Hour by Hour (Games & Diversions #2)

by Natalie E. Wrye

  It is. Just so I won’t be held accountable tomorrow for anything I say tonight.

  Floating ellipses start to appear underneath Lukas’s last text. I wait… A message pops up.

  The Asshole:

  LOL

  I stare at the screen—baffled. That’s it? I don’t get it…

  Fire-breathing Dragon:

  I’m sorry…? What’s so funny?

  The ellipses appear again… and stop. Another text.

  The Asshole:

  I just realized I never changed your name in my phone…

  I roll my eyes. I can only guess what that must mean. I type fast.

  Fire-breathing Dragon:

  That makes two of us. Why are you texting me on a Saturday night anyway?

  I thought this was your “out” night. You used to bite my head off when I interrupted these nights.

  The Asshole:

  It was my “out” night. And it still is.

  Fire-breathing Dragon:

  So where are you then?

  Nothing appears for several seconds. The ellipses don’t even have time to make it to the screen.

  The Asshole:

  On a date.

  I read the text, and my heart stops. Literally. I think I hear a thump in my chest from where it dropped.

  It doesn’t even pitter-patter or stutter-stop like a failing engine. Nothing. Just emptiness where there was just motion.

  I can’t explain why this happens. I just know that it does.

  I double slap a quiet hand on my chest as if to re-start it.

  I force my fingers to move on the keypad.

  Fire-breathing Dragon:

  Good for you.

  His response is quick.

  The Asshole:

  No. NOT good for me. Not good for me at all.

  The ellipses start up and keep going. They disappear.

  The Asshole:

  I’ve got a lot going on. I thought getting out of the house would help.

  Well, it hasn’t.

  I hold my breath, feeling a tumble of nausea in my gut. He’s going to tell me about his date?

  I don’t want to know… and yet, I do. So badly. I can’t stop myself from asking.

  Fire-breathing Dragon:

  Why? Is there a problem with your date?

  The Asshole:

  Yeah.

  She isn’t you…

  An ignition turns. I feel the rumblings of a kick-start.

  Fire-breathing Dragon:

  You must like arguing with your dates then.

  The Asshole:

  You and I would not be arguing.

  Fire-breathing Dragon:

  Why not? That’s all we ever do.

  The Asshole:

  Not when we’re fucking.

  Vroom.

  My keypad moves like lightning.

  Fire-breathing Dragon:

  We wouldn’t be fucking on a date.

  The Asshole:

  Why not?

  Fire-breathing Dragon:

  What kind of venue would allow public screwing?

  The Asshole:

  You say that like it matters to me. I’m in a restaurant right now. That wouldn’t stop me.

  I’d lay you on this table. Lift your dress up. Have my way with you.

  Wheels are turning. Wheels are definitely turning.

  Fire-breathing Dragon:

  Pretty sure the manager would ask us to leave at that point.

  The Asshole:

  Let him.

  He can enjoy a nice show while he’s at it. Or if you’re not into that, I can rent the whole place out.

  Make sure everyone disappears as soon as the food is served.

  No managers. No waiters or chefs. Just me and you.

  Fire-breathing Dragon:

  And the candles on the tabletops, setting everything on fire, huh?

  The Asshole:

  I figure what the hell. We could use the wax…

  I want to laugh… but my heart starts to race. A Daytona 500 contest is happening beneath my breast, and I can’t seem to do anything to stop it.

  Fire-breathing Dragon:

  I’m sure MY date wouldn’t appreciate that.

  The Asshole:

  You’re on a date?

  I cross my legs underneath the table, using a hand to rearrange my wine glass. I glance at the person sitting on the other side of my table.

  My fingers freeze.

  Almost a minute passes by.

  Fire-breathing Dragon:

  Yes.

  The Asshole:

  Are you enjoying this date?

  Fire-breathing Dragon:

  Yes.

  The Asshole:

  Is he making you laugh?

  Fire-breathing Dragon:

  Yes.

  The Asshole:

  Do you want him to fuck you the way that I fuck you?

  My phone drops in my lap.

  My nerves are shot, my already shaky fingers made even worse by my galloping heart that is making it hard to concentrate on anything else.

  Lukas’s text takes me from nervous territory straight into a pre-mature Parkinson’s.

  Fire-breathing Dragon:

  That’s none of your business.

  The Asshole:

  It is.

  The second you let me between your legs, you MADE it mine.

  Warmth spreads between my thighs. I’m taken aback.

  I’ve met “Asshole” Lukas, and I’ve met “Computer Whiz” Lukas. This?

  This must be “Possessive” Lukas.

  And like all the other versions of Lukas Griffin, he is just as aggravating… and twice as sexy.

  Hell, the “Just Breathing” Lukas is completely mouthwatering. How can I resist this latest Lukas?

  But he’s wrong. He’s so wrong.

  In the real world, making love to him gives him no “say” or input as to whom else my love life involves.

