Red: Fiery Finale (Spectrum Series Book 8)

by Allison White

  “I can walk…straight to the bedroom.” I try to wink, but I’m sure I look like I’m trying to fight off a gnat that flew into my eye.

  He laughs, and even though it’s super dark, I can sort of see his dimples in his cheeks, nose, and the skin by his green eyes wrinkled.

  “You’re cute,” I blurt out then giggle. I think I’m a little tipsy.

  “So are you, babe.” He bites his lip; so he had less beers than me and can control his giggles. Wait, he isn’t giggling…am I? I stop and slap a hand over my mouth. I am! He didn’t take a sip, said he wanted to take me in one beautiful piece, his sweet words of course. I’m too crude to think of something like that, especially drunk. Slightly drunk. A little teensy bit drunk.

  “Would you stop laughing?” he says, but I don’t think he means it. I try to anyway.

  “Sorry.” I suck my lips into my mouth, and it’s silent for about five hours before I burst into a giggle. Totally five seconds. I laugh and laugh and lean against him. “Sorrryyyy,” I slur and peck his hard chest. So hard. So lean. So…I think I’m wet between my legs. “Birthday sex—yes please!”

  “After I show you something,” he promises, and I can perfectly see his gleaming smirk.

  I slap my hand to my eyes, chuckling. “I totally said that out loud, didn’t I?” The sex of the birthday.

  “Yes.” He chuckles, and I blush, grateful it’s dark enough that he can’t see me. Too dark. I can’t see his handsome face. I want to see his cute smile. I reach for the light switch, but he quickly twirls me around, wrapping arms around my waist, and guides me into the kitchen. “I have a surprise for you.”

  I squeal and clap my hands. “Yay! I like surprised from you!”

  He chuckles, and we stop in front of a counter. He reaches past me, and I wait expectantly with a soft, lazy smile as he pops something open, and I hear the flicker of a lighter. I bite my lip and suck on it, watching the flame hover over two sticks. One is of the number two, the other another two. And they’re on a pink frosted cake!

  “No!” I gasp and crane my head back, grinning. “You got me a cake?” I love cake! Especially the strawberry kind, not the filling—I hate those—the pink cream cake.

  “Yes, of course for you, my love.” He kisses my nose, and I laugh and look back down at my cake.

  “But—how didn’t I see it?” I frown. I’m sure I would have noticed a cake as beautiful as this.

  “Remember that kiss on our way out…” He trails off, cocking his eyebrows.

  Cocking…a funny word.

  I giggle and nod. “You distracted me!”

  “Yes.” His laugh is booming and makes me feel warm all over. “Now, make a wish, and blow out the candles before the wax drips onto your cake!” he warns.

  “You’re right!” I lean over, elbows on the counter, and wish for him to stay in my life forever. I wish to go to sleep with his kiss on my lips and wake up with his lips on my kiss. I wish for everything but peace in the world—fat chance of that—and I wish for everything revolving around the brilliant, beautiful man holding me from behind in the most innocent way possible. I can almost see his blinding smile in the marble counter.

  I inhale deeply and exhale loudly. “Wish granted!” I spin around and wrap my arms around his neck, ogling over him, his face, his lips.

  “What was your wish?” He laughs.

  “Can’t say or it’ll go away.” I shake my head furiously.

  “Okay…” He leans down and whispers, “Was it me?”

  I pause and nod, chuckling. “Yeahhhh,” I slur.

  He laughs and kisses me. My bones liquify, and his hands are on my waist, holding my butt, then nowhere. I’m kissing and kissing and melting in his arms. I don’t see the pink frosting coming as he pulls away with a mischievous glint in his green eyes and a playful smile.

  “Noah!” I use my thumb to collect the dab of icing on my nose and eat it. He rolls his eyes playfully, and I turn around, collect some icing, and race toward him. “C’mere, traitor!”

  “Never!” he calls out, curses as I get close, and sprints out of the kitchen. I’m a laughing, wobbling mess as I chase him around the living room and hallway. I finally catch up to him and jump on his back, though he does slow down and bend slightly. I press my finger on his cheek, and he groans dramatically, and I. Just. Can’t. Stop. Laughing.

