My lips twist as I mull over my options: stay with him and listen to them having sex, which they will have. Or get my own room and relax. It’s pretty much a no brainer for me, so I shake my head vigorously. “I’ll get my own. Thanks.”
Shea shrugs. “‘Kay, I’m sure Hendrix booked you a suite anyway. I just wanted to share one for old times’ sake,” he says, his voice nonchalant and his face showing no signs that there may be a double meaning behind that, but I know better. I see the way the front of his teeth grind against each other slightly. It’s his tell, what he does when he wants to say something cheeky but knows he might get slapped. Thankfully, he doesn’t say anything else as he turns to face the counter.
While he sorts out his room situation, I text message Hendrix to see if by chance he got Stacey to book me a room. My brother is thoughtful enough to do that. More like controlling enough and because he knows I’m already in an uncomfortable place and he can’t be here to save the day, he may have done it.
Exhaling while I wait for his response, I turn to Nick. “Are you sure you want to stay here?” I ask quietly. The more I think about it, the dumber the idea seems to me.
Nick chuckles, shaking his head slightly. “No, but I want to be here for you. You don’t want to go home with me so …” He shrugs, letting the words simmer in my head.
I consider offering him to stay with me, but I think that could be awkward. My phone vibrates in my hand and it’s Hendrix saying that he booked me a suite. He says he tried to get me the penthouse but Shea’s assistant had already booked it, so he couldn’t.
I laugh out loud at my brother’s attempt to out-do Shea’s rock star lifestyle for me, then exhale and turn my body to face Nick. “Stay in my room,” I say finally. “I’ll have an extra bed anyway.”
Nick raises an eyebrow, approval swimming in his blue eyes. “You sure?”
I smile, nodding my head once. “A favor for a favor,” I respond.
Nick’s mouth slowly forms into a smile and just as he opens his mouth, Shea turns around, cutting him off. “What’s the difference between sharing a room with him and me?” he asks, completely baffled.
I shrug. “You have Gia coming in tomorrow morning, I wouldn’t want to interrupt.”
Shea begins to shake his head slowly, confusion clouding his face before he blinks it away and narrows his eyes at Nick. “Isn’t Steph going to think it’s weird that you’re not going home?”
I physically feel my heart plummet into my stomach, but I try hard to keep my face as passive as possible, looking away and walking up to the check-in counter before I hear anything else. I’m not sure I’ll be able to keep my emotions under control if either one of them gives me any more information right now. I check-in quickly and walk away, moving toward the elevators. I can hear footsteps following closely behind me, but I ignore them, I know it’s Nick. I don’t need to turn around to confirm it. I can feel the energy radiating off of him as if it were my own. I don’t know if I have the right to feel mad or jealous or deceived, but all three of those things stream through me as I wait for the elevator.
As soon as the elevator doors slide open, I step inside, muttering my apologies to the woman stepping out with a suitcase. I take a deep breath and exhale it slowly, clearing out my flustered emotions, and when I turn around to press the number to my floor, I look down at Nick’s white sneakers. Refusing to look into his eyes, I let my hair curtain my face as I reach my hand out and press number thirty-five.
“She’s having a moment,” Nick says softly to the girls trying to step in. I don’t look up at their faces, but I can see the matching pink Toms on their feet and assume they’re teenagers.
“Okay …” one of them says, stepping back.
If it weren’t for the fact that I don’t know what to say—at all—I would have told him off for that, but I can’t even open my mouth to speak. When the doors close in front of us, Nick steps forward, crowding me into the nook in front of the panel of buttons.
“Talk to me, Brooklyn,” he whispers into my hair.
His chest is on my back and I have to fight myself not to lean against him. I have to fight the draw that pulls me, that makes me want to fall into him. I have to fight the urge to turn around and look into his ocean eyes because I know that if I do all I’ll feel is disappointment. What bothers me the most is that all I do is hound Nina about always being the other woman, about always selling herself short when it comes to men and letting them have her as the girl on the side. Yet here I am, second to everyone. Always. And this time, I didn’t even see that as a possibility, that’s how blind I am.