  But in this suspended universe, this transient world that I’ve been living in ever since I crawled into this beautiful bastard’s bed, the guidelines are different.

  The rules are suspended.

  The punishments are what I make them.

  And when the bastard beckons, “this world’s” Elena obeys… at least until the ultimately damned dream world comes tumbling down—which it may, at any moment.

  I excuse myself from the table, rushing to the restrooms so that I can hyperventilate in peace. I’m sweating through my white button-down shirt by the time I manage to even walk away.

  And when I hit the bathroom door, I push inside of it, leaning next to the knob while I gather my wits.

  I slide my sweaty glasses back up the bridge of my shiny nose. I poke hesitantly on the screen held tightly in my hands.

  Fire-breathing Dragon:

  What do you want out of this, Lukas?

  I wait. Seconds pass… then a minute. I suspect an answer will never come until I hear an unexpected ping from my phone.

  The Asshole:

  Isn’t it obvious?

  You, Elena.

  That’s all I know right now. I have to be honest with you…

  I’m just taking this step by step, hour by hour…

  Fire-breathing Dragon:

  More like minute by minute for me.

  The Asshole:

  Then let me give you what we both want, what we both fucking need.

  The magical ellipses start to take shape.

  The Asshole:

  Where are you?

  I’m coming to you.

  Right now.

  I’m coming to Memphis.

  His words steal my breath.

  I suddenly feel claustrophobic within the confines of the dimly lit restroom.

  I need to get out.

  I swing the doors open to exit and find myself staring at the back of a familiar set of broad shoulders.

  It’s a man, exiting the restroom adjacent to mine.

  He is dark-haired.
>
  He is tall.

  And… he is completely unaware of my presence.

  He turns, but I don’t let him get far. My hand shoots out without pause, tapping him before I can withdraw it.

  “No need to come to Memphis,” I find myself saying.

  “Turn around.”

  Raising the Stakes

  There is no sympathy in poker. Always keep cool. If you lose your head, you will lose all your chips. – William J. Florence

  ELENA

  The maître d’ looks over at us for the third time in the past two minutes. I’d tell him to quit staring... but he has every right to.

  Lukas and I are starting to make a scene in our little corner of the restaurant

  Mostly because he—in all his tall, dark and gloomy glory—is absolutely and undeniably, fucking livid.

  His large hand clamps down on my elbow, holding me hostage.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he thunders.

  My voice is a raspy yell. “Me? What the hell are you doing here? I’m just trying to enjoy a decent meal—same as you.”

  His nearly black hair is tousled atop his head and when he leans into me, a stray lock falls to his forehead.

  I want to reach out and tuck the strands away, but with the look in Lukas’s green eyes, I’m afraid he might snap my fingers in half.

  “No, not in Milano’s. Not in this restaurant. I mean here. In Tampa.”

  I roll my eyes. “As if you don’t know…”

  “No, I don’t. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

  “I live here, Luke.”

  His bottom lip falls by a fraction, leaving his mouth slightly open and inviting. He’s a ready-to-attack beast, baring his fangs at me, and all I can think about is placing my hands all over him.

  I don’t know what is wrong with me.

  He twists his lips into a snarl. He can barely grit the words out between his clenched teeth. His voice is a gritty roar.

  “You. Live. Here?! Since when?!”

  I sigh heavily. “Since the night of the engagement party. I never went back to Memphis, even though I was supposed to, initially.”

  I squint harder at him.

  “You going to tell me that you never knew?”

  He flinches. “Knew? Jesus Christ, Elena.

  “Do you know what I’d have done to you if I knew you were here this whole fucking time?”

  My stomach does a flip, but my face feigns indifference. I scoff.

  “Yeah. Like you’ve been abstaining.”

  “Like I’ve had a fucking choice in the matter.”

  He places his second hand on my other elbow, inching closer.

  “Do you even know what you’ve fucking done to me?”

  His roar becomes a rasp, and he whispers near my temple with a harsh and husky sigh.

  “You’ve ruined me with other women. You… and that sweet, delicious pussy of yours have made it impossible to want anything else.

  “You’ve given me a hit of something I can’t describe. And I can’t move on to anything else until I get this addiction out of my system.

  “Until I get you out of my system.”

  I swallow roughly, letting the scruff on his jaw rub gently near my ear. I imagine all of the other places I’d love that scruff to be.

  I start to melt.

  “Lukas…” His name is softer than a breeze from my lips.

  God, it’s so easy to give in to him. How can he swing me from one extreme to the next so easily?

  From livid to lustful… and back again—at the drop of a hat…

  I chance a glance at his face.

  “How do you propose you’ll go about doing that?” I ask, suddenly timid.

  “By fucking you until I can’t fuck anymore. By letting you have me…

  “Until there’s nothing left. Until every inch of us is spent. Until every drop is sucked dry.

