When Alyssa arrives she's wearing a guilty look. She greets me with a hug, squeezing me much tighter than she usually does. There's something strange about it, but it's still sweet and warm.
Ellen clears her throat, turning her gaze to Alyssa. "Won't you two get enough of that tonight? Geez."
"You're just jealous," Alyssa says.
"We'll see who goes home with the hotter guy," Ellen says. She looks to the guy behind the bar, a twenty-something in a tight T-shirt.
She's been staring at him all night.
"Unless you and Luke somehow convince me I'm open to a threesome, I'm going home with the hotter guy."
"A threesome with another girl? No way."
Nicholas rolls his eyes. "Can either of you talk about something besides sex for forty-five seconds?"
Ellen looks straight at Nicholas, copying and exaggerating his eye roll as if she's mocking him. "I'm finding my truth, and my truth is all about cocks."
"Philistine," he says.
"Pretentious asshat," Ellen mutters. She sticks her tongue out and flips Nicholas off.
"Play nice you guys. This is my last night here," Alyssa says.
"For you dear, I'll consider it." Ellen makes eye contact with Alyssa. "That's a major show of friendship--that I'll be nice to Nicholas to make you happy."
Nicholas shakes his head, but he doesn't seem bothered. They must do a lot of this kind of thing.
Ellen scoots out of her seat. "I'll get the next round. Tequila shots are on me!"
She pushes out of the booth without waiting for a reaction. We don't have a choice in the matter. It's tequila shots or bust.
Alyssa scoots closer to me. She turns toward me and presses her lips against mine.
The rush of contact sends a shiver down my spine, but there's something off about it.
"Are you okay?" I ask.
She nods, offering a weak smile. "There's a lot to think about." She turns to Nicholas. "How do you do this all the time?"
He shrugs. "You get used to it."
Ellen returns with the shots and hands one to each of us. "To... getting totally wasted."
Alyssa laughs, but she slams back her shot quickly. There's a certain joy to it, but there's also a desperation.
Ellen slams her shot, coughing. She shakes her head and jumps up and down. "You two--" She points to me and Nicholas. "This is a party. And a party calls for shots."
I bring my glass to my lips, tasting the first hint of tequila. I've never really been one for shots, but what the hell? I tilt my head back and swallow it in one gulp.
Alyssa leans into me, wrapping her arms around me. I turn to her, searching for meaning in her expression, but I can't make anything of it.
"Hey, you two--enough. This is a party. Stop looking so cuddly and adorable."
"Damn, Ellen. You really are jealous," Nicholas says.
"Fine. Be adorable. What do I care? It's not like this is Alyssa's last night in the city with us."
"If you want a chance to be adorable, you should probably try a second date."
"I get everything I need on the first." She sticks her tongue out.
Nicholas shakes his head. "Then why are you jealous?"
Ellen narrows her eyes. "Oh, go find some eighteen-year-old college student who will want to hear all about your truth on stage."
"You could be serious about the craft," Nicholas says.
"I am damn serious! I'm just not a pretentious fool." Ellen steps towards the bar. "You guys want to be difficult, fine. But I am going to get another drink. And I am going to have fun. You can sit here and talk about truth and cuddle and whatever. I don't care." She marches to the bar.
Nicholas turns to us. "She's always like this."
"You guys really work together that often?" Alyssa asks.
Nicholas sighs. "Unfortunately." He slides out of the booth and offers his hand for Alyssa to shake. "It was nice working with you."
She grabs his hand and shakes. "I thought you hated me."
"Everyone thinks that." He releases her grip and waves good-bye. "I'm sure I'll see you again sometime. Call me if Ellen gets too drunk. I'll take her home."
"Sure," Alyssa says. She watches Nicholas leave, then turns to me. "We can get out of here. Go back to the apartment for one last time."
"Are you sure that's what you want?"
"We don't have to analyze every little thing to death." She pulls away from me, fighting a sigh. "Okay. Forget it. I'll have another drink. We'll entertain Ellen."
