Sin With Me (Bad Habit)

by J. T. Geissinger

  Her only answer is a shaky exhalation.

  “Yes,” I growl. “I’m right. And you said you broke up with Marcus. So give me one good reason why I shouldn’t kiss you, Grace. Just one.”

  Her whole body is trembling. Her breath comes in short, soft pants.

  Fuck it. This is happening. Right. Now.

  The moment my lips touch hers, Grace blurts, “Because I don’t want to hurt you!”

  I freeze, and open my eyes. She’s staring back at me with this wild look, like she might bolt at any second. I stay perfectly still.

  “Do you have venomous saliva?”

  It’s meant as a joke, something to lighten the moment, but it doesn’t work. She looks away, as if she’s ashamed.

  “Talk to me.” When she doesn’t respond, I gently turn her face back to mine. We look into each other’s eyes.

  I have the strangest sense of falling, like I’ve just stepped off a tall building and am headed at top speed for the ground.

  She takes a breath, gathering her strength. “I have memory problems. Most people don’t know about it but . . .”

  But I do, because Chloe told me.

  It was the day Abby was born, before Chloe went into labor. We were sitting around the kitchen table at Nico’s house. I’ll never forget that moment, or Chloe’s words.

  When she was eighteen, Grace was involved in a bad car accident. Her parents were killed . . . she lost her memory. She can’t recall anything from before the crash. She had to relearn who she was when she woke up; she didn’t recognize anyone, she didn’t remember anything about her life. So now she has this whole ‘live for the moment’ philosophy. Especially with relationships. If she thinks someone she’s dating is getting serious, that’s it. It’s over.

  It doesn’t help that they never found the bastard that ran into them. It was a hit-and-run.

  It was the last part that made my blood run cold and bile rise up in my throat, hot and choking. Even after Chloe’s water broke and everyone rushed to the hospital, I sat frozen at the kitchen table, fighting the urge to vomit, blinded by horrible memories and wondering what the odds were that the woman I felt so drawn to had suffered that particular tragedy.

  That old bitch karma again, stabbing me in the heart and laughing in my face.

  A strong feeling of protectiveness comes over me. All I want to do is put my arms around Grace and tell her everything is going to be okay, but she’s not done talking yet.

  She looks into my eyes. In a small voice, she says, “I could not remember you one day. We could start something and then . . . I could lose any recollection of it. You’d be a stranger. Do you understand?”

  Like fingers interlacing, several things slowly come together and fit into place.

  “You could fall in love with me and not remember it?” I whisper.

  She swallows and nods.

  Dumbfounded, I stare at her. “Holy fuck.”

  Looking miserable, she nods again. She tries to pull away but I don’t let her. I put my arms around her and squeeze.

  She resists for what feels like forever, stiff and uncomfortable in my arms, but then slowly she gives in. She melts against me with a sigh, tucks her face into the space between my neck and shoulder, and winds her arms around my waist.

  We stand like that for a while, not talking, feeling the chaotic beating of each other’s hearts. Her hair smells like sunshine. She’s soft and warm against me, lush and feminine. My dick is still wrestling for control with my brain, which is in a state of shock and is just sitting there lifelessly inside my skull like a big lump of cheese.

  And suddenly I realize what a gift I’m being offered.

  I can never right the wrongs of the past, no matter how desperately I might want to. But maybe those wrongs aren’t the end of the story. Maybe they’re only a new beginning.

  If I’m going to do good by her, this is a fucking fantastic place to start.

  My voice gruff, I say, “I’m in.”

  She pulls away and looks at me, a little furrow between her brows. “What?”

  “I said I’m in. Fuck it. If I can make you fall in love with me once, I can make you fall in love with me again and again. Every day if I have to.”

  Grace blanches. “The Egosaurus rides again. I’m not in love with you!”

  “But you will be,” I vow, looking at her dead-on. “Because I’m not gonna leave you any other choice.”

  I plunge my hands into her hair, grip her head, pull her toward me, and fit my mouth against hers.

