by Lexi Ryan
Mia leans over Bailey’s lap and gives me a wide-eyed stare. “What was that?”
Bailey answers before I can. “Logan Lucas wants to wine, dine, and make sweet love to her, and she’s not interested.”
I gape. “Bailey!”
“And you’re not interested, because…?” Mia asks.
Bailey smirks. “I don’t blame you, chica. I personally prefer fucking to making love, so I can see why you might hold out for someone a little more…” She clears her throat, pausing as the crowd erupts into cheers. She shifts her gaze to the sideline, where the Blackhawks are filing back onto the field. “Dominant.”
Sebastian turns toward the bleachers and looks right at us. His helmet’s in his hand by his side so we can see the smile on his face.
“Oh,” Mia says. “I see.”
Sebastian lifts his empty hand to wave.
“See what?” I ask, not bothering to pull my gaze from Sebastian. Because damn. Tight pants and shoulder pads have never looked so good, and having all that beautiful male attention coming at me makes me all gushy inside.
I have to remember what I promised myself: No pining after Sebastian Crowe. I’m home, but I’m moving on. Remember the redhead.
“I don’t want Sebastian.” Maybe if I say it enough, it will be true. “I might call Logan.”
“I like the way Logan calls you Alexandra,” Mia says. “Both times he said it, I kind of expected your clothes to magically fall off.”
“It is pretty hot. But then again, so is the way Sebastian looks at you.” Bailey grins. “Seriously, this is like choosing between the triple-fudge brownie sundae and the apple crisp a la mode. There’s no wrong answer.”
There is if the triple brownie sundae doesn’t want me back.
“Are you Martina DeLuca’s sister?”
All three of us turn to the painfully thin girl who steadies her critical gaze on me.
I swallow. “Yeah.”
She screws up her face in disgust as she stares at my neck. “I’d heard you’d come back, but I didn’t want to believe it. A word of advice? Leave before God punishes you worse than he punished your sister. This town doesn’t need your drugs.”
The crowd erupts into cheers as the team lines up for kickoff, and I can only stare at the girl. She wipes her hands on her jeans and wanders away as if she didn’t just stab me in the heart with her nastiness.
“What the fuck?” Bailey says, standing.
I grab her arm before she can go after her. “Don’t.”
“Someone needs to set her straight.” Indignation colors her face, and I hold her tighter. She might be small, but right now all five feet, two inches of her is boiling with rage. “People said shit like that to Mia about Nic.” She yanks her hand from my grip. “The bitch.”
“We can’t control what people think,” Mia says, and even though her voice is fighting for calm, I can hear that she’s shaken. “We can only control what we do.”
“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “I’m fine.” I fold my hands in my lap, hoping to hide the shaking.
There’s so much I don’t know about Martina’s life in the year before the fire, and sometimes I’m not sure I ever want to find out.
* * *
Martina’s Journal
I found Crowe. There’s this old warehouse on the south end of town, and I heard rumors that there are big parties there sometimes. I figured, what better place to find a bad boy than in the thick of trouble?
Sure enough, there he was, and he tensed when he saw me. Someone must have told him how young I am, because he tried to shrug me off. But I’m persistent, and I managed to play it cool and hang near him all night, and when the party turned up a notch and he was stoned, I put my mouth on his ear and whispered exactly what I wanted to do to him.
He gave me that slow stoner grin and asked me if I liked to party. When I said yes, he told me to open my mouth. He put this little pill on my tongue that melted and made me feel alive. Like every cell in my body was waking up for the first time.
Dancing wasn’t just dancing anymore. It was an experience. And when he kissed my neck, I could feel it everywhere. His hands were in my hair and under my clothes, and it was fucking bliss…until he got called away.
I’m grounded now because Mom knows I missed curfew. Alex usually covers for me, but she went to a friend’s house, so she wasn’t around to make the usual excuses. Fuck it. It was worth it.
Chapter Thirteen
Sebastian
She’s drunk. Sweet, innocent, ultimate good girl Alex DeLuca is drunk and dancing on a table.