"We're going to spend the next week together," I say.
"I know."
"Then we'll be back in Los Angeles. Back to our normal lives."
"I know that too," she says. She pushes out of the booth, smoothing her skirt and her blouse. "It's fine, really."
"What's up, Ally? There's something weird about you."
She shrugs, but there's nothing aloof about it. Something is up. Something is up and, as usual, she won't talk about it.
"Nothing is up," she says. "I'd rather be in bed with you than be at this party. Is that a problem for you?"
"Is that all it is?"
She shakes her head. "Forget it. I'm sure we'll be too drunk by the time we leave anyway."
Alyssa offers a smile, but it's a consolation prize, a whatever you say. She joins Ellen at the bar. They joke about something, laughing and whispering in each other's ears.
I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. This is a huge change for Alyssa. It's possible that this is stress, that this is nothing.
***
The night goes quickly. Alyssa and Ellen swap stories all night, teasing each other and professing their undying friendship. By the time we leave the bar, everyone is too drunk for sense but sober enough to get home okay.
It's dark outside, and a cold wind whips around us. The temperature is somewhere around freezing, but it doesn't faze Alyssa. She grinds her body into mine, slipping her arms under my coat, then under my shirt.
My skin burns from her touch and my body fights to take over. To convince my brain to take her into the alley, press her against the wall, and fuck her until she's screaming.
She's so desperate. She'd come in minutes.
She kisses me hungrily, her tongue sliding into my mouth as her nails dig into my skin. Mhmm. I pull her closer and slide my hands under her skirt. Damn. The fabric of her tights is thin, and it would feel so damn good to peel it off.
We were apart for so long. We have so much time to make up for.
She runs her fingertips over my stomach. It would feel so good to touch her, to have her touch me, but it's a bad idea. Something is wrong, really wrong, and sex is only going to distract her from her feelings.
When we break, she looks up into my eyes expectantly. "It's our last night in New York..." Her voice is low, seductive.
"You're drunk," I say.
"Not that drunk." She leans closer, sliding her hands under my shirt again, sliding her fingertips over my skin.
My heart races, my blood fleeing my brain. Will making Alyssa come really make matters worse? That doesn't seem right.
I grab her ass, pressing my crotch into hers. She sighs and leans into me. Her lips are on my lips. Her tongue is in my mouth. Hell, her hands are on my chest, filling my whole damn body with want.
I need to get inside her and quickly.
But I step back. If this goes any further, I won't be able to stop myself.
"Can we talk?" I ask.
She shakes her head. "I'm not really in the mood for conversation." Her voice is harsh, but she tries to shrug it off. "I suppose we should grab a cab, get our stuff, and get ready for our flight."
I nod.
"Okay," she says, folding her arms but trying not to look annoyed.
"Did something happen?" I ask.
"Yeah. My life was turned upside down for six months." She takes a step towards the street, throwing her arm out to hail a cab.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
Alyssa
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I spend most of the flight sleeping off my massive hangover. Ellen wasn't kidding about drinking until we drop.
Luke is sweet, fixing my blanket, offering me water or club soda or saltines. He makes nothing of me not eating. Either he believes it's nausea or he's learned I can take care of myself.
Under the cover of the blanket, I slide my fingers over my engagement ring. But the feeling of the smooth platinum and the hard diamond does nothing to illuminate my situation.
Luke is next to me. If I manage to peel my eyes open to let in the horribly bright lights--God forbid--I'll see him, sitting next to me, reading some paperback piece of pulp fiction, half his attention on me.
He loves me. I don't doubt that, not even for a second.
But Ryan's words keep replaying in my head. Most people aren't strong enough to be with someone so guarded.
Most people aren't strong enough to put up with my bullshit.
I pull the blanket tighter, willing the pounding in my head to go away. Ryan doesn't know the first thing about love. He treated me like a damn pet. If he really loved me, if he really knew anything...
The plane hits a pocket of turbulence and I jerk out of my chair, the seat belt pulling against my pelvis. Ow.
