by Lyla Payne
I’m not sure if Audra herself is my reason for ignoring him now, but the fact that I need her to keep helping me is a big factor. I’m not sure she’d be able to stomach me well enough to pull this off if she gets wise to the fact that I’m the one who made that website happen in the first place.
Well, the one who exposed it to the world. I had no idea Logan was planning to exploit her while they were dating. It’s not something I would have done. I don’t believe in doing anything behind someone’s back that I wouldn’t do or say to their face. My schemes have often been underhanded and hatched behind closed doors, but if the girls in Quinn’s game or any of the other losers who’ve fallen into my waiting hands had actually figured out they were being had and asked me about it, I would have told them everything. And refused to undo it, but that’s beside the point.
I frown as my phone buzzes again and I turn up the tree-lined drive. The Kappa house is one of the prettier ones on campus. The red brick is real, not the faux crap that covers most of the Whitman buildings, but the authentic look doesn’t work well with the soggy ground in Florida. The attention to detail is still nice.
There’s plenty of time to peruse the clean white shutters and creaky wraparound porch because no one will answer the damn buzzer. Possibly because they’re poking their heads out of the upstairs windows and seeing it’s me.
The intercom finally crackles to life after my ninth attempt. It’s a piece of equipment from another era—some of the office buildings on campus still have actual wired phones mounted to the building in metal boxes.
“What?”
Blair Paddington.
I feel like she and I are about as kindred as our kind of spirits get, but her loyalty to Audra stops her from giving in to the temptation to respect me.
“I’m here to pick up Audra.” Come on, bitches. Pat the good little puppy on the head.
If I had a tail to wag maybe they’d give me a treat.
“Fine. Wait on the porch.”
The crackle ceases and I heave a sigh, wandering over to sit in the porch swing, which needs a fresh coat of red paint. A pleasant breeze whispers through the palm trees and cups my cheek, warm and dry after the other night’s storms. Warm enough to make sitting outside in a suit, vest, and tie more than a tad uncomfortable. Audra knows our date tonight is more of an obligation—my boss at the campaign is getting married in a few weeks and tonight is the engagement party—which means she and Blair are aware that I’m out here in a jacket.
My blood heats thinking about them inside, laughing about my discomfort, but I manage to breathe it away by the time the front door bangs open and then shut again. Not everyone is out to get you, Sebastian.
That isn’t Quinn’s voice. That’s the shrink the school counselor insisted I see from sixth grade until high school graduation.
I shake it off, climbing to my feet to see Audra waiting over by the steps. She looks stunning in a pale purple dress with a ruffle at the sleeves and hem, which falls an inch above her knees, and I have a repeat of my stuttering reaction at the party the other night.
“Are the heels too much? Are you one of those guys?” Her teeth come down on her full lower lip, leaving it bright pink.
“One of what guys? Insecure?” I shake my head, letting my eyes linger on her slim calves on their way to her expensive nude heels. “I don’t care if you’re taller than me.”
She’s not, I realize as we head toward the car. Even with the added three inches, the top of her head comes to the bridge of my nose. Perfect height for many, many things that all come to mind with such vivid ferocity—thanks to those damn videos—that I have to take off my jacket on my way around the car and lay it in my lap once I sit behind the wheel.
Hiding a boner like a fifteen-year-old watching cheerleading practice. What the fuck is wrong with me?
“So, where is this shindig?”
“It’s actually pretty low-key. They rented out their favorite bar for the night.”
“Should be fun. How do you know him again?”
“He works on a congressional campaign that my father donates quite a large sum of money to, so we’re always required to show up at social events. Matt is in charge of donations and accounting—the second in charge behind the manager, I guess.” I glance at her, then return my gaze to the road. “He’s gay. It’s, like, a gay wedding. Just a warning if that kind of thing bothers you.”
Audra flips down the visor mirror and gives her reflection a once-over, then pulls out lip gloss. “Couldn’t care less, pookie.”