“Nothing to talk about,” I say, smiling, even though he can’t see me. I close my eyes and coach myself into being neutral: he was never yours, he never said he was single, you never said you weren’t taken, you guys are friends, you didn’t even kiss him. When I feel I can do it, I push back with my body, forcing him to take a step back, and turn around to face him.
Smiling, I look into his eyes, and for a fleeting moment I think I may cry at the loss of them even though I never had them. This is unchartered water to me, no big deal. “I didn’t realize you and Stephanie were serious. When I saw you at the airport that time I didn’t get that impression. And since you never talk about her when we’re together …” I shrug. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have offered you to stay with me.”
I don’t even know what the fuck I’m apologizing for if he’s the one that leads me on every time we talk. Yes, we’re friends, but he flirts with me and acts like he wants more and … what a motherfucker. Thankfully, before I can get mad, the elevator opens behind me and I turn around to walk out, thinking that he’s going to stop me, but he doesn’t. At this point, I don’t know if I want him to take the elevator right back down or follow me to the room. I don’t know if I want to punch him in the throat for omitting his relationship or make out with him and tell him to get the hell away from me forever. It’s so sad that I’ve never been this confused. It’s sadder that the first time I feel this way, I’m a quarter into my life. It’s saddest that he doesn’t feel the same way about me that I do about him.
In short: I’m experiencing a case of sadness overload.
I walk as nonchalantly as possible to my door, which fortunately isn’t that far away from the elevator, and slide my card in. Letting out a breath, I push the door open and swallow the stupid knot that refuses to clear my throat. I step in, my eyes quickly scanning the large living room area, and toss my purse aside. When the door clicks shut, I finally turn around and see Nick standing beside it, pulling on the tip of his faux hawk.
I exhale, placing my hands on my hips and tilting my head to look at the high ceilings. “You can go,” I say.
Nick lets out a laugh. “Do you want me to leave or explain myself?”
I narrow my eyes at him, crossing my arms over my chest and shrug. “I already told you we have nothing to talk about.”
He nods, narrowing his eyes back at me. “I beg to differ.”
“I’m sure you do,” I mutter then exhale. “Nick, it really, really doesn’t matter. You have nothing to explain to me. I’m your friend, at least I thought I was, so I’m just shocked that you have a live-in girlfriend and you acted like she was nothing,” I shrug.
He frowns. “That’s not-” he starts, but I put my hands up to stop him.
“It’s fine,” I interrupt. “I just don’t understand why you would lead me on for no reason.” He tries to speak again, but I keep going. “And then you invite me to your house like it’s all good. What were you going to do? ‘Hey, Stephanie, remember Brooklyn? She’s staying here for the next couple of days,” I say, mimicking his deep voice.
“Dammit, woman,” he growls, striding over to me so quickly that I don’t have time to move away. Dipping his head so that we’re at eye level, he grabs the nape of my neck and pulls me to him, pinning me with his blue eyes, daring me to protest, and slams his lips over mine.
I wish I could intricately descri
be every single emotion his mouth makes me feel, but there are so many, I think I might burst. Tiny fireworks soar between us when his tongue parts my lips and begins to dance wildly with mine. His hands travel down my body in a frenzy, pulling me to him as if I can’t be close enough, and that’s exactly the way I feel as I pull on his hair and scrape the back of his neck. I would let him pull me inside of him if he could. I’ve been kissed a million times, yet none at all. That’s how this kiss makes me feel. Like I’m freefalling, like I’m dying, like I’m breathing for the first time. Like I’m high on ecstasy and a million expert hands are massaging me. This kiss is my life. And when we break apart, completely breathless, both of our chests heaving, I slap him. Hard.
“Get out,” I whisper, I can barely make out the words. As amazing as that kiss was, as incredible as Nick makes me feel, I can’t be just another notch on somebody’s bedpost, especially not his.
