by Mari Madison
I looked up, surprised. “How do you know I don’t drink?”
She shrugged. “It was just a guess,” she said. “You didn’t want to drink at the wedding. There were no wineglasses at the table yesterday. And today Angelita didn’t ask if you wanted a margarita. Whereas at every other table it’s been her first question.”
I nodded slowly, feeling flushed at the idea that she’d been paying that much attention. Most people never even noticed my abstaining, too involved in drinking themselves. “Yeah,” I said. “I haven’t had a drink in two years. And I don’t smoke pot anymore, either. These days I like having a clear head. I can get my highs elsewhere. Like out on the ocean, carving a wave. That’s when I feel most alive.” I stared down at my plate, feeling sheepish. “That probably sounds stupid, right?”
But Piper only shook her head. “No,” she said. “I think it’s pretty smart, actually. Trust me, I’ve seen far too many people have their lives ruined by not being able to handle their alcohol or drugs.” She sighed loudly. “My own mother for one.”
I looked up, surprised. “She’s an alcoholic?”
“Among other things.”
I stared at her, suddenly remembering what she’d told me at the yacht club about her brother. Had her mother’s disease been somehow responsible for his death? Had she not kept a close eye on him because she had passed out drunk or drugged?
The thought sent an uneasy feeling creeping through my stomach. I didn’t like to think back about how lucky I’d been that I hadn’t hurt anyone that night I’d stumbled in here. That I hadn’t killed anyone. Had it not been for Miguel, I would have gotten back in my car. Driven all the way home . . .
“I’m sorry,” I said simply, not sure what else to say. “That must have been a tough way to grow up.”
Piper turned away, looking uncomfortable, and I wondered if there was more to the story than she was letting on. But I didn’t press her—we all had our secrets, after all. And some were definitely best kept hidden.
“So how are you liking your new job?” I asked, deciding to change the subject to something lighter. “Is being my weather producer everything you ever dreamed of and more?”
“Honestly? I’m still kind of freaking out that I had my first real story on the air tonight,” she confessed. “I mean, watching the segment, hearing my words come out of your mouth.” Her eyes sparkled. “Sure, I know it’s everyday reality for you. But to me—it was like freaking magic.”
I nodded, my insides warming at the glow I recognized on her face. It was funny: I’d taken my job at the station for granted for so long now it was kind of refreshing to hear her talk about it like this. To see how much it meant to her.
Just as it had once meant so much to me . . .
“Well, I’m glad we were able to make that happen,” I declared, holding up my water glass for another toast. “To your first script. And to all those scripts to come. May you always make me look like the rock star that you did tonight.”
She laughed and we clinked glasses. When she set hers back down, she looked at me, her eyes thoughtful. “So what’s your deal, anyway?” she asked. “I mean, I know you say you’re News 9 for life, but did you ever want to be something else?”
I shook my head. “Not that I remember,” I said. “I feel like I always knew I would follow in my dad’s footsteps and take on the family legacy. Even when I was a kid he used to take me to work and put me on air sometimes. I’d give a lispy little forecast live on TV. Everyone thought it was the cutest thing ever.” I made a face to show her what I thought of that.
I expected her to laugh, but instead she looked at me with sympathetic eyes. “That must have been a lot of pressure,” she said. “To be told you have to live up to this guy—who’s like a legend. And never have a say in any of it?”
I frowned, feeling suddenly uneasy. I tried to shrug it off. “It is what it is, I suppose.”
But Piper didn’t seem to want to let it go. “What would you do?” she pressed. “If you could do anything at all?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean if you didn’t have this whole legacy thing. If tomorrow News 9 were to just—poof!—disappear. What would you do instead? If you had your choice of anything in the world—besides doing weather on TV?”
Her deep brown eyes seemed to burn into me as she asked the question, and I could feel a blush creep to my hairline. Suddenly I felt vaguely annoyed, here in my favorite place. Annoyed at her, for the unnerving question. Annoyed at myself for not having a decent answer. At least not one I wanted to admit.