“Maybe we should table the terms of endearment discussion on both sides, yeah?”
She shrugs, snapping the visor back into place. There’s something different about her today. She’s more confident, the way she was the day she came to ask me for help. As though she knows exactly what she wants and exactly what she has to do to get it and no one is going to stand in her way.
I prefer this version of her. The sad, meek, lost one from the other night gives me feelings. Provokes some kind of instinctive response that’s foreign and discomfiting, one that urges me to be there in case she falls. Sort of like the need to make sure the woman who gave birth to me doesn’t die in a hovel. Less reluctant, though.
“I will if you will.”
The bar is in an old part of town, one where the storefronts are built to resemble Florida when it used to be cute, maybe back in the 1950s. The streets are narrow, with stop signs instead of lights, and the smell of the ocean wafts through from a couple of blocks away. It’s the kind of spot frequented more by tourists than locals, but with weddings there’s always the temptation to cater to out-of-town guests. Maybe Matt feels the pressure to show them a Florida experience that doesn’t include mice and princesses or some other such shit. Give me the Westin any day.
This whole evening gets less and less desirable the more it plays out in my mind, but there’s nothing to do now but go ahead with it. I can’t bail, not if I want a good recommendation, because Matt and everyone else have massive hard-ons for the concept of team players.
It feels a bit like being back in grade school, and not for the first time in the past year or two, an overwhelming weariness accompanies the thought of playing more games.
“Well, shall we?”
Audra nods and I go around the car and help her out. Her hand is soft and pliant, warm inside mine as she leaves it there on our way down the street and toward the bar. It’s almost nice, having someone to walk in beside me. To be with someone instead of against everyone.
The streets are almost uninhabited, just one older gentleman in a pair of overalls sitting on a bench scratching behind the floppy ears of his old dog. Music and laughter emanate from one of two bars on the strip—the first one is a beach-and-seafood-inspired place, totally cheesy clapboard planks and nets serving as decor. The one that Matt and his fiancé have chosen is one that’s trying to be more upscale, as though the owners were picked up out of Los Angeles or Manhattan and plopped down in this crappy beach town without realizing how far they’d been transported.
We’re greeted by an atmosphere of flickering oil lamps and clean lines. Everything inside is mahogany wood, black leather, or stainless steel. Bottles of top-shelf liquor serve as decoration behind the bar and a jukebox spews ridiculous folksy crap like Matt Nathanson and Joe Purdy and god knows what else. It’s going to be a long night, but there is an open bar. The wedding better be the same deal if they expect me to show up.
“What do you want to drink?”
Audra studies the bottles for a moment. “Templeton Rye, neat.”
That raises my eyebrows and my suspicions. Templeton happens to be one of my favorites. “You drink whiskey?”
“Sure. I’m Scottish, Sebastian. Beer is for weak Americans.” She smiles, confidence shining in her eyes, rolling off her straight shoulders. “Why, don’t you?”
A tap on my shoulder cuts short any response, which is probably a good thing because I’m having a hard time deciding
whether to throttle her or rip off her clothes. I turn to find Matt, smiling and bespectacled, hand out for a shake.
“Sebastian, I’m so glad you could make it.” He steps back and puts his arm around an equally nerdy but taller bespectacled guy with a head of dark hair and an impressive beard. “This is my fiancé, Wes.”
“It’s nice to meet you.” I pull Audra to my side by her hand. “This is my girlfriend, Audra.”
“Well, she’s way prettier than you are. Nicely done.” Matt gives me an exaggerated wink and then tells us to have a good time, turning away to greet some newcomers by the door.
Audra raises her eyebrows. “They seem nice. I’m surprised you agreed to come on your father’s behalf. I didn’t know you were interested in this kind of thing.”
“What kind of thing? Free booze?”
“No, smartass. Politics.”