  “Then—and only then—will we have purged each other from our systems.”

  He takes a step back, holding an outstretched hand.

  “So, come on.”

  I glare in amazement at his open palm, regaining a few firing neurons back into my brain. This can’t be happening…

  I just… I can’t… But this…

  “Wait,” I say to Lukas. “Can we do this? Keep this going on between us?”

  “Think about it,” I demand louder—more to myself than to him.

  “Foxx and Kat—they would kill us if they found out. Foxx doesn’t want you getting involved with me any more than Kat wants me to get involved with you.

  “We set the rules—with our eyes, with our bodies. We both knew it wouldn’t last beyond that night. I understood that.

  “And I know you did, too.

  “You’re breaking the rules.”

  He narrows his eyes at me after my last sentence.

  “Fuck those rules, Elena. The rules are what I say they are—what we say they are.”

  “Besides… do you really want to follow rules, adhere to some bullshit sense of obligation that’s being held over our heads… or do you want to come with me?”

  His palm twitches.

  “Make a decision.”

  Now or never, Elle. The clock is ticking…

  I grab his hand, letting his long fingers swallow my own. A shiver runs through me.

  I look directly into Lukas’s eyes.

  “What do we tell our dates?”

  He smirks slyly, flashing white teeth.

  “Whatever we want. That’s the beauty of living with no rules.”

  Lukas leads me out of the recess of the restaurant, and we march together hand-in-hand towards its exit.

  I stand by as he pauses at a nearby table, throwing a few hundreds on the table at a buxom redhead.

  “Nice to meet you,” he says with a charming nod in her direction. “Thanks for dinner.”

  He glances at me for further instruction, and I nod suggestively at the door. I look over at my date, who’s probably just now becoming aware of me after almost ten minutes of absence.

  I give an awkward and apologetic wave to my table, flashing the universal sign of a phone call—mouthing the words “I’ll call you.”

  It sure as hell is going to be an interesting conversation later on. But not tonight…

  Tonight is about something else entirely. It’s about trying something old and testing something new. Giving an ancient practice a novel spin.

  Sex with Lukas isn’t just sex. It’s a proclamation.

  An open doorway.

  Ana was right. I think it’s about time for a goddamned change.

  I stare at the back of his white collared shirt knowing that this is exactly what I need.

  We hit the exiting doors like a windstorm, breezing briskly over to the valet.

  The moment he summons Lukas’s Audi (Jesus, another car?), Lukas leads me inside the passenger side before hopping behind the wheel.

  We speed away as soon as our seat belts click.

  Lukas moves through traffic with a singular purpose, his eyes focused intently out of the windshield.

  We maneuver smoothly around cars and corners, scarcely yielding at stop signs, barely slowing around bends.

  He watches the road. I watch him.

  His jaw clenches and unclenches with a sort of rhythm. His fingers tighten and loosen on the steering wheel.

  My pulse quickens at the sight of his impatience, my heart leaping at the thought of his eagerness.

  If our past experiences are any indication of the future, then tonight, Lukas will take me with a fury that I won’t even be able to anticipate.

  And I can’t wait.

  We say nothing to each other the entire ride over, the sexual tension between us stifling the air with each fleeting mile.

  We bypass the Hyatt before I realize that we are going somewhere else altogether.

  To Lukas’s house.

  Alone.

  With no witnesses. With no potential hotel guests inter
rupting.

  The city streets pass us by and before long we are sliding into residential neighborhoods, cruising in the midst of million-dollar homes that make my Memphis family unit look like a monstrosity.

  We pull up to a behemoth of a house, finally slowing for the first time since we jumped in Lukas’s black coup.

  We drive and park in a garage that could be its own house. Before I can blink, Lukas opens my door, taking my hand and ushering me into the confines of a modern day castle.

  His house is a beacon of modernity, complete with hues of black, silver and chrome.

  The black kitchen countertops are granite and every appliance is sleek and smooth, the décor punctuated with dashes of burgundy color.

  Instead of the word “clean,” I think of “icy” and I wonder how such a sterilely, cold place like this could belong to a man of such obvious passion.

  He removes his hand from the small of my back, leaving me feeling bereft as he reaches inside of a gigantic refrigerator.

  “What can I get for you?” he asks.

  I lean over the edge of the counter, feeling self-conscious and exposed. His green eyes seem to be peeling back all of my layers and without the buffer of other people or any parties, I am laid bare for him to see.

  I’m not yet sure how that makes me feel.

  “Um, do you have any sweets?” I respond.

  Lord knows I need liquid courage instead, but I want the sugar more.

  He pulls a singular cupcake from the fridge, and I smile.

  He extracts a round jar from a cabinet. He plucks a cherry from its innards, placing it atop the frosting before seductively sliding it across the granite-top towards my folded hands.

  His actions are slower than they were just minutes ago, and I can feel the tension ebb from his body.