  This is officially the best day of my life.

  Actually, second best.

  The real best day was the day I laid eyes on my handsome, amazing, kind boyfriend—my Noah.

  ***

  “Mother Teresa on a fucking cracker—ow!” I groan in pain as I wake up to the next lovely morning. Lovely, not. Morning, unfortunately. My mouth tastes like peppered trash, and my head weighs a hundred fucking pounds. I let my heavy-ass head fall back on the soft pillow and cuddle up with the thick white comforter.

  That is until my Morning Person of a boyfriend waltzes in, announcing, “Good morning, doll face!” He falls onto the bed next to me and plays with my hair. I can’t help but smile through my mild annoyance. He does this a lot, even in his sleep, I’m sure. I think there’s an urge deep in him that craves to touch me twenty-four-seven, not that I’m complaining.

  But then it happens, and I burrow deeper under the comforter. The white comforter.

  I sound like a freaking dying bear at this point.

  “What’s wrong, babe?” He sounds so worried, my heart flutters in my chest.

  I peek an eye from under the pillow. “My period just started.”

  There’s a pause, and I peek two eyes now.

  “What?” I say.

  He looks constipated or at the very least worried he didn’t store enough canned foods for the zombie apocalypse. If it ever happens, I doubt I’d last a week. I refuse to watch The Walking Dead with him; it’s too damn depressing most of the time.

  “I didn’t prepare for this,” he utters under his breath, brows furrowing.

  “Huh?” I sit up.

  His nervous eyes dart to mine, and he flushes. “Your…thing. I’m not prepared.”

  I cock an eyebrow. “You bleed for a week, once a month too?”

  “No, of course not, silly.” He blushes some more, and I smile at his cuteness, eyes heavy with exhaustion. “I didn’t pack up on pads and tampons and chocolates and the necessary…things.”

  “Say ‘things’ like that one more time and I will stab you…sorry.” I wave a hand at his horrified expression. “I tend to get crabby.”

  “Anyway…no school today, Red.” He stands up, crosses his arms. Tries to appear authoritative.

  I stand up and tower over him by a few inches. “Wanna try that again?”

  He blinks. “Um…no?”

  Oh God, he’s cute when he’s scared.

  “I’m sorry again. Crab-master pro during my seven days of hell.” I bend down and kiss his mouth. “But it’s cute you want to ‘prepare’ for me. But I have things…the chocolate you can get, though.” I tap his cheek and hop down onto the floor, preparing to walk out of the room.

  “But no class today,” he calls after me as I enter the ensuite.

  I flash him my finger. “Blood or no blood, you can’t control me.” I slam the door shut and roll my eyes. I can practically see his puppy-dog frown. “Sorry!” I call out and smile as I hear a definite “humpf” of a smile.

  ***

  Despite what I told him, I skip a few classes. I desperately wanted to go—fucking gag—but I just couldn’t lift a freaking pinky after my shower. But I did tell him I’d be going for my last class, PE. I need to pass every subject, and I’m doing fucking fantastic in my other subjects, not so much in PE. I just can’t get behind the hippie instructor or her weird, earthy grin.

  “What the hell are you wearing?” Noah’s eyes are wide as saucers as I walk out of the room. He stands up from the wall and takes his time looking me up and down. I frown and look down as well.

  “Clothes?” I say.

  He gives me
a dead-pan look. “Obviously…but those.” His precious green eyes are on the verge of rolling onto the floor.

  I don’t get it…and then I look down at my clothes: a loose red sport tank top, fitted black yoga pants, and Nike sneakers. Does he not like Nike or something? Is he an Adidas type of guy? But then I look up at him, and he’s staring at my legs like he literally wants to eat me.

  “You’re not wearing those.” He points at my legs, and I smack his hand away. “I’m being serious, Red!”

  “And so am I—I’m not changing shit. I’m already late,” I groan. “You can’t dictate what I can and can’t wear. You’re my boyfriend, not my dictator. I thought you were Noah Wells, not Kim Jong-fucking-Un.”

  “Shhh!” He closes the space between us and covers my mouth with his hand. “Do you want to die?”