  It’s like the Fourth of July and New Year’s Eve and Christmas morning, all rolled into one.

  Heat. Color. Noise. Fireworks behind my eyes. She moans into my mouth, digs her nails into my back, arches against me. I moan, too, fucking her luscious mouth with my tongue, one hand behind her neck and the other roaming all over her body, learning her shape, the dip of her waist, the full, tight curve of her ass.

  It’s greedy.

  It’s scorching.

  It’s everything.

  If there were a Guinness World Record for the most amazing, mind-blowing, cock-stiffening, heart-pounding, panty-melting, burn-down-the-house kiss, we’d win that motherfucker hands down.

  We’re both breathing hard, desperate, mindless, lost. The kiss goes on and on, until I’m drunk on her. I’m flying. I’m melting. I’m—

  Someone loudly clears his throat.

  Stunned and reeling, Grace and I break apart.

  Nico stands in the kitchen doorway with his hands on his hips, grinning like an idiot. “Hiya, kids,” he drawls. “What’re you two squirrels up to?”

  Flushed and trembling, Grace lifts a hand to her lips. She lets out a short, astonished laugh and cuts her gaze to me.

  I can’t talk, either. My mouth can’t form any coherent words. I just stand there, dumb as a rock, my mind blank, my shorts tented, staring at Grace like I’ve spent my entire life up to this point living in a dark cave, surviving on worms and insects, and she just walked in with candles and flowers and a big fucking steak on a hot plate.

  “Uh . . .”

  Nico bursts out laughing.

  “I’ll just go see what Kat’s up to.” Grace’s voice is high and shaky. She bolts from the room.

  “Just wanted to let you know a few people are starting to show up.” Nico glances at the front of my shorts and chuckles. “So, uh, you might want to pull yourself together, brother.”

  Shaken to my core, I sag against the counter, gripping it hard for support, and let out a ragged breath. “Jesus. Is that what it’s like for you with Kat? That feeling like you’re . . .”

  “Free-falling?” Nico supplies when I can’t find the right word. “High flying? Completely out of control?”

  When I look up at him, he nods. “Yeah, brother. It is. At the beginning. And then it gets so much deeper and so much better, there aren’t any words for it at all.” His eyes—bright, cobalt-blue eyes that made him famous—pierce me. “But be careful. Because once you get on that speeding train, you can’t get off. Even if it jumps the tracks, crashes into a nuclear power plant, and burns the whole world to the ground.”

  He gives me one long, last look and then turns around and leaves.

  From somewhere very far off, I hear the sound of my demon laughing.

  GRACE

  I hide behind a palm tree on the side of the house for the better part of ten minutes, trying desperately to get my bodily functions under control so I can appear in public without people thinking I’m on the verge of collapse.

  Because I am. I so am. It’s taking every bit of my willpower just to stand upright with my back against this tree. My knees are Jell-O. My blood pressure is volcanic. My hands are leaves shaking in a hurricane wind.

  That kiss was thermofuckingnuclear. I’ve had more men than the Milky Way has stars and I’ve never experienced anything even remotely close to the sensation I felt when Brody fitted my mouth to his.

  I couldn’t have known it would be that int
ense, that overwhelming, that passionate. No, “passionate” is too weak a word. But whatever—I could never have guessed.

  If I had I never would’ve let it happen.

  “This is bad,” I confess to the little green lizard sunning himself on a rock next to my tree. “This is really bad. This is bad like when the girl goes swimming at the beginning of Jaws and that creepy dun-dun, dun-dun, duh-na-NAH! music starts.”

  The lizard thinks I’m an idiot. He closes his eyes and falls asleep. Or maybe he’s just pretending to be asleep so he doesn’t have to deal with the stupid human having a nervous breakdown next to his rock.

  I drop my face into my hands and groan.

  The way Brody tasted—heaven. The way he smelled—heaven. The way he felt against me, his surprising strength, his heat, the feel of his heart hammering against mine—heaven. For a few short moments I was transported to a place I didn’t know existed, had never guessed could be real, and now I’m back here on earth with all my walls lying in smoking piles of rubble around me.

