738 Days: A Novel

by Stacey Kade

  I nod, though, because this isn’t the time or place for that conversation, even if I were ready. And I’m not.

  But Chase frowns, not convinced by whatever he sees on my face.

  Fortunately, Max calls for places and the resumption of filming before Chase can make his way over to me.

  As Mia hurries back to my side, breathless with excitement, I’m struck with a sick feeling, wondering how these pieces I’ve been handed fit together and exactly how I’m being played. Because at this point, it’s not really a question of “if” anymore.

  24

  Chase

  The knock at the adjoining door makes me jump, even though I’ve been half-expecting it, hoping for it. The dull rumble of voices from the television, mixed with the higher pitches of Amanda and Mia talking, stopped a while ago.

  Not that I was eavesdropping, exactly. Just trying to pick my moment to go over and talk with Amanda, without a lot of luck.

  After I finished on set for the day, well after ten o’clock, with Karen’s words of caution circling in my head, we all went back to the hotel: me, Amanda, Mia, Emily, and Ron. And the silence was awkward and huge, punctuated only by Mia’s various proclamations and observations from what she learned on set.

  Amanda nodded politely or made the occasional comment in response to her sister, but she was a different person from this morning. I didn’t know what Adam said, but whatever it was, it caused a distant, troubled look in her eyes that the intervening time had not erased.

  I should have followed my instincts and punched him, no matter how much trouble it would have caused.

  Amanda spent the rest of the time on set with her head bent over her phone, and the few times she looked in my direction, her expression was vague, like she was seeing through me.

  I didn’t know if it was in reaction to whatever Adam said or if it was because I was keeping my distance for the moment. Karen was right: I needed to think it through and make a decision without hurting Amanda.

  But the problem is, even now, I’m not any clearer on what I want, except that I’m not ready for her to leave tomorrow. Maybe that’s enough of a place to start. Either way, with Amanda at my door, my time’s up.

  I chuck my pages for tomorrow on the table and get up to open the door.

  “Hey,” Amanda says with a tentative smile.

  But my voice is lodged in my throat, as I stare at her. She’s wearing my shirt, and nothing else. The top three buttons are open, showing that she’s not wearing a shirt underneath this time, and her long bare legs poke out beneath the hem.

  I know it shouldn’t matter; I should keep my focus on what I need to say. But I’m only human. A human with an instant hard-on, apparently.

  “Oh.” She makes a face, her cheeks flooding with color. “Sorry. Mia ransacked the clothes I brought. I know I need to get it back to you.” As she brushes her hands down the front of the shirt, I can now see that she is wearing those same boxer sleep shorts from last night, the hem barely peeking out from beneath my shirt.

  That doesn’t help much, though, because the mental image of her in the shirt alone, false as it is, is burned into my brain.

  I clear my throat, trying to recover my voice. “No,” I manage. “It’s fine. Don’t worry about it. Keep it as long as you want.” Forever.

  But the tiny wrinkle of concern in her forehead suggests that my words are not entirely convincing. That, or she thinks I’m having some kind of breakdown, which is, sadly, not far from the truth.

  “Okay,” she says, the drawn-out sound another indicator of her doubt. “But that’s not why I’m … I wanted to talk to you,” she says. She squeezes her phone between her palms, interlocking her fingers around it.

  “Okay,” I say warily, dread accumulating in the pit of my stomach.

  I step back to let her into the room.

  “So, Adam is kind of a douche,” she says, moving past me and settling on the couch, folding into a cross-legged position on the farther cushion.

  That is not what I was expecting. The tightness in my gut eases a little.

  I close the door and join her on the sofa. “What are you talking about?”

  “He went out of his way to talk to me again today. And I think I figured out why. Well, at least his tiny-brain reasoning, but there’s more to it.” She hesitates. “Sorry, I’m not even sure if this is something you want to hear about…”

  “No, tell me; I want to know.”

