A Little Like Destiny

by Lisa Suzanne

  “Is this just some game to you?” My voice starts rising as my blood boils with anger. How can he sit there and say these things to me when I know what I know? “See how many of Brian’s girlfriends you can fuck?”

  He grimaces, and even with his features twisted, he’s still the most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on. “No,” he says through gritted teeth. “What happened with Kendra…it wasn’t intentional. I’ve paid my penance to make it up to him and I still feel like shit about it.” He fixes his eyes out the window. “I don’t go after Brian’s women. If anything, it’s the other way around. It’s not what you think.”

  “Then what is it?” I’m yelling now, and I don’t even care. I’m pissed. How dare he come all the way to my parents’ damn house in Phoenix to antagonize me?

  “I can’t stop thinking about that night. About you.” His voice is so full of sincerity that it’s hard not to buy what he’s selling. There’s a hitch in his breath, a change in his tone over his last two words: About you. His pain is palpable, but I’m too angry, too fired up to focus on it.

  “And you think locking me in a car with you for five hours is going to change that?”

  He barks out a laugh. “No, but it might help me sort through the shit storm in my head.”

  “Brian told me you make women think you’re in for more than a night but it’s not really true.”

  He winces at the mention of his brother’s name coming out of my mouth. “Brian doesn’t know jack shit about me.”

  I raise an eyebrow and lower my voice. “He told me how you tell women you’re going to write songs about them.”

  He blows out a breath. “I’ve never said that to a woman. Not once.”

  “You said it to me.”

  He shakes his head. “No I didn’t. Have I written songs about relationships? Of course. But I’ve never deliberately told a woman I’d write a song about her. I’ve never wanted to give a woman that sort of claim over something so close to my career. That night I was with you, I wrote down some words that spoke to me. I didn’t tell you I’d write a song about you.”

  Heat creeps into my cheeks. “Oh. I…uh…”

  He stares out the window. “I did, though.” He turns back to me. “Write a song about you, I mean. And I played a riff publicly and it was incredibly well received.”

  “You played a riff publicly? Where?”

  “I crashed a concert and tossed out a few bars of it as an experiment. The crowd went crazy. Steve showed me an article the next day that someone wrote about how it—”

  He interrupts himself and pulls out his phone. He taps the keys for a few beats and then hands it over to me. I read the headline. Love Looks Good on Vail’s Mark Ashton.

  “Love?” I say, reading the headline.

  He shrugs. “According to the article.”

  “What about according to you?”

  “I hardly even know you.” He looks out the window again.

  I nod. He’s right. It’s ridiculous of me to even ask.

  “And that’s why I don’t understand these goddamn feelings.” He says it so softly that I almost miss it. I pretend like I don’t hear him, like I’m reading the article.

  Because if I allow myself to listen to those words—his admission that he has confusing feelings for me that might feel a little like love—I’m not sure I’ll keep believing Brian’s harsh words about the way Mark treats women.

  As I stare down at Mark’s phone pretending to read the article, some of the words on the screen start to register. They’re familiar words that have stayed with me, stamped on my heart in the way a lot of Vail songs are, but personal and unique in their own way.

  It’s the words I remember Mark tapping into his phone when we were in the back of his Yukon headed toward his place. When my eyes focus on those four little words, I read the entire article.

  “A Little Like Destiny.” Those were the words Mark Ashton repeated at his surprise performance at the Noteworthy show two nights ago at HRH’s pool venue.

  I stop reading to say, “I was at that show.”

  “You were?”

  I nod. “We left early.”

  “I wish you hadn’t.”

  Noteworthy front man Sebastian Cresswell and Ashton are longtime friends with a history of surprising each other on stage, not to mention their history of shared women and drunken nights. The words Ashton sang on Saturday have women everywhere distraught that his single days might be over. His ballad was forlorn and sincere. Emotions don’t run that deep without true feelings behind them, and love looks good on Ashton, or at least on Ashton’s lyrics. Who is this mystery woman inspiring his music? Only time will tell. To view the performance, click here. To read the rest of the soulful lyrics, click here.