And so I squared my shoulders, pasting a cocky grin on my face. “I guess I’d probably surf all day long,” I drawled. “Endless summer, baby!”
Her expression flickered and I thought I caught disappointment ghosting her face. The smile fled from my lips, and I immediately felt bad for my stupid answer. She had been asking a serious question and had actually cared enough to want an answer—which was more than I could say for most of the girls I dated. And yet I had, predictably, turned it into a farce.
I really was the Joker, wasn’t I?
“Sorry,” I muttered, raking a hand through my hair. “I guess I just never thought about it before. In any case, it’ll never happen. Not while my mother is alive at least.”
She nodded, giving me a look that felt a little too close to pity for my liking. But she didn’t press me further and for that I was grateful. Instead she said, “Speaking of surfing, do you know anyone who gives lessons around here?”
I raised an eyebrow. “You want to learn how to surf?”
She laughed. “No, thank you,” she declared. She paused, then added, “But there is this little boy. He’s ten and he lives at the group home where I work. He’s had a tough life. And some . . . well, pretty big disappointments lately as well. But he loves surfing. Or at least the idea of surfing—I don’t know if he’s ever actually done it before.”
“Okay . . .”
“Do you know someone who might be willing to give him a quick lesson sometime?” she asked. “I could pay for it, of course. I don’t have a ton of money—the Holloway House doesn’t have a big budget, but I’m happy to—”
“I’ll teach him.”
Her eyes widened. “No,” she protested. “You’re too busy. I just meant if you knew of a surf school nearby that might be able to—”
I held up a hand to stop her. “Piper, I’ll do it,” I said. “I’ll make the time. Just tell me where and when and I’ll be there.”
“Really?” she asked, her eyes bright with excitement. “You’d really do that?” She swallowed hard. “I warn you, sometimes he can be difficult . . .”
“So can I, sweetheart,” I reminded her with a smirk. “Or haven’t you noticed yet?”
She laughed, her black lashes sweeping over her eyes as she looked down at the table, and something hard thudded in my chest. While I loved the idea of helping this boy, the idea of making her happy? That was even better.
“I will give him the best surf lesson he’s ever had,” I declared. “On one condition.”
She looked up. “What’s that?”
I gave her a wink. “That you dance with me now.”
sixteen
PIPER
That you dance with me now.
Before I could reply, Asher grabbed my hands from across the table, nearly knocking over our water glasses as he dragged me to my feet and toward the small makeshift dance floor in the center of the restaurant. He nodded to the mariachi band and they responded, launching into a fast-paced Spanish tune. Asher pulled me into his arms, locking his hand at the small of my back, then swinging me around in a madcap dance.
I knew he was just being silly—but heat surged through me all the same—and I found myself unable to protest as he led me around the dance floor, his hand scorching my back, his steps never faltering. I wa
s no dancer—not by a long shot—but at that moment I felt as if I were floating. And it was tough not to be infected by his enthusiasm. The grin on his face. The strength and the warmth of his arms. My traitorous skin was practically vibrating with the desire for more than a dance. My traitorous lips begging for a repeat of last night’s ill-advised kiss.
“Dancing with the stars, baby,” he quipped, then held up my hand to allow me to twirl. I did, laughing despite myself as I almost fell into another table. He grabbed me just in time, yanking me flush against him. My heart jolted as my breasts pressed against his solid chest, his hands wrapping securely around my waist. I dared to look up into those beautiful storm-tossed eyes of his, promptly losing myself in the dilated pupils.
A weird longing suddenly crept through me. What must it be like to go through life like this? Always moving with such confidence, style, and poise? Never having to worry about tripping up, falling down. Not being able to pull yourself back up. His self-assurance was thrilling—yet completely petrifying at the same time. A man who acted like he had nothing to lose.