I wasn’t going to go out tonight. Even though we pulled out the win, the game left me drained instead of energized, and tomorrow I need to finish packing for a move that suddenly seems foolish and impulsive. I’m pissed at myself for never considering Mason’s feelings when I agreed to move in with Bailey. I was so fixated on finding a solution to my living situation that it honestly never crossed my mind.
I declined when Trent invited me to his house to party. I went back to the apartment, where I halfheartedly packed my car with boxes.
At half past ten, I was unpacking at Bailey’s place when I got a text from Chris. I know she’s just a friend, but I thought you should know Alex is here at Trent’s. It might not be a bad idea to come by and check on her.
I expected to walk in the door and find Alex playing wallflower. Instead, she’s easy to spot. Because there she is, standing in the middle of the pool table and swinging her hips to the music. Guys circle the table, talking and laughing, and a few are even shouting out suggestions that she “take it off.”
She’s wearing a silky tank top that I’m guessing was a layer beneath the BHU jersey she wore to the game. One strap is slipping off her shoulder. Part of me wants to stand here and just give myself a minute to take her in—the flush of her cheeks, the sensual sway of her hips, the curve of her rarely exposed neck, and the soft tendrils of hair that have escaped her long braid. The other part of me wants to stride across the room, scoop her off that table, and throw her over my shoulder to get her out of here.
“Glad you could make it,” Chris says, clapping a hand on my back and nodding toward Alex. “I was worried about her.”
“Whatever asshole thought it would be a good idea to bring her to this party and get her drunk is gonna get a piece of my mind,” I mutter.
He clears his throat. “That would be me.” My eyes go wide as I spin on him, and he throws up his hands. “She was walking by, and I invited her in. I was trying to be a good friend. I didn’t expect…this.”
Before I can decide what to do, Alex spots me across the sea of people, and her face lights up. That’s what gets me—the way her half-mast eyes widen and the drunken smile turns big, all because she sees me.
“Sebastian!” She hops off the table and stumbles as she lands. A guy in a white ball cap steadies her, then takes his fucking time removing his hands once she’s standing. She grins at him before stumbling in my direction. She’s so toasted that her movements remind me of her sister, and the memory makes my chest ache. “What are you doing here?” she asks when she reaches me.
I open my mouth to tell her I’m here to take her home, but then I think better of it and shrug. I’m here now. She’s safe. That’s all that matters.
“I’ll leave you alone now,” Chris says before walking away.
“You look angry.” Alex takes another step closer and lifts her face so she can study mine. “What’s wrong?”
“You’re drunk.”
She lifts her arms and turns her palms up. “I’m in college. This is what you do in college.”
“No, Alex. This is what they do, but not you.”
“I can be like them.”
“Why would you want to be?” I look around the party—drunk girls hanging on each other, guys slamming beers, a game of flippy cup in the corner. “You don’t need this shit.”
“Why do you always call me that?”
“Wh
at?” I don’t remember calling her anything, but then again, she’s trashed.
“Alex.”
I frown, my attention only half on her drunken rambles as I search the crowd for Bailey. I might have come here to take Alex home, but now I’m wondering how wise that is. She’s so damn tempting and I’m not sure I trust myself. “That’s your name.”
“It’s a boy’s name, and it’s fine, but I’ve never heard you call me Alexandra. It makes me wonder if you think of me as one of the guys.”
That’s so absurd that I actually laugh, when nothing about this night or this moment is funny.
“I don’t want to be one of the guys to you, Bash.”
That shuts me right up. I’m not laughing anymore, and I’m not scanning the faces in the crowd. I’m just looking at her. Wishing for more. “You’re not.” My voice is rough and hard.
“I don’t believe you.” Her hand settles on my chest, and her gaze settles on my mouth. Is that Alex or the alcohol? “Do you know what it was like to be her sister?”