“You’re kidding, right?” he asks, his eyes seething into mine as he grinds his teeth together and places his hand over the spot on his cheek where I slapped him.
I look at him for a moment longer before turning my back to him. Thankfully the suite’s doorbell rings and Nick attends to the bellman at the door. I run into the bathroom and lock myself in, switching on the water so that it’ll drown out my sobs when they finally pour out of me. I cry because I can’t believe I slapped him. I cry for that kiss that’ll forever be engraved in my heart. I cry because I fucking hate him for lying to me. I cry because somehow, without my knowledge or permission, he snuck himself into my heart and I don’t know how to push him back out. I know that I’m letting my bottled up emotions get the best of me, but I can’t help it. At the feel of water crashing between my fingers, I get up and turn off the running faucet. Standing in front of it, I dip my hand in the pool of water, dejectedly looking at the way it seeps through my fingers.
After taking a long, hot shower, I explore the empty suite. It’s not lavish like others I’ve stayed in, but it’s spacious and has a wonderful view of the bay. Rounding the kitchen counter, I notice the hotel left a chilled bottle of champagne, two glasses, and a cup of strawberries with a note that says they hope I enjoy my stay. I decide that I will enjoy my stay courtesy of their bottle of champagne, which I quickly open. I’m on my third glass when I sit down on a barstool and notice that there’s a note written on the little pad of paper on the corner of the counter.
Putting my glass down, I slide it over to me and read.
Say it, just say it. I contemplate it for all of two seconds before hopping off the stool, picking up my glass and the bottle, and walking to the floor to ceiling window. Plopping down on the couch behind me, I kick up my feet on the coffee table and take a sip on the bubbly drink. My phone begins to ring in my purse, and I’m thankful I tossed it on the couch beside me so I don’t have to get up and walk to get it. I put my glass down and scramble the things in my purse in search of it, seeing Nina’s face looking at me when I finally find it.
“Hey,” I answer.
“Hey, how’s everything?” she asks, her voice cautious for once.
“Fine. Just hanging out at the hotel, drinking some champagne. You know, the good life,” I mutter.
She sighs loudly. “I should’ve gone with you. Why are you drinking? You never drink anymore.” Her voice is small and helpless, matching my feelings. I don’t laugh because if I do, I think I’ll end up crying again.
“I’m good, I just needed to relax,” I respond, finding that it’s true. I actually don’t feel terrible right now.
“So you don’t need me to pack my bags and fly my ass over there?” Nina asks.
I laugh. “Nope. I think I’m good.”
“Where’s the hottie? Is his room near yours?” she asks.
“Funny story … he was supposed to stay with me. Hendrix booked a two-room suite, but we sort of made out and then I slapped him and told him to leave.”
Silence. Shocking silence.
“What?” Nina asks quietly, clearly taken aback.
I explain everything that happened, from the airplane to the car, to the hotel lobby and elevator to the kiss.
“Wow. I mean … I can see why you’re pissed, but wow … I can’t believe you slapped him,” she says and falls into a fit of giggles. “That’s my girl!”
I can’t keep the laughter from escaping my lips. Of course Nina would be happy about something like that. She makes me promise that I won’t finish the bottle of champagne by myself.
“As much as I want you to loosen up and live a little, I’m scared of you doing that without me there to watch you,” she says.
Her words make me feel loved, wanted, and because of that, I promise her that I won’t get drunk and that I won’t let anybody lure me into doing any drugs. I’ve come too far to let myself relapse.
There’s a knock on my door shortly after I hang up with Nina, and I look through the peephole to see who it is. I find myself staring at a mop of unruly brown hair until Shea lifts his face, showing me his annoyance for having to wait for me to open the door. I swing the door open and move out of the way so he can come in.
“About time,” he says, brushing past me and looking around the suite. He shrugs. “Mine’s nicer.”
I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me, and let the door shut behind me as I follow him into the living room. “That’s because you got the penthouse suite.”
“You could’ve stayed with me, but noooo you wanted to stay with Shadow,” he says mockingly. “Where is he?”
