I bark out a bored laugh, trying my best to ignore his damn British charm. I’m about to make another sassy comment when my phone rings. Hudson again. My stomach drops, but I take the call. He can’t ruin me now.
“What the fuck? I’ve been trying to call you, Ev.”
“Hello to you, too.” I blow out a hot breath. Beckett doesn’t move, but I know he can hear, so I hold up my finger and rush farther down the alley. “You had your chance, Hudson. I don’t need to deal with your shit. I’m not your plaything.”
“I bet you miss it. I bet you haven’t had your fix these past few weeks. Want to go out tonight?”
I tense up because he’s right. My skin is crawling at the idea of it, of getting so high I can’t feel my face. But I don’t need anything now. I’m going to be good. I’m fine. It’s not like I’m addicted. I’m fine with being sober. Life sucks just the same either way.
“Stop calling or I’ll ditch this number, too.” I glance over my shoulder at Beckett and see that he’s on his phone, his brows furrowed. I hope it’s nothing to do with me. I don’t need to worry about him being upset. I don’t want to change anything between us.
“I’m sorry,” Hudson says with a heavy sigh.
“You’re not sorry. I’m still waiting on an apology when you almost killed me the first time. Five. Years. Ago.”
“I need you.”
“You don’t. And I don’t need you, either.”
“I need you. I do,” he whispers. “I need you. I need you.”
It’s like a punch to the stomach to hear the shaky way he says it to me. I almost believe the desperation there, as if he depends on me to exist.
“I’m leaving Paris soon.” I trip a step. “And I’m doing better…without you.”
“Who is he?”
I startle at his question, then glance behind me once more at Beckett. He has his back turned to me, talking on his phone. “No one,” I lie. “There’s no one. I’m too fucked up to have someone in my life right now.”
“Whatever.”
I hear Hudson inhale a line, then another. I know what’s about to happen, and I don’t want to be around for it this time. “Don’t call me anymore, Hudson.”
The call disconnects.
I rest my forehead in my palm, the sinking feeling in my stomach growing until I whirl around and race down the alley to Beckett. I grab his hand and yank him forward, out onto the street, searching around before I remember there’s a bar around the corner.
“I have to go, Ollie. I’m being dragged away by a beautiful woman.”
I freeze for a minute, then twist back to glare at Beckett. I don’t want his stupid flirting right now. He raises his eyebrows as if that’s answer enough, and I swing around, my hand clutching his tight. I don’t trust myself to talk.
I rush us into the bar and dig through my purse. I don’t have much money, but I slap about fifty euros down on the counter and ask the bartender to give us as many shots of vodka as I can afford.
Beckett’s laughter dies out behind me. “Everly,” he says, all scolding like a damn saint. My skin already is on fire. If he only knew what I wanted to do, I don’t think he’d argue with me having a few shots.
“Then go back to your apartment,” I snap. I take the first shot and down it. It’s not nearly enough. “But I’m having a shot.”
“More like seven.”
The bartender comes over with another handful.
“You can’t have—” Beckett counts. “—thirteen shots.”
I tip the second shot back and slam the glass onto the counter, shoving my hand into his chest. “Is that a dare?”
He doesn’t fall back, not a step. “Who were you talking to?”
“If you aren’t going to have any, then leave.”
He reaches around me, takes a shot, sets down the glass, and then does another. I watch, slumping against the bar from my stool. “I didn’t say anything about sharing.”
He grabs a third, keeping his eyes on me, then throws his head back and swallows it. “Sharing won’t make a difference. You’re going to be on the floor long before you drink all of this.”
“I don’t need you to protect me.” I pitch forward, ignoring that he has his fourth shot up to his lips.
“Who said anything about protecting you?”
He crowds closer and I think he’s about to kiss me, but he chases down the shot instead and leans around me to set it on the counter with an empty slap.
“Truth or dare?” I whisper in his ear. I feel warmer, the familiar buzz rushing through my body. I relax a little and push aside thoughts of Hudson to the more pleasant ones of Beckett. “Are you going to kiss me?”
He tilts his head closer, his voice warm against my cheek. “You won’t have to ask when I finally am.”
I actually hear myself sigh at his words because they don’t sound like Beckett, with his good intentions. I narrow my eyes, not pulling away. We’re nose to nose, and I think about ending the stupid tension between us. Just grabbing his face in my hands and kissing him, long and hard.
I grab another shot instead.
I feel it now—the delicious burn in my stomach. It’s the beginning of some bad decisions, and suddenly that sounds like the best idea ever.
“You can count that as a truth.” His voice is a low, dark whisper.
My cheeks warm, and I’m not sure it has to do with all the shots in my stomach.
It’s not slow when it hits me. It’s not even a buzz. It’s just a brick wall that collapses on top of me. I blink, and Beckett is standing between my knees.