  I built those walls over years, painfully, brick by brick, stone by stone, with a thick layer of mortar to hold it all together, and Brody Scott just tore them all down with a single kiss.

  If I slept with that man he’d ruin me for all other men forever.

  Which obviously means I’m never sleeping with him.

  Which also obviously means I can never kiss him again, because if Nico hadn’t walked in at that precise moment I know I would’ve turned into the cock-gobbler Kat accused me of being and been down on my knees within ten seconds putting my considerable oral skills to good use.

  I lower my hands to my sides. I pull a deep, cleansing breath into my lungs. I recite the mantra I say to myself every morning when I wake up and still know my name.

  Looking out at the sea, I whisper fiercely, “You are a lion. You are a tiger. You were given this life because you’re strong enough to live it. Now get out there and let them hear your motherfucking roar!”

  Then I stumble off in search of a drink because, let’s face it, self-affirmations can only get you so far.

  By seven o’clock, the sun has long since set over the Pacific, the party is in full swing, and I have a fine buzz going, courtesy of the newly friendzoned Marcus, who took one look at me when I came walking pale faced and stiff limbed down the pathway from the house like a zombie and steered me toward the bar set up opposite the stage.

  He handed me an ice-cold glass of champagne and hasn’t left my side since.

  “So . . . you want to talk about it yet?” he says now, looking with interest at a trio of girls across the pool. They’re standing close to one another, giggling behind their drinks, glancing in his direction every few seconds, being as subtle about their interest in him as a murder scene in a Tarantino movie.

  “Nope.” I finish off the rest of my current glass of champagne and smack my lips. “But I think you should go over there and show those three little piggies what the big bad wolf is packing under his furry pelt before they finally bat their fake eyelashes clear off.”

  A burp escapes me, quite robust in its volume. “Seriously, have you ever seen such vigorous fluttering? I bet they could power a twin-engine plane with all that kinetic energy. I think the one on the right in the black miniskirt is about to lift off.”

  Marcus chuckles. “I’d ask if you were jealous but I know the answer is no.”

  I wave a hand vaguely in the air in agreement. “Steer clear of that busty blonde, though. She looks insane. Or is she cross-eyed? I can’t tell from here. The brunette looks like she could suck the chrome off a trailer hitch—look at those lips! I’d go for her.”

  Marcus looks at me from the corner of his eye. “I know it has to be something to do with Brody. He looked at you like you’d just descended from a cloud and started playing harp music. Never seen a man look at a woman with so much . . .”

  My breath held, I look over at him.

  When he pronounces, “Hope,” I’m not sure whether to laugh, cry, or tie a big rock around my neck and jump into the pool.

  “Hope is for fools.”

  Marcus heaves a sigh. “You know what your problem is, Grace?”

  I snort, closing one eye because the yard has, just slightly, begun to spin. “How much time do you have?”

  He takes my empty glass from my hand. “You think that because something terrible happened to you once, it’s bound to happen to you again. And that’s just not the reality of how life works.”

  When I glare at him, he doesn’t back down. “Hey, I’m your friend now. I can speak the truth without worrying it’ll cost me sex.”

  “I would never withhold sex as a punishment!” I say, offended.

  He ignores me. “The odds are exactly as good that you could fall in love and get married—”

  “Married!” I exclaim, laughing.

  “—as they are that you could get shot in a convenience store holdup, or win the lottery, or trip and hit your head on a rock and die, or find out you were adopted, or become president, or be the first person to cure cancer.”

  I blink. “I think that’s completely wrong. Where are you getting these statistics?”

  “My point is that life is random. The universe didn’t pick you out specifically for a tragedy, like, ‘Oh, it’s Tuesday the twenty-fourth, time to fuck with Grace Stanton.’ Bad shit happens. Good shit happens. Life happens. You can’t take any one thing and point to it as proof that life is any one way or the other. Life just is. And it keeps going.”

  He leans closer and drops his voice. “Until you’re dead, and then you don’t have any more chances to see what might happen with a man who looks at you like the sun is shining right out of your damn head.”

