by T. K. Leigh
“What do you mean by that?”
“You’re still as stubborn as you were all those years ago. When we sat and watched the sunrise together at the lake, you never let me run inside to grab you a sweatshirt. Why’s that?”
I’m not sure what comes over me. Maybe it’s the lack of sleep. Maybe it’s feeling like this is a dream. Or maybe it’s the idea that I’ve longed to be in this man’s presence again for the past eight years. So instead of brushing off his question, I do something I normally wouldn’t. I offer him a piece of the truth, regardless of how he’ll respond. In a few hours, I’ll be on a plane heading back to my life, and he’ll return to his. May as well take a risk.
“I didn’t want to lose the moment,” I answer in a soft voice. “Didn’t want it to disappear.”
I don’t have to turn around to feel the smile on his lips. He draws me closer, the sear of his breath on my nape spreading a glow within. “I won’t disappear.”
“Here we are,” Asher announces as he pulls the car into the valet area under the awning leading to the lobby.
“Here we are,” I repeat, pretending not to be as forlorn over the idea of saying goodbye as I am. The entire drive here, I wanted to tell him to take me back so we could have another day, another hour, another minute. But it’s after seven in the morning. Chloe and I are supposed to leave for the airport at eleven. That only gives me a few hours to get a little sleep so I’m not a complete zombie.
But I’d gladly trade those few hours of sleep for more time with Asher. To recreate whatever I experienced the last several hours.
He holds my gaze, his expression making me think there’s a question on the tip of his tongue. As seemed to be the case all night, he shakes it off, stepping out of the car and making his way around to my side, helping me to my feet.
“Promise you’ll stay in touch.” He brushes that same errant strand of hair behind my ear. “That you won’t shut me out because—”
“I promise,” I respond, saving him from having to bring up Jessie.
“Good.”
I shift on my feet, uncertain of the protocol in saying goodbye to your ex-fiancé’s brother, whom you fantasized about kissing on more than one occasion throughout the night. I doubt there is one.
“Well then…” I clear my throat, stepping back. “It was—”
Before I can utter another syllable, he advances and clutches my face in his hands. It steals my breath, a current pulsating through me. I swallow hard as I’m forced to stare into the fervor in his deep-set eyes, years’ worth of longing swirling into a tidal pool of lust.
“Izzy.” The way my name rolls off his tongue has my insides coiling and tightening. It’s husky, yet still prayer-like. A wanton benediction. A sensual communion.
My virtuous sin.
His lips inch closer and closer as his grasp on my face becomes harsher, more punishing, more consuming. I can physically feel the battle waging, his mouth struggling to advance while the wounded pieces of him sound a retreat, yanking him back.
His chest heaves, muscles shaking, everything about this moment so surreal, so hypnotizing, so fucking perfect. I don’t even care if he actually kisses me or not. The knowledge he wants to is enough.
With a growl, he tears his hands from me, anguish and turmoil covering his expression. A beat passes, then another as he hangs his head, attempting to collect himself. When he returns his eyes to mine, they’re no longer inflamed, those of an untamed beast. They’re even, albeit still flickering with want.
He expels a sigh and brushes his lips against my forehead. The touch is slight, yet profound. More profound than any act of intimacy I’ve experienced these last few years. Because with just the most subtle of touches, I feel the meaning behind it.
“Thanks for tonight. It was exactly what I needed.”
“Me, too,” I respond with a half-hearted smile when he pulls back.
“Go get some rest.”
“You, too.”
“I don’t think I could sleep if I tried,” he admits.
“No?”
He treats me to one last devilish grin, slowly shaking his head. “No. Can’t waste this.”
“Waste what?”
He grabs my hand in his, bringing my knuckles up to his lips. His eyes remain glued to mine as he feathers a soft kiss across the skin.