Except . . . I thought back to that moment at the table, when I asked him what he wanted to be. I was positive I hadn’t imagined the pain in his eyes or the way he deftly turned the question into a joke. Could the fact that he had nothing to lose come from the fact that he had already lost something along the way?
I had always fought tooth and nail to get anywhere in life. But I’d always been able to pick my own path, my own destination. Meanwhile Asher had never had to work for anything. But his journey had been predestined from the start—without anyone asking his opinion.
I wondered, if given the choice, what life I would prefer.
I realized suddenly that he had stopped dancing. We had both stopped dancing. We were both looking at one another. Our faces mere inches apart. Our lips even closer. My heart thudded in my chest. I swallowed hard. Holy crap.
“Um, I think that’s our dinner,” I stammered, jerking my head to watch a server carry two steaming plates over to our table.
“It can wait,” he said. “They always serve it too hot, anyway.”
Speaking of too hot—he grabbed me again, pulling me back to him. His hands slipped down my arms, dragging me closer. So close I could feel the contours of his chest muscles against my belly. His uneven breaths against my cheek. He reached up, tracing my jawline with a firm, persuasive touch, and it sent a warming shiver straight to my toes.
Suddenly no part of me wanted to pull away. I didn’t care a bit about the food getting cold. Or the whole “you shouldn’t date coworkers” bullshit, either. I just wanted to dive in and kiss the hell out of this gorgeous man, all common sense be damned. Forget about tomorrow and the day after and the day after that. Hell, my entire future. At that moment, I was ready to say fuck it all and throw everything away, in exchange for just five more minutes of this fantasy.
But that would be stupid. I’d worked too hard, for too long, to put myself at this kind of risk. Yes, Asher was charming. He was hot as hell. And the way he was looking at me now told me he liked me quite a bit. But I knew far too well how fleeting attraction could be. And if I allowed myself to fall for him, I’d fall alone. I’d fall far. And fast. And I might never be able to get up again.
So, against everything inside of me, I took a step back, trying to put distance between myself and this god of a man. It wasn’t easy. In fact, it pretty much took all my strength to even put a couple of inches between us. And when he looked down at me with eyes filled with pity it almost did me in.
“Oh, Red,” he murmured, taking a step toward me and lowering his head to whisper in my ear. His mouth brushed softly against my earlobe and I practically yelped as the chills ran through me, prickling my skin. “Don’t you ever just let yourself go?”
I pulled a breath through my teeth, practically panting with desire. “Not really,” I managed to say with a brittle laugh.
Asher slipped a hand under my shirt, skimming my waist. The sudden skin-on-skin contact sent crackles of electricity down to my toes. I jerked, but he only tightened his grip, his eyes locking down on mine as he ran his other hand through my hair, his fingers tangling in each curl.
“Just let go,” he whispered huskily, his face inches from mine. “For even a moment. Just let it all go. I promise, there’s nothing that can hurt you here.”
And suddenly I wanted to do just that. Just for a moment—to feel what it would be like to live another life. To be someone like Asher, who was so fucking free. What harm could it do really? We were on a dance floor, in front of people. As Asher said, nothing could hurt me here.
Staying in control had been a necessity in a life lived in chaos. Waking up each morning, never knowing if my mother would be drunk, sober, or worse. Even when I got to the Holloway House, they tried their best but there was always an influx of new, troubled kids. Kids who were not always model citizens. You had to learn to sleep with one eye open, your valuables tucked under your pillow. Trust no one was the unspoken rule.
But I was not at the Holloway House now. Nor was I with my mother. I was in the arms of a gorgeous man who was looking at me with eyes that begged me to trust him—even for just a moment.
“Okay,” I said.
Asher didn’t reply, only swept me back into the dance and this time I let him. Let myself get lost in his beguiling eyes. His sensuous lips. His firm but gentle touch. His rich, musky scent. For one precious moment I let myself live another life. Where I was a fairy-tale princess and he was a real-life prince.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he murmured, his breath whispering across my sensitive cheeks. “I have wanted to do this since the first time I laid eyes on you.”