  “So, he came over to talk to me today mainly, I think, because he thought it might make you, uh, jealous.” She shifts uncomfortably, her gaze darting from me to the table and back again as if she’s not sure enough about that possibility to state it as unimpeachable fact.

  “He’s right,” I say flatly. Faker asshole that he is, he is evidently good at picking up genuine emotion when he’s in the same room with it.

  Her mouth opens in a surprised O.

  “Sorry,” I say. “I have no reason to make that claim—I get that. It’s just … I was.” Admitting it actually makes me feel temporarily worse, more exposed.

  But then Amanda smiles at me, that bright, perfectly perfect smile that speaks to all that she’s been through. “I’m not unhappy to hear that,” she says softly.

  Then she shakes her head and holds up her hand, as if we’re getting distracted. And we were. “But that’s not all. I think he’s pissed you’re getting more attention than he is, and he wanted to see if he could do something to disrupt it. To disrupt … us.” Her words quicken now with distaste and anger. “He showed me where we, you and I together, are trending on all these sites. Hashtag Amase.” Her mouth twists in distaste. “It’s our names put together.”

  Suddenly I have a very bad feeling where this is going. I deleted the account and all of Elise’s stupid posts last night. But that just deleted the app off my phone. It didn’t get rid of the accounts entirely. Like, say on the phone or tablet of the person who created them.

  “Amanda, I…” The words crowd in my throat—I’m sorry, Elise, I said no—but all jammed together like that, none of them emerges.

  “Then he showed me the Chase Henry account where it supposedly all started from. The hashtag Amase thing.”

  She clicks on her phone and shows me a screen: the verified Chase Henry account on Twitter.

  Even though I’m expecting it, the sight of it makes me freeze.

  Seeing Elise’s words in black and white—her stupid text-speak, the stuff about running and the quiet night in, plus a post she did not show me with nothing but #amase in it—makes my vision cloud temporarily with rage. She did not, at least, post the photos she took in my room.

  But this is bad enough. Amanda will see it as an intrusion, a violation. And she’s right.

  A crushing weight settles on my chest, and I slump back against the couch. This is it. It’s over, right here and now. Fuck.

  Swallowing hard over the lump in my throat, I close my eyes. “Amanda, I know you have no reason to believe me, but I didn’t write or post any of that stuff. And I tried to—”

  “I know you didn’t,” she says quietly.

  The words are so different from what I’m expecting that it takes me a second to process them. My eyes snap open, and I blink, playing back what I thought I heard.

  “You … what?” I ask, sitting forward.

  “They don’t even sound like you,” she points out. “And the hashtag?” She rolls her eyes. “Please. Not even with a gun to your head, I don’t think.”

  I’m staring at her, my mouth open in amazement.

  “What?” she asks with a frown. “I do pay attention.”

  She knows me. Enough to recognize something that’s not me. The real me.

  “Anyway, someone is pretending to be you.” Amanda hesitates. “Your ex, maybe? I don’t know. But there’s a way to report it,” she says with that calmness and certainty that is a balm to the craziness we’re currently embroiled in. “Mia showed me. It takes a few days, though, and—”
>
  Relief washes over me in a great wave. I know what I want now. “Stay with me?” I blurt out.

  She goes still. “What?”

  “I wanted to talk to you about this before. I’m sorry if I seemed off today,” I say, the words spilling out quickly. “I just wasn’t sure if … I’m here until Saturday and I was hoping you might—”

  “Yes,” she says.

  “Really?”

  Her mouth curves in a smile. “Yeah.”

  She knows me. And she’s staying.

  With the rush of adrenaline from her answer fueling me, I lean over and kiss her, drawing her bottom lip into my mouth. She responds eagerly, moving toward me on her knees to close the gap between us.

  Her tongue teases mine, moving in and out, mimicking the motion I want elsewhere. I pull back, laying open-mouthed caresses down her throat. She smells so damn good. Her skin is smooth and heated beneath my tongue, and I feel her swallow reflexively.