  I click on the rest of the lyrics.

  The light hits your eyes

  A part of me dies

  A little like destiny

  It’s just for one night

  But it feels too right

  A little like destiny

  I can’t let it go

  It’s starting to show

  A little like destiny

  The threat of tears bites behind my eyes. I want to watch the performance. I want to see him setting those words to music, belting them out the way only he can with all the talent he possesses, but I need to do it alone. I need to do it when he’s not sitting right beside me, because if I hear his pent-up emotions about me coming out of him in the form of a song while he’s in a confined space beside me, I’m not sure what’ll happen. I’m not sure I’ll be able to maintain self-control.

  “I wish I could’ve seen it live,” I say.

  He hums a tune, and then he murmurs the words. He isn’t belting them out like I imagined, like he probably is in the video, but he’s giving me my own acapella version right here in the back of the car.

  And it’s beautiful. He sings the words quietly, soulfully, and I can’t help but admire the pure musical gift he was born with. He doesn’t look at me while he croons softly beside me, instead focusing his gaze out the window.

  When he’s done, I don’t know whether to applaud or climb onto his lap and kiss him or sit quietly.

  I let the quiet stir between us, and then I say, “That was lovely.” My voice shakes with the unshed tears behind my eyes.

  “Thanks,” he murmurs, turning to look at me.

  “What do you mean by it’s starting to show?”

  He clears his throat. “I told you how I’m a disaster. I almost missed a performance the other night. That never happens. Never. Music is first in my life, always. I told you how I fucked up our opening song. It’s an amateur move. I haven’t done that shit since before we signed a record deal. A fuckload of people count on me not to fuck up, and I’m letting them down. All because my head is so fucked over you.” He focuses his gaze out the window again and lowers his voice. “Over the fact that you’re with Brian. That you chose Brian.”

  My heart races. “Would it be different if my relationship was with someone else? If that man wasn’t your brother?”

  He lifts a shoulder, and then he looks over at me and shakes his head sadly. “No. The end result is the same. It’s not me.”

  Our eyes meet for a searing moment. His eyes blaze into mine. He wants me, wants this—right here in the back of his car, and I want it, too. I want to be sitting like we were as we traveled down the Strip, like we were today before I pushed him away. I want him close. I want to smell him, to radiate in his warmth, to feel him in my orbit.

  But there’s a line between us—a clear, forbidden divider that would be immoral to cross, no matter how right it feels.

  Now I’m the one looking out the window. It’s hard to concentrate with his green eyes pinning me to my seat. I think back to Jill’s words—when he looks at you with those green eyes, you do anything he asks.

  I’m just not sure what he’s asking, and I’m not sure whether to go with my gut and believe that he’s being sincere or go with what my
boyfriend told me about him.

  twenty-seven

  We stay on our separate sides of the car for the rest of the ride back to Vegas, but things have definitely changed. If nothing else, I feel a little closer to him. The ride was full of ups and downs—we went from laughing together over Snapchat to me yelling at him for showing up at my parents’ house. It’s like a reflection of what a life together might be like, a rollercoaster halfway between terrifying and thrilling.

  Except I’ll never know what a life together would be like. That thought hurts my heart more than I care to admit.

  The closer we get to Vegas, the wider the wedge between us grows. We both grow quiet, lost in our thoughts. It’s the elephant in the room, the name we keep pretending doesn’t exist. But it does exist, and he’ll be waiting for me back at Mark’s place.

  The Strip lies ahead of us, a beacon in the distance. I catch a glimpse of Mandalay Bay on the left and follow the line all the way to the Stratosphere on the right. It looks tiny from this distance, but I know we’ll be there in less than twenty minutes.

  Mark presses a button. “Call up Vinny and tell him to pull into the gas station at the next exit.”

  “Yes sir,” comes the voice from the driver’s seat.