The air leaves my lungs in a rush, as if I’ve just been tackled by a lineman who’s been running at me for fifty yards. She doesn’t have to say who she is, but I don’t want to talk about Martina while Alex is touching me. Her hands skim over my chest to my shoulders, and her eyes focus intently on my mouth.
“I was always in her shadow. The plain to her gorgeous, the tomboy to her princess.” Something crosses over her face, taking the joy of her buzz with it. “And now she’s gone, and I’m not even allowed to resent her for it.”
“Alex…”
The music changes, and she turns toward the sound. As if someone flipped a switch, all the sadness from seconds ago leaves her face and is replaced with a wide grin. “I love this song.” Without warning, she steps closer, loops her arms behind my neck, and swings her hips.
I squeeze my eyes shut and fist my hands at my sides. She’s so close and smells so good, and her breasts brush against me as she sways. I’m holding on by a thread here, doing all I can not to touch her.
She rises onto her toes and puts her mouth against my ear. “Do a drunk girl a favor and pretend this isn’t a chore for you. Dance with me the way you’d dance with a beautiful girl.”
“You are beautiful.” It’s a punch in the gut that she doesn’t believe it, and a kick in the nuts that I might be responsible for her inability to see the truth.
Her fingers trail down my arms and wrap around each wrist. She moves my hands, positioning them on her hips. “I didn’t say lie to me. I said dance with me. Or were you expecting your not-quite-a-kiss from two years ago to hold me over until I’m an old woman?”
She always avoids my eyes when we talk about that night, and now is no different, but I can see the bravado in her voice is at odds with the flush in her cheeks. The soft pink makes her skin glow, and I want it to be for me.
“There’s something I can’t figure out.” I brush my thumbs over her hipbones because damn, they’re right there.
“What’s that?”
“The night before you left for Colorado…were you angry with me afterwards because I almost kissed you or because I didn’t?” I’m trying to push her. To scare her away. To shock this drunk, touchy, so-close-it-hurts Alex into realizing I’m the trouble she doesn’t need in her life.
But she surprises me by meeting my eyes. “Because you didn’t.” She drags a hand down my chest and holds my gaze. “Are you happy? I was mad because that night screwed with my head. You confused me and then you walked away, and it made me feel like I wasn’t good enough.”
My stomach twists. She has no idea how wrong she is, no idea how hard it was to walk away. “I’m sorry.” I swallow the words I know I can’t say. “For what it’s worth. I’m sorry I made you feel that way.”
Her gaze drops to my mouth. “Then make it up to me.”
“Alex, you’ve been drinking, and—”
She puts her finger against my lips. “Tomorrow, I’ll be back to worrying what people think about me and thinking I should stay far away from you and all the things you make me feel. Tomorrow, I’ll be sober, and I won’t have the courage to ask for what I want. Please, Sebastian?”
Swallowing hard, I let my fingers curl into her hips, and I pull her closer, sliding one hand up over her tank until I’m cupping the back of her neck.
Her lips part and she stills for a breath before speaking. “Was that so hard?”
“Touching you is never difficult. The hard part is letting go.”
She blinks at me, confusion flashing in her eyes. I slide my thumb over her jaw, landing on the scar at the corner of her mouth. Her scars make her more beautiful somehow. They’re a reminder of her bravery and the night that haunts us both. I trace the rough skin, following it over her chin and brushing across her neck. She flinches and pulls away.
That’s where it is. All her insecurities are in those scars, but to me, they tell a story. A dark night and flames licking the clear, moonlit sky. She knew her sister was inside. She tried to save her and almost lost her own life in the process.
“Hey, Alexandra,” some guy calls from a few feet away. “Is this guy giving you a hard time?”
She blinks at me before turning to the guy. “He’s fine. He’s an old friend.” She lifts her hand and drops it before backing away.
“Perfect,” the guy says. “So you can come dance with me now.” The asshole runs his eyes over her as if she’s a steak dinner he’s ready to devour.
I step forward and pull her back into my arms. “She’s busy.”
“Just friends,” she repeats, as if she’s trying to convince herself.