  With my nose pressed against the point where her neck meets her shoulder, I give in to temptation and nip at her collarbone, and she makes that noise, that involuntary exhale, something between a sigh and a gasp. It makes my head buzz and my blood hot.

  She rises up on her knees, her hands clutching my shirt as she meets my mouth again. I rest my free hand on her bare leg, rubbing my open palm up and down against the silky flesh, and her hips move in an instinctive thrusting motion that stops my breath. It’s hard to think.

  Sliding my hand up the outside of her leg, beneath her shorts, I grip her hip, drawing circles with my thumb on the skin exposed above the line of her panties.

  Her breath is coming in shuddering pants between kisses, and I can feel the heat of her against me. Every instinct I have is telling me to lean against her, guide her onto her back. But that’s a no-go.

  Something has to happen, though. Or I need to start the cooling-off process. My dick is pressed so hard against the button fly of my jeans, there might be permanent marks.

  “Amanda,” I try.

  “Yessss,” she says against my lip. I’m going to lose my mind.

  “You can’t, uh … me on top of you is bad, right?” I’m struggling to get words out in the right order.

  She tenses slightly, and that helps me collect my thoughts a little.

  “It’s okay,” I whisper against the skin at her chest. “I just want to try something different. But if it’s too much or it’s not good, you just need to say.” And I will hobble as fast as I can for the coldest shower known to man.

  She blinks at me, her eyes made darker by heat and want. Her lips are reddened from kissing, and the sight sends a primal thrill through me.

  Then she nods.

  “Come closer,” I say hoarsely.

  She’s already pressed against me at the chest, but her lower body is angled slightly away. At my direction, she inches forward on her knees until they’re pressed against my leg.

  I slide my hand down her hip to behind her knee. “Trust me?”

  She nods again, a swift, decisive confirmation.

  I tug gently until she lifts her knee and then I swing her toward me until she’s straddling my thighs.

  She’s not even sitting on me but just the sight of her above me is so fucking hot. I want her naked and riding me, her hair loose against my skin.

  “Okay?” I manage.

  “Yes.” The word barely escapes from her mouth before she’s leaning over me, her tongue plunging in my mouth, tangling with mine. After a second, she changes the angle, lowering herself to rest her weight on my legs, lightly though, as if she’s still not sure.

  I resist the urge to tug her into me. I want to grind against her, feel her damp heat even with our clothes in the way.

  Instead, I stroke her back, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath her shirt, my shirt. And when the fabric rucks up beneath my palm, my fingers slip across bare skin at her waist.

  Her breath catches, escaping in the smallest of moans.

  “Okay?” I ask again.

  Her response is to inch her way forward into my lap, but we’re not pressed together yet, and I think I’m going to die if I can’t push against her, feel her rubbing on me.

  But I’m determined to keep myself in check.

  Then her mouth moves along my jaw. “I like the way you taste,” she breathes against me. Right before her teeth tease my skin.

  Instinct kicks in, and my hands tighten on her waist, pulling her into me as my hips thrust up.

  “Chase!” She exhales my name in a sharp breath, and I’m already fumbling to lift her away.

  But then she rolls forward into me instead, and I feel like crying, it feels so damn good. Even with the stupid button fly. I lift my hips to push back against her—I want inside so bad—and she rocks with me, leaving kisses across my forehead and down my temples.

  I fumble for the buttons of her shirt, pressing my mouth against every inch of exposed skin.

  Her bra is a pale purple with a shiny silky edge that begs to be touched. Her nipples are already budding beneath it, and the sight of them makes my mouth open in anticipation.

  But when I cup her breast, running my thumb over the growing hardness of her nipple, she stiffens.

  It’s subtle, not a jerk away from me, but a sudden tension that wasn’t there before.

  I retreat immediately. “Not good?”

  Her gaze darts away from mine. “No.”

  “Too much or just not that?” I ask. Communication is the only way I’m not going to screw this up.

  “Just not that.” She folds her arms across her chest.