“You inspire me.” He allows his words to linger in the air between us. Then he drops his hold on me, rushing to his car and jumping behind the wheel. He cranks the ignition, which roars to life, grabbing the attention of a few valet attendants and early-morning stragglers making their way to whatever hotel they’re staying at.
As he’s about to drive off, he glances back at me. “You’ve always inspired me.”
Chapter Six
I stare out the windows of the airline lounge, watching airplanes prepare to depart. I’ve always found airports fascinating. It probably comes from my mother’s background as a flight attendant and her love of flying, but something about air travel speaks to the romantic in me, even if it’s nowhere as glamorous as it once was.
“Thank God for espresso.” Chloe’s voice cuts through my moment of peace. I shift my eyes forward as she plops onto the chair across from me. “It’s good for what ails you. Like I always say…”
“I know, I know. When you need something stronger than coffee but weaker than cocaine.”
“Precisely. So, back to work tomorrow?” She avoids my eyes, looking out at the runway.
“Don’t think you’re getting out of this so easily,” I warn, then lean toward her, lowering my voice. “Who was that guy I saw you practically humping in the lobby?”
“Humping? Did you just say humping?”
I take a sip of my coffee, needing it to keep my eyelids open. Thankfully, my body has learned to function on minimal sleep so the few hours I had once I returned to my room is enough to trick my body into thinking it got more.
“You’re deflecting. Just like you did the entire ride to the airport.”
“Which lasted all of ten minutes.”
“Still…” I raise my brows in expectation, a silent warning I have no intention of dropping the subject until she talks.
When I walked into the lobby to meet Chloe earlier, I was convinced my eyes were deceiving me. Or there was a Chloe doppelgänger roaming the streets of Vegas. The last thing I expected to encounter was my friend, who’s always shunned any semblance of romance, wrapped in a man’s embrace, about to kiss him. Until a group of rowdy guys, who didn’t look old enough to drink, bumped into her, making her lose her balance. We’d been in Vegas for four days and she never mentioned meeting a guy. Based on the way he looked at her, this was not their first encounter.
Then again, I haven’t told her about running into Asher. I’m not prepared for the barrage of questions she’ll inevitably have. I’m still uncertain how to answer my own, especially after his admission that I’ve always inspired him.
“You can’t avoid this forever. We do have a five-hour flight where I can continue to pester you until you tell me what I want to know. And I can be very annoying. You should know that by now.”
Her mouth in a tight line, she studies me for a few moments, then sighs. “Fine.” Uncrossing her arms, she brings her espresso back to her lips, taking a sip. “Remember the club we went to our first night here?”
I roll my eyes. “I’d rather forget it.”
“Wouldn’t we all.” She mirrors my own sentiments on the ridiculousness of this weekend.
“So…” I arch an expectant brow.
“Remember when I excused myself to get a drink after Bernadette demanded blow job shots at the top of her lungs?”
I nod.
“Well, after I got my drink and was on my way back, some guy came up to me thinking I was a prostitute. I tried to tell him I wasn’t, but I’m pretty sure he was dropped on his head too many times as a child because he refused to believe me.”
“So… What? You see him in the l
obby this morning and decide to kiss him?”
She scrunches up her face. “God no. If I ever run into him again, I’ll knee him in the balls, like I should have the other night. But before I had the chance, an arm wrapped around me and pried me out of his grasp.”
“An arm?” I give her a sideways glance.
A smile unlike any I’ve seen on my friend’s face pulls on her mouth, serenity engulfing her. “A really muscular and defined arm dressed in a blazer.” She stares into the distance for another beat before returning her eyes to mine. “He ended up sending the guy packing with his balls between his legs. Then I thought he was trying to pick me up because he called me ‘Dick Girl’. In reality, he was calling me that because of the stupid penis necklace Bernadette insisted we all wear.”
“I didn’t think you were gone that long.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Apparently long enough for him to leave an impression on you.”