Luke leans in towards me, his hand on my shoulder. "You okay?"
I nod, but I keep my eyes pressed closed, my body turned towards the window.
"How's the headache?" he asks.
I groan. "I'm never drinking again."
He wraps his arms tighter around me, laughing a deep, hearty laugh. "I'll hold you to that."
"Maybe not never again."
I blink my eyes open--damn, it's bright--and look back to Luke. His attention is on me, and he's damn sincere. Those big, brown eyes are so wide and so full of concern.
He leans in closer, until I can feel the heat of his body, smell his breath.
"If you make it to the hotel, I have a surefire hangover cure."
"And you tell me now?" I lean closer, soaking in the warmth of his body.
"Mhmm. And you'll definitely like it."
My head fills with all sorts of wonderful ideas, pushing out any memories of last night. Ryan stopped by to apologize for being an asshole. No big deal. It's not like I buy into any of his words. It's not like his warning, his concern, whatever it is... It's not like it scared me.
Not even a little bit.
I press my lips against Luke's. They taste like Earl Grey tea and honey, and they're so soft and warm. This is all that matters.
Ryan has no hold on me. Nothing he said affects me in any damn way.
***
My hangover shrinks into a dull ache bouncing around my head, but I'm still not at one hundred percent. It's late afternoon here, and the sun is high and bright. It bounces off the floor, filling the whole lobby with light.
The space is open. Hell, it's practically a courtyard. The warm, humid air sticks to my skin, and it's damn sweet. Some wonderful mix of salt and tropical fruit.
I sit in a cushy leather chair while Luke takes care of the check-in business. The ocean is only a few hundred feet away and it's a perfect, crystal blue. Everything is decorated in bright colors. The chairs are teal and orange. The desks are a vibrant gold.
Luke sits next to me. He runs his hands along my cheek. His touch is delicate, and there's such a sweetness to it. All I want to do is close my eyes and melt into him.
"You ready to see our room?" he asks.
I nod. He takes my hands and pulls me out of the chair. I stumble, ever so slightly, landing in his arms.
Fuck it. I press my eyes closed and soak in the feeling of his body around mine. This is perfect. This is everything.
I pull back, steadying myself and taking his hand. He leads me to the elevator. There's already a car on this floor, and it's just for us. I step inside, leaning against the railing for support.
His hand is still on mine. "Our room is called a royal suite."
"What does that mean?"
He smiles. "It means it's amazing."
The elevator stops on our floor. Luke squeezes my hand and leads me down the hallway.
"Fuck, that window is really bright," he warns.
It is horrifyingly bright. I squeeze my eyes closed. Anything to keep from reactivating my hangover.
He laughs and helps me to the room.
"You can open your eyes now," he says.
I do. The room is amazing. The furniture is a mix of bright and calm blues, but with the curtains drawn, the room is dim enough to bear.
Luke lays me on the bed and brings me a cup of water. He laughs as I squint at him with what must be a look of utter agony.
"You're cute when you're miserable," he says.
"You would know."
I feel his hands on my hips. Then they're unzipping me.
"Don't get any ideas," he says, as he lifts my ass and pulls my jeans to my feet.
I have all sorts of fucking ideas.
I blink my eyes open, meeting his gaze. There's always something sincere about him, but it's heightened today. It's like he's desperate to please me, to prove he really can make me happy, really can make this work.
My chest tightens. I'm getting ahead of myself. The two of us are in a gorgeous hotel room in the middle of paradise. We can discuss these kinds of awful matters later, when we're free from aching heads.
"I have a few ideas," I say.
He smirks, swinging his knees around my hips so he's straddling me. I arch into him, pressing my crotch against his.
"You're dreaming," he says.
But he places his arms alongside my body, leans down, and presses his lips into mine.
His kiss is hot and sweet, a wonderful spark igniting everything inside me. A gentle warmth floods my body. We've barely touched in the last two weeks. God, we need to touch.