  He kisses me on the temple and strolls away, heading toward the three girls on the opposite side of the pool.

  “Dick,” I mutter, because I really hate it when other people are right.

  “Lovey! Omigod, what’re you doing standing here all by your lonesome?”

  Kenji appears out of nowhere in a purple sequined unitard, white platform boots, and a long feathered cape, screeching and frantically waving his arms at me like a night owl protecting her nest. I put a hand to my forehead and wince.

  “Oh, nothing. Just having my ass handed to me by someone who knows me well enough to make it hurt.”

  “Ugh. Don’t you hate that?” He stands on his tiptoes and kisses me on both cheeks. When he pulls back and looks at my expression, he cries, “Who died?”

  “No one died.”

  “Then what the hell happened to your face, girlfriend, because you look like you just found out your mama was married to her brother!”

  When all else fails, Kenji can always be relied upon to add a dose of humor to the situation.

  “Someone just told me some really harsh life truths that I’m wishing I could unhear.”

  Kenji lifts a hand to his mouth. His eyes go wide. “Oh my God. Did One Direction break up?”

  “Please go away now.”

  “There you are!” Kat comes up and pinches my arm. “I’ve been looking all over for you!”

  “I was just here.” I gesture morosely to nothing in particular. “Hanging out. Dealing with life’s vagaries the only way a reasonable person can: with alcohol.”

  Kat and Kenji share a look. “Where’s Marcus?” asks Kat.

  “Off in search of greener pastures.” I nod in the direction of the three little piggies. Marcus has joined their clique across the pool. From the looks of things, he’ll be having a foursome tonight.

  Looking at them, Kenji says, “Sweet baby Jesus. That blonde is frightening. Is she cross-eyed?”

  “As a Siamese cat!” I say cheerfully, then grab Kat’s drink from her hand, down it, and cough. She’s drinking whiskey, straight.

  More correctly, I’m drinking whiskey straight.

  “Wait—why is he over there with those girls and you’re over here with a face like Trojan discontinued their line of ribbe
d-for-her-pleasure condoms?” Kat asks.

  Smug as shit, Kenji says to me, “Told you.”

  “The next person who tells me what anyone’s face looks like will be losing his head!” I glare at Kat. “Or hers!”

  Then Barney walks up with his slight limp that somehow manages to make him look sexy and mysterious and says, “Ladies.” He looks at Kenji. “Oh. I didn’t realize it was a costume party.”

  Kenji smiles. “Every party is a costume party, lovey. Every day is a stage. Every time you walk out your front door you’re choosing what to tell the world with what you wear.”

  Barney looks him up and down. “And today you chose to tell the world you’re starring in the remake of The Rocky Horror Picture Show?”

  Kenji smacks him on his arm. “You beast! I’m wearing Alexander McQueen! You wouldn’t know fashion if it hit you upside the head with a brick!”

  “Lucky me,” quips Barney, and then turns his gaze to me. “Angelface. Good to see you.”

  “Barney. It’s good to be seen.”

  He squints at me.

  I sigh. “Please don’t say it.”

  “Say what?”

  Kenji explains, “She’s having some kind of existential crisis which evidently took a shit all over her face.”

  Barney’s expression turns worried. He steps closer and touches my arm. “You okay?”

  I don’t miss the look Kat and Kenji exchange, all arched eyebrows and pursed lips, but I’m way past caring. “Define ‘okay.’”

  “Sweetie, we’re gonna get you another drink.” Kat grabs my empty glass and pulls Kenji away by his arm. She winks at me, looks at Barney, and wiggles her eyebrows up and down. “Be back soon!”

  God, my friends are hopeless.

  When they’re gone, Barney murmurs, “What’s up, Angelface?”

  “Life. Life is up.”

  “You wanna talk about it?”

  He’s wearing some kind of spicy cologne. It’s light, sexy, and smells expensive. I stare at him for a long time, trying to decide if it would be a good idea to tell him the truth or not, when out of my mouth comes something so unexpected it takes us both by surprise.