“That, and we kept bumping into each other all weekend. The other night, I went to the Italian restaurant off the casino floor to get something to eat before the striptease and pole dance classes. He was there. Sat next to me. Had this incredibly sensual conversation. Paid for my tab. Then this morning, as I was riding down to the lobby, the elevator stopped on the floor below mine. Wouldn’t you know it? When the doors opened, he stood there, waiting to get on. So we walked to the lobby together, then he left.”
“But—”
“He came back. Said he couldn’t leave without kissing me.” Her mouth crawls into a dreamy smile again, a blush blooming on her cheeks as she seems to glow from the memory.
I can’t remember the last time Chloe has talked about a guy like this. Hell, I can’t remember the last time she’s talked about a guy…period. She has her reasons, the most prominent being an alcoholic mother she’s been taking care of the past decade. She doesn’t think she can manage both.
“And, considering you saw the rest, that brings you up to speed.”
“So… Who is he?”
She sips her espresso. “Like I told you earlier, just some guy.”
“His name would suffice.”
She shrugs. “I don’t know it.”
My jaw slackens and I lean toward her. “You mean to tell me that, of the three times you’ve seen him—”
“Four, if you count him coming back to try to kiss me.”
“Whatever…” I wave her off. “That’s not the point. The point is that you never thought to ask him his name?”
“I did think of it.”
“A name is usually the first thing I ask. You’d think with all the time you spent ‘bumping’ into each other this weekend, you would have gotten that much.”
“It’s just…” She exhales, visibly flustered. I want to ask who this imposter is and what she’s done with my friend. The woman who doesn’t let anyone or anything get to her. “Every time I saw him…” Her expression softens as she shakes her head, her tone contemplative. Her eyes shine with weightlessness. “It was quiet.”
“Quiet? What do you mean?”
Setting her small cup on the coffee table between us, she angles toward me. “All the noise of my life…” Her voice is no louder than a whisper, as if worried someone she knows might overhear and announce to the world that underneath the hard outer shell is someone who wants the same thing we all do. “It was…gone.”
I nod. Although Chloe and I aren’t as close as we once were, there’s something to be said about being around when the shit hits the fan, so to speak. And I was there when the shit hit the fan in Chloe’s life. When her parents divorced. When she left the quaint, upper middle-class neighborhood in Connecticut and started a new life in New Jersey with her mother. When she tried to hide the fact that her mother was an alcoholic.
But I knew.
Chloe can hide from a lot of people. But she can’t hide from me. I see through it all. Even the shit she doesn’t think anyone knows.
“Sometimes you just need someone to quiet it for a minute,” I respond thoughtfully, giving her a reassuring smile.
“Because of that, I didn’t think a name was necessary.”
Our eyes lock, my expression relaying complete understanding. Then her lips turn into a devious grin. “You do have to admit, the entire scenario is kind of hot. Not knowing his name, anything about him…”
“Kind of hot?” I giggle, fanning myself. “Try off the charts! I noticed the chemistry between you two right away, even if all he did was kiss your cheek. It was incredibly…sexy. I can’t imagine how it made you feel.”
“Like I could let go. For once, I didn’t worry about the fact that we’re polar opposites. That he’s presumably this guy who has his shit together, whereas I’m lucky if I don’t lock myself out of my apartment on a daily basis. But each time I saw him, I didn’t think about any of that, didn’t try to distance myself because of how it would play out. It’s almost like we were in our own little bubble.”
“Bubbles can be good,” I respond, knowing all too well what she’s going through. I felt the same way with Asher all evening. Like we were protected from the reality of who we were to each other, even if for a brief moment. “Especially a bubble that sexy.” My voice brightens, and I hope Chloe can’t see past my walls as easily as I can peer through hers.
She stares at me for a split second with her analytical eyes. I hold my breath, waiting for her to pounce. Then she breaks into a laugh, and I follow, sending up a silent prayer. I’m not sure how I’ll ever be able to explain my night with Asher to anyone. I’m not sure I want to. I want to keep that memory mine. Hold it close and cherish it once I return to New York.