  I glance over at Mark.

  “If you want to switch cars, this is the place to do it.” He stares straight ahead as he speaks, as if it’s painful for him to say the words.

  “If I want to? Mark, it doesn’t matter if I want to. I have to.”

  He finally turns toward me. “You think it doesn’t matter? Of course it matters.”

  I break our eye contact and return my gaze out the window without another word. We get to the gas station, and I get out of the car, each step I take pushing me further from Mark and closer to Brian.

  Even if Brian’s claims about his brother aren’t true, this is still the right decision. No matter how I look at it, Mark would be a risk. Brian’s a sure thing. I may live in Vegas, but my heart is too valuable a currency to gamble with.

  I trudge toward my car. Vinny parked it in front of a pump, and he’s standing just outside the driver’s door. “Want me to fill it?” he asks as I approach.

  “I’ve got it,” I say.

  He nods once, and I walk over and slide in my credit card. I fill the tank, and just after I pull the receipt from the printer, my skin erupts in goosebumps and then I’m forced up against my car. I grunt, half in fear and half in pleasure. I know it’s Mark before I even make eye contact.

  His body presses me to my car, his erection pushing into my hip. He leans down and nuzzles my neck, and my body vibrates. A soft purr escapes me when his lips press to my skin, and then he’s nipping his way up to my lips and I’m lost.

  He opens his mouth to mine, and when his tongue finds mine, the throb that’s been pulsing between my legs since I first spotted the Yukon outside my childhood home turns into a fierce ache.

  My senses come alive in his arms. His fresh laundry and sandalwood scent envelops me as peppermint caresses my taste buds. My hand moves up to palm his cheek. The stubble outlining his jaw prickles under my hand and his soft moan fills my ears. My arms tighten around his middle. His body boxing me against my own car is both comforting and petrifying.

  I kiss him back, pouring everything I have into this kiss, ten years’ worth of a crush and two months’ worth of dizzying lust.

  He breaks our kiss and rests his forehead to mine for one beat that’s cut way too short. “Tell me this is what you want.”

  “I do, Mark,” I say, my eyes on his chest rather than gazing into his penetrating ones. If I look up at him, I’ll change my mind. I’ll do anything he wants me to do. I gather the material of his shirt covering his chest into my two fists. “Of course I do.” My voice breaks. “But I can’t.”

  His hands come up to cover mine over his shirt, and he holds on for a moment. I don’t know if he’s looking at the connection of our hands or if he’s looking down at my face.

  If he’s looking at my face, surely he sees the pain and indecision there. I’m trying hard to be strong here, to do what’s right—because even if I wanted this, even if I thought this could last past just one more night, I still have another man to consider.

  Another man who’s waiting for me at Mark’s penthouse on the forty-seventh floor of the Mandarin Oriental.

  I let go of his shirt and slide out from beneath his grasp, and then I get into my car and drive toward the Strip…toward my boyfriend, even as my tongue tastes of another man.

  *

  I text Brian after I drop my car off at valet.

  Me: I’m here.

  I feel like I should say something more personal—missed you, can’t wait to see you…something along those lines, but I don’t because my thoughts are so thoroughly scattered.

  Brian: Be right down.

  As I wait for him, my thoughts drift to Mark as they always do. Will he show up here? Will he wait a bit? Will he tell Brian we were together today?

  I don’t know the answer to any of those questions, and I feel like I’m playing a dangerous game of cat and mouse. I’m stuck in the middle between two brothers who are very different people. On the one hand, I have Brian, the responsible businessman who makes me feel adored, who will provide me with a safe, if predictable, and secure future. On the other hand, I have Mark, the womanizing rock star who ignites my passion but is a total and complete risk.

  I believe Mark is being sincere with me. That first night, he told me things he’s never told anyone else. Every time he’s kissed me, my feelings deepen. Every time I see him, my heart binds closer to his.

  But the same can be said for his brother, too, and I don’t have any idea what the right answer here is.