He leaned down, his lips crushing mine, his tongue pushing into my mouth, invading without apology. Then he yanked me closer to him, so close I could feel his erection, pressing against my belly, and my whole body burned with fire.
He pushed me against the wall, his hands dropping down to cup my ass, and heat pooled between my legs as I somehow managed to scissor his thigh. Lost in the spell, I vaguely realized we were no longer dancing. Just making out in a crowd of strangers in a random Mexican hole-in-the-wall in the worst part of town. If you had told me yesterday that I would be doing this, I would have laughed in your face. Because I, Piper Strong, did not do this kind of thing. Especially not with my . . .
. . . coworker.
I jerked away, the spell broken as reality crashed over me like a tidal wave. Asher looked down at me, glassy-eyed, still dazed. I shook myself, trying to regain control.
“I . . . think it might be time to eat,” I stammered, retreating like a coward to our table. I could feel his eyes burning into me from behind, but I was too chicken to turn around. If I did, I might abandon the idea of eating altogether—as I was now hungry for something not related to food. As I popped back into our booth, I pulled my water glass to my cheek, desperate to cool myself with the condensation from the glass.
A moment later Asher joined me at the table. I set down my glass, waiting for him to say something—anything—to break this weird spell between us. But he said nothing. Only grabbed his fork and dug into his meal, avoiding my eyes. I tried to do the same, even though I wasn’t hungry anymore. In fact, if anything I felt a little sick.
What had I been thinking? Oh God, this was exactly what I’d said I didn’t want to happen. And yet, it had felt so good. So right. To just let go like that—to allow myself to live in the moment, as if there were no tomorrow.
But tomorrow would come all too soon. And one misstep tonight could ruin it forever.
Forcing myself to concentrate on the food, rather than the suddenly tense vibe between us, I stuck my fork into my chile relleno and stuffed it in my mouth. As the spices hit my tongue, my eyes widened. I could barely manage to withhold a moan of pleasure, the awkwardness of the ill-advised kiss instantly forgotten as my
taste buds took over. Man, this was even better than Asher’s jalapeño scrambled eggs—and that was saying quite a bit.
“Oh my God,” I cried. “This is so freaking good!”
Asher’s face relaxed. Then he grinned. “Told you.”
I took another bite, my mouth tingling happily. Well, at least if this turned out to be my last supper I’d die with a full belly and a happy palate. There were worse ways to go, I supposed.
“I’m sorry,” I said, once I had swallowed another bite. “I didn’t mean—”
Asher held out a hand to stop me. “No,” he said. “I’m the one who’s sorry. I got carried away out there. I shouldn’t have, well, you know.” He raked a hand through his hair and laughed. “You’re just so goddamned sexy when you lose control. I’m only human, you know.”
I blushed straight to my hairline. But my insides were dancing. “Yeah,” I said, trying to keep my voice casual. “That’s the problem with losing control. You end up doing things you don’t want to do.”
“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” he replied with an almost feral smile. “I wanted to do that. And a whole lot more.” Then he shrugged. “I’m just not sure if you were enjoying it as much as me.”
I stared down at my plate of food, my pulse racing. How could I explain this to someone like him? That I did enjoy it. That I enjoyed it far too much, in fact. And that that was the problem.
“Hey!” he cried, reaching out and lifting my chin with his fingers until I was forced to meet his eyes. The teasing look was gone and there was a seriousness there instead that was almost sexier than his smile. “I get it, okay? It’s not a big deal. I promise.”
I sighed, shaking off his fingers, feeling like an idiot. It wasn’t fair. It was so not fair. Why couldn’t I have this kind of life? The kind where I was free to make mistakes and do stupid things and hook up with hot guys without worrying about future consequences? Why did I always have to worry about the bigger picture?