“I like to keep up.” I’m not sure why I didn’t tell her the truth about how I know them, but it’s done now.
“I mean, now that I think about it, it’s probably a good match. It might even be a good job for you—all politicians need a guy like you on their team to survive Washington. Clean up the bodies and all of that.”
“You watch too much Scandal.”
“That’s true. Shite’s addictive.”
I shake my head, sipping my whiskey to fight off a smile. “You’re not wrong, though. I’m good at looking a few steps ahead, recognizing roadblocks or opportunities. Every politician does need someone like me.”
“Not that you need a job. You and your brother will take over Rowland Communications, right?”
“Half brother. And Quinn and I have very little in common. We share a hatred of our father, but Q’s much more willing to put that aside in favor of a relatively easy and lucrative career. I’m having trouble stomaching the idea.”
“You’re having trouble stomaching what? Taking orders from your father? Abiding by his rules?” The frank curiosity in her eyes tinges with confusion, letting me know it’s an honest question, not meant to be an insult.
My heart rate slows. This is another test. More edging the mask aside. “Teddy subscribes to the ‘my way or the highway’ theory. So do I. It’s not a good combination, and the two of us have some issues that neither one of us are prepared to budge on.”
“That’s a pretty impressive answer that doesn’t actually tell me anything. Maybe you do belong in politics.”
“Thank you.”
That makes her roll her eyes and down the rest of her Templeton before grabbing another. I do the same, a little surprised at how easy it is to spend time with her even if she’s trying to pry up the layers of steel covering the flesh underneath. As though it wouldn’t be all that bad, maybe, if she knew me.
Audra doesn’t strike me as the kind of girl to need ammunition, or to seek it out. Even Logan, who deserves the worst kind of punishment for what he did to her, isn’t in her crosshairs. She wants the videos to go away and to never have to think about him again. That’s all.
If some bitch tried something like that on me I would make sure she remained a societal pariah for the rest of her natural-born days. Fuck it.
I push aside the reminder that I’m the other asshole who Audra should be seeking revenge on and tug her over to the tables set up around Matt and Wes. There are two empty seats at a table for six, and we settle in with fresh drinks, introducing ourselves and talking about how we know the couple, all of that nonsense. It’s the kind of small talk that typically gets under my skin, bores me, but tonight I sit back and let the scene wash over me. There are several other people who work on Schneider’s campaign, but they don’t recognize me, thankfully. Their discussion revolves around the congressman’s competition in the upcoming election, and Audra puts her two cents in often enough to surprise me. For a non-American she keeps up on current events and the election cycle well, but then again, half of the students at Whitman are connected to Washington in one way or another.
She obviously doesn’t think much of Schneider, which doesn’t surprise me. Guy’s a woman-hating dick.
The clinking of silver on glassware gets everyone’s attention an hour or so later. The muscles in my face are relaxed in a way that promises I’m going to need to call one of Teddy’s drivers to get us home later, and the room has grown so warm that both Audra and I discarded our outerwear a long time ago. Her sweater curls up on my jacket in the booth beside her.
Matt and Wes’s guests quiet down in waves toward the back of the room until we’re all watching them, waiting for whatever announcement is coming.
My boss at the campaign headquarters stands up, his face red with booze or embarrassment—maybe both. “I’d like to take this opportunity to thank you all for coming, because having you here to help Wes and I celebrate our engagement means the world.” He stops, gazing down at his soon-to-be husband with a sappy expression. “It’s hard to believe that there’s still love in the world today, sometimes, and even harder to believe that I’ve managed to find such a wonderful man to share my life. Wes and I have been together seven years now, and we’d like to end our official party by celebrating all of the other love in the room.”
Wes stands and puts his arms around Matt, pulling him in for a kiss that has most of the room hooting and hollering. I steal a glance at Audra, who rolls her eyes at me. A girl unmoved by nuptial excitement. Interesting.
“We’d like to have all of the couples here tonight stand up.”