“So, what do you think the girls are up to today?” she asks once our laughter dies down.
“Knowing Bernadette, something cliché and inappropriate.”
“If I ever get that lonely and desperate for attention, promise me you’ll smack some sense into me and tell me I don’t need to stay in a loveless marriage. That there’s better out there for me.”
“You know I will,” I assure her just as a chiming echoes from her cell phone.
She glances to where it sits on the table, and I steal a peek, seeing her mother’s name appear on the screen. With haste, she grabs the phone, firing off a quick text before placing it back down.
“She doing okay?” I ask, a touch of hesitation in my voice.
“Yeah.” She reaches for her espresso, finishing it. “She’s been dating this guy who works in the same building.” She looks past me, a smile pulling on her lips. So uncharacteristic. “It’s actually a sweet story. Somehow, they kept riding up to their floors in the same elevator. After about a week, he mentioned it to her. Said he couldn’t ignore it anymore, that it was a sign.”
“Hmm… A sign?” My lips quirk up.
“That’s not the same thing,” she snips back, fully aware I’m referring to her multiple encounters with her mystery man this weekend.
The same could be said about my chance encounter with Asher. Maybe it was a sign that I shouldn’t have erased him from my life. But it’s harder to call one random meeting a sign.
“Mom works in the same building as Aaron. There’s a decent likelihood of running into him again. This thing with me and…whoever he is, well… It’s different. I have a better chance of winning the lottery than seeing him again.”
“You’re probably right, but what if you do?”
“It’ll never happen,” she retorts. “I’m about to get on a flight back to New York. He was headed…” She waves her hand around, “wherever. So yeah. Not going to happen.”
“But if it does?” I press, this time more out of curiosity. A part of me wants…needs to hear Chloe admit that maybe she’ll consider pursuing something, despite all the obstacles in her life, even if many of them are self-imposed. Then I won’t feel so mixed up about Asher. The way his fingers warmed my skin. The way his body felt against mine. The way his words filled me with hope.
“It won’t
,” she insists.
“But if it does?”
“It won’t.”
“Yeah, but if it does?”
She groans, dramatically rolling her eyes. “Fine. If by some miracle I do see him again, maybe I’ll admit there might be a reason for it all.”
I nod, leaning back into my chair, content with her answer.
“But it won’t happen,” she adds.
I glare at her. “Always have to have the last word, don’t you?”
“Always.”
Her phone dings once more, probably another text from her mother, and she grabs it. “Shit,” she mutters as my own phone chimes.
“What is it?” I reach into my bag, retrieving my cell. A part of me hopes it’s a text from Asher. Instead, it’s an alert from the airline. “Dammit.”
“Yup. Flight to JFK is canceled.”
I close my eyes, pinching the bridge of my nose. “Just how I want to spend my day. Stuck in the airport.” Normally, a canceled flight wouldn’t bother me. But I was looking forward to getting on that plane and catching up on my sleep. I hate the idea of sitting in this hellhole all day while we wait for another flight.
“And not any airport.” She gestures in the direction of the terminal, past the doors of the serene lounge, the clanging of slot machines faint but still ever present. I have a feeling I’m going to hear that noise for the next few weeks. “McCarran Airport in fabulous Las Vegas. If the Strip is the tenth circle of hell, this place is purgatory.”
“Glad to see all those literature classes paid off.”
“What flight did they rebook you on?” She looks at her phone, and I do the same.
“Red-eye. Eleven PM. And here’s the kicker. No seat assignment available.” I hold out my cell toward her.
“Me, too.”
“It looks like they’re cramming everyone onto that flight. What are the chances of us actually getting on?” I ask rhetorically.
“I’d like to say they wouldn’t rebook us just to tell us no in ten hours.”
“My mother used to work for an airline,” I remind her. “They absolutely would do such a thing. I’ll be right back.”