  “Hey,” I say and wait until she looks at me. “It’s okay.” I hold her gaze so she knows I mean it. “I just want to understand what makes you feel good and what doesn’t. Talk to me?”

  I shift a little beneath her, trying to give us some breathing—and thinking—room.

  She hesitates, biting her lip for a moment, then releasing it in a slow slide. “Your mouth is okay,” she says, a gorgeous blush spreading across the pale skin of her chest and up into her neck. “I liked you kissing me there. But hands grabbing, I can’t…”

  “Okay, no, that’s all I need to know.” I rest my hand at the back of her neck, caressing the tight muscles there until she relaxes.

  When she bends her head to bring her mouth to mine, I keep my hands solidly on her legs, making no move toward her chest or any move at all, for that matter.

  After a minute or so, the stiffness leaches from her body and she’s warm and soft in my arms again, leaning into me.

  “Will you take your bra off for me?” I ask, the words thick in my throat. “My hands won’t go anywhere near, I promise.” Then a thought occurs belatedly. “Unless that’s not—”

  “No, that’s … I can.”

  I watch with greedy eyes as she reaches behind herself, unfastening the clip.

  The material slackens, the cups gape away from her body, but they’re still hiding her. She hesitates, shy for just a second, before pulling it down.

  Her tits are as perfect as I imagined, pale-skinned handfuls with pink nipples that are begging to be tasted. They’re shaking slightly with her heartbeat and accelerated breathing.

  “You are beautiful,” I say, my voice a grating mess.

  She smiles at that but ducks her head down as she works the strap off one arm and then the other, leaving her shirt in place, which is only hotter.

  When she looks up, I lock my gaze with hers, to be sure I’m not missing a change in her expression, then I lean forward and extend my tongue to lick one hardened nipple.

  She moans.

  Her hands run through my hair, and then she’s pressing me tighter against her breast.

  I take as much of her breast into my mouth as I can, sucking her until she’s whispering nothing but my name and “yes,” over and over again.

  I release one nipple, leaving it reddened and wet from my mouth, which is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen, and move to the other.


  She grinds hard against me, then pauses, tilting her head over mine to whisper in my ear, “Can you take off your shirt?”

  I release her breast with one final pull, and she whimpers, riding me harder.

  But I lean away, yanking at my collar.

  Being skin to skin is an irresistible siren song of an idea.

  She backs off a little, her eyes wide as she takes in my chest and shoulders. And watching her watch me, her shirt gaping open to reveal her breasts, her mouth a soft pink O, makes my cock twitch eagerly in my jeans.

  Her hands slide over my pecs and down, lingering near my hips and abdomen. “What are these muscles called?” she asks, trailing a teasing finger over the area in question.

  “Um, obliques, I think,” I manage, fighting the temptation to put her hand on my hard-on.

  “I like them.” She gives me a saucy grin.

  “Yeah?” My head is spinning. Somehow I’ve lost control over this situation, leaving her in charge, and that’s more than fine.

  Before I can blink, she’s bent down to press her mouth against the muscles she “likes,” laying her tongue against them like a benediction, and my eyes are rolling back in my head.

  I grab her arms and haul her up, thrusting my tongue into the damp cavern of her mouth. Her breasts are wet peaks against my chest, and the friction feels so good. We’re moving in a steady rhythm now, her breath coming faster.

  But I’m not sure if I can hold out, not like this.

  I kiss her hard one more time, sucking her tongue into my mouth before leaning back.

  “Can we … I need to move, do something else or this is going to be over too soon,” I say in a strained voice. I haven’t so much as touched her clit or slid my fingers inside her, and I want to make her feel good, if she’ll let me. “Same rules as before.”

  With a smile reeking of female pride, she leans forward and bites my lower lip, growing bolder by the second. “What do you have in mind?”

  “Stand,” I say.

  She slides off me, and I shift on the couch, lying on my side and stretching my legs out until my feet press against the armrest on the opposite side.

  Hesitation flashes across her face.