  “He can’t hear us,” I mumble against his hand before pulling it away. “We really have to go now, or I can drive myself.” I begin to leave the apartment altogether; if he’s going to be such a guy, he can watch my ass leave in these admittedly amazing pants.

  “Wait…” He grabs my wrist, and I face him, scowling, challenging him. He’s biting on his lip, apparently deep in thought. “I’ll come with you.”

  “That is the plan, yes—”

  “No, I want to do yoga.” He smiles.

  “Don’t be that boyfriend. Come on.” I grab his hand. I don’t have time for his foolishness. The entire class dresses this exact same way. He shouldn’t have a problem with it.

  He tugs again, and again I am plastered against his hard chest. He flashes his dimpled smile that usually wears me down. Every. Single. Time. “Get ready to see me to out-yoga you.”

  ***

  There’s something overwhelmingly amusing watching your boyfriend do yoga—in better words, try to do yoga. Especially when he’s six-foot-three if you catch him in a certain angle, and all long limbs and horrible posture. I’m not claiming to be a master of the activity, but at least I don’t look like…him.

  He naturally looks like he was carved by multiple gods, but not when he does yoga. His face gets tight and scrunched up, like he’s been constipated all his life. He can barely hold up his weight on one leg, and he’s just a mess of jumbled lanky limbs and shit-doesn’t-come-easy facial expressions.

  “Need help, babe?” I tease him. I know I shouldn’t. He’s never done yoga for a minute in his life, but I can’t help it. He amuses me too much for me to swallow my smile or laugh.

  “No, I’m fine. Why do you ask?” His words are rushed, his gaze as shaky as his tall legs.

  I look down at his wobbly legs and strained arms. We’re doing a simple warrior pose, and while everyone around us is stable as steel, he’s shaking like he’ll topple over like Jenga pieces with one blow.

  “No reason.” I smile. “You just look a bit…” I look him up and down and barely restrain a laugh when I see sweat fall down his forehead and glide down his straight nose. “Unstable,” I finish with a breathless laugh. I hope he didn’t hear it, but he obviously does because he stops doing the pose to glare at me.

  “This shit isn’t easy for everyone, you know,” he argues.

  Oh goodness, he’s getting offended. Angry. Adorable.

  “I never claimed it was,” I say, losing my smile.

  Only a little bit.

  “Your ass distracted me most of the time,” he accuses when the class ends. He rolls up the mat neatly, and I do the same. He stands up and walks over to me, glaring. “You don’t have to do another PE class next year, do you?” He’s pleading for a no answer, and I’m tempted to say yes.

  “Yep.” I beam up at him. I don’t really have to do another PE class; I just like seeing him get all red and riled up. He’s such a sweet guy most of the time, a damn dandelion, but when he gets angry enough, he gets scary hot. He’s hot all the time, trust me, but there’s something about his nose flaring, eyes dark and challenging that gets me all hot…like what he’s doing right now.

  Damn my period, I wanna fuck him senseless right now. Maybe not here, the floor is all sweaty and shit.

  “You better be lying, Red.” He hooks an arm around my waist and brings me flush against his hard body. “I don’t want to have to kill every guy you pass while wearing this…” He’s cupping my cheek innocently, but then his fingertips trail down my neck, my chest, down, down, down to my hip. I gasp and bite my lip when he tugs my hips, pulling me against him even closer now.

  “And if I were to wear these every day…” I whisper.

  He ducks his head and brushes his lips against mine. “Then I’d have to be arrested…”

  “Oh, Noah.” I grip his shoulders, silently cursing Mother Nature.

  “Hey, Noah!” a hella annoying feminine voice booms behind me.

  I groan before I even turn around. “What do you want, Rebecca?” It’s Noah’s friend, the girl who gives me the creeps.

  She laughs. “Red, always the sweetheart,” she says sarcastically, and I roll my eyes. Give me a fucking break. Her eyes shoot to Noah, and she smiles. “I was just wondering if you wanted to hang out tonight?”

  “He can’t,” I interject, grabbing his hand and glaring at her odd smile. “We’re going on a date tonight.”