“That’s not all,” I whisper against her mouth. “That’s never been all.” And I’m tired of pretending it is. I’m tired of pretending I haven’t wanted her since the beginning, tired of pretending I’m glad I walked away two years ago when I’ve never stopped thinking about what would have happened if I hadn’t.
When I touch my mouth to hers, I’m not sure who’s more shocked. She gasps, and then she loops her arms behind my neck. Her lips are warm and sweet, and I’ve wanted to do this for so long that the logical part of my brain shuts down and I skim my tongue along the seam of her mouth. She moans softly as she parts her lips.
If a kiss could last forever, I’d want this one to. Because even though she’s drunk and probably won’t remember it, and even though we’re surrounded by people and this isn’t how I imagined it, I know this isn’t just the first kiss we’ve shared. It has to be the last.
Chapter Fourteen
Alexandra
I wake up with a pounding head, a dry mouth, and a vague sense of self-loathing. I roll over in bed and reach for my cell phone on my nightstand so I can see what time it is.
But there’s no nightstand, and I’m not in my room at home or the master bedroom at Mr. Patterson’s.
I squint against the morning sun coming in the window. Where am I? I’m in a twin bed with a dark blue afghan on top of me—the kind my mom likes to crochet. There’s a BHU poster on the wall and a stack of boxes in the corner. The closet is empty, but beside the bed there are three laundry baskets stacked full of neatly folded clothes.
I climb out of bed slowly so my head won’t protest too much. I slept in my clothes. Well, that’s a relief, at least. Waking up hung over in a strange place is bad enough. I’m glad I don’t have to add naked to the description. When I open the door, I immediately recognize Bailey’s living room.
Did she come to the party last night?
I hung out at the stadium talking to Mia after the game, but my heart was only half in it, so when Bailey and Mia said they were going to the Cavern to do karaoke, I begged off. I remember walking back to Mr. Patterson’s, and I saw Chris on the front porch of that party house where I saw Sebastian last week. Chris said hi and invited me in. Maybe I was hoping to see Sebastian in there, or maybe I just wanted to grab a drink. The ugly words from the woman at the stadium felt like a dirty film on my skin, and I
just wanted to wash them away.
But Sebastian wasn’t there and neither was the redhead, and I kept thinking about how maybe they were together and how maybe he was kissing her. After a few glasses of that delicious red punch, I didn’t care that I didn’t know what Sebastian was doing. That was before I climbed onto the table to dance.
I drop my face into my hands.
I danced. On a table.
The memory isn’t complete—more like the shards of glass left in a broken window. Sharp, sticking out at odd angles and clearly missing pieces. Did Bailey meet me at the party and bring me here?
“How are you feeling?”
At the sound of Sebastian’s deep voice, I snap my head up. He’s coming out of the bathroom. He has wet hair and is shirtless, a pair of athletic shorts slung low across his hips. He’s still a little wet from his shower, and his skin looks so warm that I’m surprised the beads of water along his chest and shoulders don’t dissolve instantly. I should look away, but…shirtless Sebastian. Of course. Because this isn’t just Bailey’s living room. It’s Sebastian’s. Because Sebastian lives here…or will soon. Which means the bed I slept in belongs to Sebastian.
That revelation sends liquid warmth pooling low in my stomach, but that warmth turns to horror when I get another flash from last night. Sebastian at the party. Sebastian holding his hands at his sides as I threw myself at him. Then Sebastian…kissing me?
When I lift my eyes to meet his, he’s studying me, worry all over his face.
Oh my God, oh my God, oh my God. I threw myself at Sebastian and kissed him. Or did he kiss me? The memory is fractured, but I feel like he kissed me. Did I ask him to? Did I beg? I catch snippets of our conversation before they can fade from my mind.
“Tomorrow, I’ll be sober, and I won’t have the courage to ask for what I want.”
Yeah, that’s pretty damn close to begging. Ice-cold mortification snakes through my blood and I want to turn around, close the door, and climb right back into bed.