  The elevator doors open. Brian is looking down at the ground when the doors start to open, but his eyes lift to mine. Can he tell I kissed another man—his brother? Can he somehow read that I’ve betrayed him even though Mark was the one who kissed me…multiple times since he’s been gone?

  I should’ve told him from the start. I should’ve been honest about the fact that I had a one-night stand with his brother before I even met him, but now it’s too late. I can’t just admit it now; too much time has passed.

  “Hey,” Brian says softly as he steps off the elevator. I rush to him, because despite everything, I did miss him. I do have strong feelings for him…I do love him.

  He wraps his arms around me and his lips find mine. Can he taste his brother there? Can he smell the soft sandalwood on my skin?

  “God, I missed you so much,” he breathes against my mouth. He lowers his head to the crook of my neck as his arms tighten around me.

  “I missed you, too,” I murmur.

  “Are you hungry? Do you need anything?”

  I shrug. “I could eat.”

  “You’ll need the fuel for what I have planned.” He shoots me a wicked, panty-melting grin.

  “What, exactly, do you have planned?”

  “You’ll see.” He smiles again then grabs my hand and pulls me through the lobby and up some stairs toward a bistro.

  We’re taken care of despite the line out front. The hostess refers to Brian as Mr. Fox when she sees him, and she leads us directly to an open booth overlooking the Strip. Brian orders us a bottle of wine and I look over the menu while we wait for it to arrive.

  “How was your flight home?” I ask once I’ve decided what I want to eat.

  “Fine. I worked through most of it.” His eyes remain on his menu. “How was your car ride?”

  Incredible. Confusing. Heartbreaking. “Fine.”

  “Long ride?” he asks.

  “It seemed like it went faster than normal today.”

  “Good music selection?”

  I think back to Mark’s serenade as guilt stabs at my abdomen. “The best.”

  He closes his menu and sets it on the table. “What else did I miss while I was gone?”

  I shrug. “Nothing exciting.” Except y
our brother kissed me and I think I might be in love with both of you.

  None of the lines I’ve crossed with Mark have been my fault. While I admittedly didn’t stop them, he’s the one who kissed me first. He’s the one who obtained my phone number, and he’s the one who showed up in Phoenix uninvited and kidnapped me for five hours.

  I suppose I could’ve put up a bigger fight, and that’s on me—that’s my fault, and that’s where my guilt stems from. That and the little omission that I’ve slept with Mark.

  We order our meals and chat about nothing important as I do my best to focus on the man in front of me while I simultaneously push Mark further from my mind.

  twenty-eight

  As soon as we’re done eating, we leave. Brian didn’t pay the bill, but if they know him, they know where he lives and will figure out how to get their payment. The bottle of wine was left half full on the table. Money is no object.

  We’re not alone on the elevator. A couple gets off on a floor a few down from ours, but when the doors close behind them, we’re sealed in alone.

  Brian doesn’t waste a second.

  He’s on me in a flash, his mouth hot on mine, his tongue moving against my own as his fingers move down to grab me between my legs. I do the same to him, cupping him through his pants, finding his erection and fisting it as best I can through his slacks.

  My insides burn as the ache his brother started blisters in my core. The pressure of his fingers is just enough to give me a preview without giving anything away, but I want it—need it. I crave it.

  I ignore the corner of my brain that’s questioning whether it’s him I’m craving.

  The elevator doors open to our floor, and we almost miss it. The doors start to close, but we’re so intent on lip to lip, body to body, exploring fingers that we nearly get stuck for another ride. Just before the doors close, Brian sticks his leg through and the doors pop back open. He pulls me the short distance from the elevator to door 4701, barely allowing his lips to leave mine.

  I think for a second what this would look like if Mark was here in the hallway. This isn’t something I’d want him to see—but it’s completely natural at the same time, a girlfriend greeting her boyfriend who has been out of town for a few days. I shouldn’t feel guilty kissing Brian.