  I hear a pfft sound behind her and find Biana or whatever her fucking name is scoffing at us. She has a white strip over her bruised nose. Damn. It’s been a week, and she still looks like that? Didn’t know I punched that hard…I want to do it again, only harder.

  “Keep moving or I’ll add a new fucking eyeball to your face-surgery list!” I threaten, and she scampers off. Ha. Serves her right for being a nosy bitch.

  “Red,” Noah warns and tugs my arm. I refuse to look into his moral green eyes; he’ll only make me feel bad. “And about this date…” he whispers to me.

  I flash Rebecca a smile. “Sorry, he’s busy tonight…and forever.” I pull him away before I have to stay around any longer. I don’t know why, but I do not get any good vibes from her. Maybe it’s because she’s such a close friend to him, my Noah, my freaking man.

  I’m a possessive gal if you couldn’t tell by now.

  “What was that about, Red?” he asks and blows out a tired breath.

  “Nothing,” I lie, and he tugs on my hand, so we stop walking toward the locker rooms.

  “Red…” he warns, and I chuckle and lean on my toes to peck his mouth.

  “Date tonight,” I say, grinning. “I’ll wear these pants just for you if you’re a good boy.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Noah

  There is no date tonight. Red and I both know that she only said that because she was threatened by Rachel for some odd reason. Which I don’t even understand. Rachel is a sweet, compassionate girl. She was there for me when Red left me heartbroken.

  She picked up after me party after party, often cleaning my face of vomit and calling cabs for girls I’d tried to engage in some kind of sexual contact with.

  They were always wanting more, yearning for me desperately, and I wanted to fuck them. Have them fuck me. Just some sort of fucking, to forget her—to move on—but I always ended up breaking their hearts like she did me. I couldn’t even kiss any of them, only give suggestive eyes across the room.

  And when they came over and began touching me, kissing me except for my mouth, I’d chicken out and do it over and over with different girls. Some ended up in my bed, but none got any pleasure out of it.

  Most felt bad for me, but it wasn’t their sorrow I wanted. It was their ability to wash Red out of my system like she was a virus, them an antidote that I fantasized, but it never took real form. I was always hoping for a quick release but never able to pull the trigger.

  Rachel was by my side when I needed a workout partner or a model to sit and pose for a few hours and not around at all when I felt at my lowest and just needed space from everything and everyone. Even then she’d text and check up on me, and I would crawl out of my wallowing enough to send her an okay.
It satisfied her and assured me that I had a true friend.

  She was there cleaning me up, posing, and buying me groceries when Mike and Ty weren’t around, which was a lot.

  They all slowly worked to mend my heart together enough that I didn’t burst into pathetic tears at the mention of Red or fall back into the abyss of torture I’d just successfully escaped.

  If it weren’t for her and the guys, I would still be broken.

  “What’s wrong? Is it the slushie? You told that fucking boy specifically just red. I swear if he got some blue in too, I will smash his head—” Red begins to seethe, turning around into my chest.

  “No, it’s not that. He gave me what I ordered,” I assure her, reaching out to hold her wrist. I smile at her even though she just threatened to smash the head a poor teenage boy for mixing up my order. She can be mental sometimes, but she’s mine, and it warms me to know how far she’d go to protect me.

  “Oh.” She drops her fist, but I don’t let go of her wrist. My fingers find hers, and I almost sigh like the boy in love I am but manage to hold in my pathetic sigh as we make our way up the stairs of the auditorium.

  Instead of turning down the idea of an actual date, we decided to watch a movie and catch a bite afterwards. A typical date night, but I won’t be surprised if we’re run out by a security guard—she has a certain niche for it.

  “Spill,” she demands the second we sit in our seats. They’re in the very last row. The movie already started—some action film with Tom Cruise—and the room isn’t that packed. Possibly since the movie’s been running for about a month and a half. All the fans for Tom have already seen it the first few go-arounds.

  “What are you talking about?” I dig my hand in the large popcorn bag on her lap and thrust a handful in my mouth. I bite into something hard and hear a crunch. I immediately start to panic, thinking I’ve broken a tooth, when I realize she bought a packet of Crunch, chocolate. She must have dumped them in here.