I dig my hands into his hair, pulling him closer. The sweetness slips away, his kiss becoming hungry and desperate. I'm pouring need into him, just like I have a million times before.
He breaks our kiss. "This isn't what I meant by a hangover cure." His voice is heavy and strained.
And he's hard. He wants this as much as I do.
"You couldn't have meant anything better than this," I say.
He leans closer, his fingertips on my shoulders. "Not better. Just different." He runs his fingers over my skin, until they're on my neck, my chin, my cheek.
"What was it?" I turn my head away from the window, my eyes fluttering closed.
His breath is on my ear, his hands back on my shoulders. "I can show you."
The whisper sends shivers all the way to my fingers and toes. He brings his mouth closer to my ear, sliding his tongue over the lobe.
I dig my hands into the cotton sheets, shifting my body into his. He sucks on my earlobe with the gentlest pleasure.
"Was this your plan?" I ask. I swear I had a sassy follow-up, but it's impossible to think with his mouth on me.
He runs his finger along the neckline of my T-shirt, pressing the fabric against my skin. He traces from one shoulder to the other and back again.
"Luke..." I groan. It always gets a response.
He releases my ear and presses his lips into my neck. They're so soft and sweet and wet. It's a hint of pressure, as soft as it could possibly be. I dig my hands into his thick hair, tugging at the roots.
He scrapes his teeth against my neck. It's harder, sharp even. The tiniest hint of pain.
My sex clenches, my body filling with pleasure. I need more, harder, rougher. I need him to mark me, to use me, to lose himself in me.
He nibbles on my neck again, a little harder, a little sharper. I groan, tugging at his hair, bucking into him.
His hands slip under my shirt, skimming my bra. Dammit, they're so close but so far away. I need him to touch me properly. I need those expert fingers on my chest, playing with my nipples until I'm so fucking wet I can't take it anymore.
Luke sinks his teeth into my neck. It's a proper
bite--hard, desperate, needy.
His fingertips are on my skin, sliding over my breasts but not quite touching my nipples.
My sex clenches. My body is on fire. Every place he touches is electric, amazing, perfect.
He bites me again, ever so slightly harder. He's testing, careful. Too careful.
I wrap my legs around him, pulling his body towards mine. His cock is straining against his jeans, and I arch my pelvis, rubbing my crotch against his--my underwear against his jeans.
Jesus Christ.
Luke pulls his lips off my neck, his hands from my bra. He runs his fingers over my T-shirt, pressing it against my skin. It's so soft I can barely feel it.
He explores every inch of that damn T-shirt, pressing it against the skin on my neck, shoulders, stomach. Tracing the outline of my bra, his fingers so, so close to my nipples, so, so close to my fucking skin.
I groan, my legs shaking, my hands digging harder and harder into his hair.
He's evil.
He retraces all of his steps with two fingers. The fabric of my shirt scrapes against my skin, the gentlest bit of friction. Up and down and left and right and back and forth.
Finally, he cups my breasts over my shirt. He rubs gently, three fingers making circles over my nipples.
There's an ache between my legs. I'm empty and, my God, I need him to fill me. I squeeze my legs together, as if to somehow contain the want pouring out of me.
He brings his hands to the bottom of my shirt. His fingertips slip onto my stomach. Jesus. Every touch sends tingles to my sex.
I pull my eyes open and look into his. His attention is foggy, like he's already slipped deep into lust. He kisses me, his soft, thick lips sucking on mine.
When our kiss breaks, he pulls my shirt over my head. His eyes pass over my body, slowly taking in every inch.
"Get on your stomach," he says.
He shifts his body off of mine, watching as I roll onto my stomach. My body is on fire, waiting to be touched, caressed, filled.
He straddles me again, his knees pressed against my thighs, his crotch against my ass. He brings his mouth to my ear and scrapes his teeth against my lobe.
"I was going to give you a massage," he says.
His fingers slide down my neck, around my shoulders. He traces my spine. It's slow and gentle and light. He stops at my lower back, his fingertips pressed against the top of my panties.
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