I shrug. “He left. I’m sure he’ll be back later.” I don’t want to get into what happened between Nick and me, not with Shea. We may be good friends, but I don’t like to bore him with my sorry excuse for relationships.
“Hmm,” Shea says, plopping down on the sofa and turning on the television. “You drinking this?” he asks, tapping the bottle of champagne with the tip of his sneaker.
“Yeah. You want?” I offer.
He tips his head up to look at my face. He looks amused by the question, as if it’s a given that he would want it, and I know it is, but if I’m going to be honest, I didn’t want him to stroll in here and start drinking with me. Who knows what he’s going to pull out of his pockets after his second glass of alcohol? I know he wouldn’t offer me anything that he takes, he knows better than that and he’s really made an effort not to include me in his illicit behaviors, but it doesn’t change the fact that it makes me uneasy. Especially when we’re alone. For the past couple of years, anytime Shea and I have hung out by ourselves it’s been because we’ve gone out to a restaurant or a bar to hang out. I don’t think we’ve been alone in a hotel room with a bottle of alcohol in over five years.
I guess life has made sure that this trip should test me in every way imaginable. Since he doesn’t reply with words, I pick up the extra flute and pour a drink for him, handing it to him as I pick up my own. I sit down on the couch beside him, but make sure to leave room between us. When he takes a sip and flips the channel, I let out a breath, realizing that I’m totally overanalyzing the situation.
“Let’s go out tonight,” he says after a moment.
“Where?” I ask, doing a mental catalog of the clothes in my suitcase.
Shea shrugs, his eyes darting from the TV to me. “Anywhere. Out. They’re throwing a little party in the lounge downstairs, but we can ditch it and go wherever you want.”
“Who’s hosting the party?” I ask, furrowing my eyebrows.
“Some promoters,” he replies flippantly.
My eyes widen. “Did they pay you already?”
His eyes shoot heavenward. “BK, they always pay me, doesn’t mean I have to stay the entire night.”
This is the kind of shit that gets celebrities in trouble, the careless way they seem to think that the world caters to them, and they can do whatever the hell they want even if they are being paid and expected to do whatever they agreed upon.
“How many hours are you supposed to be there?”
I ask, unwilling to let it go. I know that if Shea starts causing trouble before his tour even starts, the label is going to have a mess to clean up afterward.
“Two hours. God, I hate that you’re the boss’s daughter,” he mutters under his breath, looking back at the TV.
“And I hate that you’re so unprofessional sometimes, but you don’t see me complaining,” I retort.
He shifts his body to face me, folding his left leg on the seat between us. “Do you wanna go to that shit? Or do you want me to ditch it and take you somewhere else? I want to make you feel comfortable since I dragged you over here to begin with. Excuse me for trying to be a good friend over here,” he says seriously, emphasizing the word friend in a way that makes me clamp my teeth together. The thing about Shea is that the last time we hooked up wasn’t that long ago, even if it was a mistake on my part. He has a way of making you feel like you’re not just a pastime to him, like you’re more, and because we’re friends and we talk, sometimes the lines blur. Maybe it’s true what they say: men and women can’t just be friends. I really want to prove that theory wrong, though. I heard somewhere, probably on Elvis Duran or something, since that’s my source of useful information, that men and women can be friends successfully if they are each in a stable relationship. Since I wouldn’t know what a stable relationship was if it hit me in the face and Shea wouldn’t know how to keep his dick in his pants long enough to even learn the definition of the word relationship, I think we’re pretty doomed.
Still, I refuse to get caught up in his little games. I know the smile spreading on his face is his weapon of choice against my libido, and I refuse to let myself sink enough to acknowledge it. I’ve also had a lot of time to reflect on the kind of friendship we have, and I know it wasn’t good for me then, and it’s probably worse for me now, but I’ll be damned if I leave him behind. The truth is, I tried for a little while not to speak to him and it worked, but then I kept running into him everywhere.
Catch Me Page 16