People get to their feet around us, all the way to the back of the room. I keep my butt planted firmly on the uncomfortable mahogany seat and Audra stays put, too, after checking with me first. Our attempt at keeping well clear of whatever is about to happen fails when Matt surveys the crowd with all the enthusiasm of a wedding DJ ferreting out those sneaky single men trying to avoid the garter toss.
“Sebastian, I see you and your hot little ginger girlfriend trying to hide. Stand your asses up.”
No one wants to be that guy, the one who makes someone with a microphone berate them until they’re forced to participate. Easier to just go along with the crowd. Especially this one, since none of them know me well enough to realize they should leave me alone.
Audra realizes the futility of resisting and stands up, pulling me up beside her. The heat from her body flushes my direction, massaging my side and my arm and my right cheek as we wait to learn what kind of humiliation the guys have in store for us. Her scent curls around my head like an intoxicating cloud.
I really shouldn’t have had so much to drink.
“Okay, I think that’s everyone,” Matt decides, nodding. “We’re going to play a little game. Wes is going to start a timer that’s going to beep every ten seconds. Everyone kiss their significant other, ten seconds for every year you’ve been a couple, and we’ll see who kisses the longest. If you’ve been together less than a year, do the first ten seconds.”
Exasperation at these stupid happy romantic people and their silly games pushes past the pleasant buzz created by the top-shelf booze. Audra tenses beside me, then her shoulders slump in acceptance. She agreed to kissing when we made our arrangement, but I know we both probably hoped to avoid it if possible.
Not possible.
The last thing we need is for anyone to call us out, whether or not any of the people here have any connections to Whitman. It won’t do for them to find out I’m a liar, either, since I’m not ruling out a paying job working for Schneider at some point.
“Ready?”
I don’t look at Audra. I don’t want to see the revulsion in her gaze, the way she’s going to swallow hard, as though putting her lips on mine is going to soil her soul somehow. Instead I wait for them to say go, every muscle ready to spring.
“Go!”
My hands fly out, snatching Audra by her forearms and tugging her into my chest. She’s so slight that she flies a little, her palms landing on my pecs, fingers curling in for support. The sensation shoots desire straight to my crotch as I raise m
y hands to her cheeks and pull her mouth to mine.
Ten seconds. We have to last ten seconds.
Her lips are stiff petals against mine, but only for a second. Then they relax, opening slightly to cup my lower lip between them, and her fingernails dig deeper into my chest. She sighs into me and I move my mouth until we fit together better, more like two people who have kissed each other before, and when her tongue darts out to taste me my dick stirs, pressing against my pants.
It’s hard to care with the scent of her perfume and her skin filling my nose, the taste of sweet whiskey on her pliant mouth. I deepen the kiss, slipping my tongue past her lips to brush hers. Her sigh, the way she melts into my body, sizzles down to my gut.
Somewhere, in a land far, far away, there’s the sound of a timer going off. It breaks the odd spell of the moment, the one that’s wrapped us tight together, and Audra’s fists release my shirt, palms planted firmly enough to push me backward.
My chest feels tight, as though there’s not enough air. Her cheeks are red and the stunned questions in her eyes are the same ones eating away my confidence.
I don’t know what just happened or why I’m surprised, but regardless of what kind of girl she is or whether Audra Stuart is right for me, my body wants her like it hasn’t wanted anyone in years. Maybe ever.
My needs are needs. They’re fulfilled by girls who are attracted to my power or the idea of sleeping with evil, or girls who want to piss off their boyfriends or who get drunk and decide I’m hot so fuck it. I don’t go to bed with any of them because they make me feel anything but satisfied.
I refuse to look at Audra, still wary of what I’ll see in her face. The instinct to run, to put as much distance between her and my carefully suppressed desire for more than sex rises up, but I don’t move, standing like a statute while long-lasting couples make out all around us.
The soft touch of her hand on my arm makes me jump.
