us.
“Nah, no one knows I’m here. And unless there just happens to be a paparazzi staking out someone else and just happens to see me, I don’t see this becoming headline news.”
”Mm,” she muses, “I’m waiting for someone to jump out at me.”
“You can’t let them get to you. Yeah, it’s tough, but you just have to keep living.”
“Keep living is hard when your life is under scrutiny all the time.”
I stop walking. “It’s the stolen moments we should live for then.” The sunlight turns her blond hair into a golden halo when she turns to me. “Let’s go have some fun,” I say.
And for the rest of the time, that’s what we do. We act like tourists, experiencing the Space Needle and Pike Place Market. We tour the underground city from the Great Fire and finish it off with beers from the tap in the saloon. It’s all normal—well, except, the constant semi— but, other than that, she treats me like Ethan. And neither of us mention tabloids, or the wedding looming off in the future.
Later that night, she’s exhausted by the time we enter the plane. There are no curse words on take-off, just a smiling, beautiful girl that rivals the twinkling stars in the night sky. I’m officially entering the fucking danger zone comparing her to celestial beings.
I bust through all the yellow caution tape and plow right into it when I drive her home, and with barely open eyes, she tells me I can stay. And I do. And I don’t stay on the couch— somewhere before dawn, I crawl under the covers with her, and wrap her into my chest, inhaling her scent.
Chapter 18
Ethan
I’m out of Nova’s front door bright and early the next morning. No sense in giving speculators anything to speculate about.
I shouldn’t have stayed the night, and I definitely should have stayed on the couch. I shouldn’t have watched her sleeping and thought about things that get me into trouble. Like kissing her again or touching her.
I need to blow off some steam, or I’ll go insane.
I text Beau, and within twenty minutes, I’m at his house.
“What did you need?” he asks, opening his front door to me with real concern on his face.
“I just needed to get away. What’s fun to do in this town that no one will bother us?” I ask.
“Ever shoot a gun?”
And a little while later, that’s exactly what we do. We’re situated on the back of his property, shooting cans off a log. Something I’ve only really ever seen done in the movies, but here I am doing it.
Haven’t hit a can yet, but this is exactly what I needed to let off some steam.
“I asked that friend of Nova’s to be my date to the wedding,” he tells me.
“Oh yeah? Purple-tipped hair girl?” I ask in between rounds.
He aims and hits his target. “Yeah, Charla.”
I aim and miss. Fucker. “Who’s Nova going with, do you know?”
He shrugs. “Don’t know.”
My mind does a tally of every single man in Pity Falls. Probably Brody and his cowboy hat.
I shake my head, trying not to care who she brings. “What’s her ex like?”
He rattles off facts like he’s filling out a police report.
Six feet, Caucasian, brown hair and eyes, probably a hundred and eighty pounds.
I hold up a hand. “Ok, now tell me some stuff like I’m not a cop.”
He laughs. “He’s a real dick. They dated for about a year. The whole time he was sneaking around with other women.”
“Why didn’t anyone tell her?” I ask.
“No one knew. He played the part of doting boyfriend so well.”
“Fucking asshole,” I mutter.
Beau side eyes me. “You ok, man?” He puts the safety on his gun and interrogates me with his stare.
“Yeah, just stressed.”
I scrub a hand along my jaw, waiting for him to pull out a lie detector test.
He accepts my answer and puts the guns away, then returns with beers.
We sit in loungers on his back porch, watching the fading sun, while he fills me in on everything Pity Falls. He’s cool, but more than anything, I want to see what Nova is doing. I haven’t texted her all day or heard from her. She’s probably irritated I skipped out early this morning, but lately, it’s better than facing the music.
Pretty soon, no matter how many times I skip out on LA, it’s going to be a blaring orchestra heard round the world, because trying to please everyone is a craziness all its own.
“Are you even listening to me?” Nova says with a hand parked on her hip.
“Of course, I am.” I have no clue as to what she just said, but I give her a megawatt smile.
She rolls her eyes. “Let’s just get this done. I have things to do today.”
When Nova and I got roped into picking out items for the wedding registry, I thought sure, that could be fun. But, I didn’t realize it meant walking around a department store looking for boring items Dahlia would like.
It’s been a few days since our trip to Seattle, since I had my fingers tucked so deeply inside Nova, and honestly, I don’t know how to act around her. I’m trying to be casual, giving her the space she so desperately wants. When she told me I can’t keep kissing her, I knew I had to leave her alone, had to step away, but then I just fucking can’t, man.
It’s like I’m a completely different person around her. And it’s not just because I want to fuck her silly, or see her smile, but I genuinely like hearing what she has to say. She’s smart, and it makes me actually care.
“Everyone needs towels.” I point the register gun and scan a pack of plush yellow towels. “Your mom has terrible towels.”
“Look at this,” Nova calls me over to where she stands in front of a glass cat figurine.
“I don’t think that’s a wedding worthy gift.”
“What’s wedding worthy in your eyes?”
“This.” I move over to a silver mixing bowl for cooking or mixing or whatever one does with a bowl made of steel. “People love getting this stuff.”
She laughs. “I’m sure they do, but my mother has plenty of bowls.”
I scan the item and wink at her. “Well, now she’ll have one more.”
“Let’s just keep moving.”
/> For some reason Nova’s giving me the cold shoulder, it could be guilt, it could be because I left her house so early the next morning after Seattle and haven’t called her since. I let it go as I follow her around, scanning senseless items on my way.
We work our way through the housewares area of the store until we’re interrupted by a group of tweens. Their bubblegum smiles and flashing iPhones invade our shopping spree, and I stop for a second to snap a few pictures with them.
“That was nice of you,” Nova says as soon as the girls leave.
“What was?”
“Stopping to take pictures with them.”
“Well, they’re the reason I even have a job. I don’t mind doing it, brightening someone’s day, it’s the paparazzi that annoy me.”
“Yeah, they’re the worst.”
“Not always.”
We move together through the store, checking off a few items at a time for the registry.
“Yes, always,” she says with a frown, scanning a set of wine glasses.
“Sometimes I go out just to get my picture taken with them.”
“Why would you ever do that?”
“Sometimes it’s good to stay in the spotlight so people don’t forget about you,” I explain. “Like casting directors.” She listens as we wander down the aisle. “Sometimes my PR agent will set up a little outing and let the paparazzi know I’ll be there, so I can smile for a few pictures and then be on my way.”
“A deal with the devil, I guess.”
That’s exactly what it is. Fame and riches for your soul.
“They need this.” I scan a set of R2D2 measuring cups. “Are you excited about Seattle?” I ask her, changing the subject.
She lowers her gun. “I’m a little excited, and maybe more afraid.”
She gives a smile, so soft and sweet. I want to take her over to one of the fake beds and sink into her, feel the tight pussy I know she has.
“You’ll do fine. Besides, you loved Seattle,” I say.
“How could you tell?”
“By the sparkle in your eyes while we were there.”