“You’re always between my legs.” I look up at him and giggle. “I think you like it.”
He breaks our staring match, glowering over my shoulder to focus on the liquor lining the wall behind us. “Truth or dare, Everly?”
I rest my forehead against his shoulder and laugh again. I take a deep breath, loving the way he smells. It’s like he wakes me up, makes me feel like I can run miles.
I tip my head back, reaching out to brush back his hair. “Dare.”
Disappointment flashes through his eyes. It’s a brief flicker before he blinks it away, but I see it all the same. “Fine.”
He flags down the bartender, studying me again. I feel like I’m in a rowboat, gently rocking back and forth in the Blue Grotto off Capri. I lose myself in the blue of his eyes and whatever is happening between us. I sort of forget why I’m drunk in some sketchy bar when I had every intention of spending the afternoon with him, sober.
He whispers something to the bartender, then tucks a lock of hair behind my ear. I look up at him dreamily, hooking my fingers into the loops of his dress pants. The shots are still lined up behind us, and I think he’s about to take another before he hands me a tall glass.
“Drink this,” he says. “And admit that something upset you.”
“That’s two things.”
“Then pick one, pet.”
I eye him, then the glass in my hand. I’m not an idiot. I know I’m acting stupid again. I drain my glass and fill my stomach with cold water. He grabs it from my hand and places it on the bar. The simmering tension between us sizzles out once more, a premature end to our Truth or Dare game. When he takes a step back, it all unfurls, and I’m left slipping off a barstool, slightly drunk, wondering what the hell I’m doing and why I keep finding myself with Beckett when I know we can’t be together.
Beckett
I was waiting on the steps for Everly, wanting nothing more than to sail toy boats with her at the Tuileries Gardens for the afternoon. I needed to forget the shit show of today.
I’m on the phone with Ollie as I watch Everly farther down the alley, arguing with someone on hers. One minute, she’s fine; the next, she’s shaking and her face is pale and I’m being dragged into a bar. I don’t complain because I think a bar would be the perfect solution to the day I’ve had. Then again, I’d also rather just hole up in my bedroom and work on my book. No one tells you that when someone c
lose to you dies, you have this huge urge to become a hermit.
I mean I should know this, but when my mum died, it was different. It was sudden. My father shot her after one of his week-long binges. That’s worlds away from my aunt dying of brain cancer.
Initially, she hid her illness well while I acted like an ass at boarding school. I was too young to worry about it, she told me later on. It wasn’t until I came home for a holiday from Cambridge that I noticed something was wrong, and by then, it was too late. She had been fighting it on her own when all the while I should have been there.
I have to figure out all this shit on my own now. I really only have Ollie, and he can’t remember where he’s put his dick half the time. I can’t count on him being the one to help, especially when his leave is up soon. Not having a net is scary as fuck. If I fall and ruin everything, it’s on me to right it all.
And then there’s Nadine, who I keep blowing off. I haven’t even told her why. It has a lot to do with the girl who just bought thirteen vodka shots.
I should stop it now—I know that—but she’s not the kind of girl you throw over your shoulder and tell what to do. I’ve already tried. She’s sick of my help, and I don’t know why I keep offering.
So I take three shots because that’s three less she needs to finish. And honestly, I could use them. I feel as though I’m going to jump out of my fucking skin with everything happening lately. I need to go back to work. I need to prove that I’m a functioning adult. Well, I am a functioning adult. Certainly more so than Everly. But being interrogated and kidnapped and having a gun held to your head apparently is reason enough for others to think you can’t function normally afterward. Being dead for a few minutes doesn’t help, either.
I take another shot.
She leans forward and whispers in my ear. She smells like vodka and vanilla, and I want to kiss her. Right there against the bar. She even asks me to, her voice teasing, but it sounds less like a fucking invitation and more like a demand. And I don’t want to kiss her like this, either.
She’s drunk now, with me between her legs, and I feel the vodka in my veins, too. This wasn’t how I wanted to spend the afternoon. She’s better than this. I dare her to have a glass of water or tell me what’s wrong. She chooses the water, which is what I was hoping for. I’m not foolish enough to think Everly will open up and talk about herself.
I step back and reach around her for another shot. Sure, I’m being a hypocrite, but I can’t deal with her and everything else. I’m tired of trying to be so perfect all the time. I nod to the barman, tell him to pass out the rest, and then grab her hand and pull her back out on the street.
She looks confused. I guess I am, too. I have no idea what just happened between us.
“Come back to my place,” I say. Her eyes light up, and I realize what she must be thinking. God, I’m thinking the same thing. But I really just want to go back and get an old camera for her to use. “I need to change.” That doesn’t help because I can see in her eyes that she’s willing to help me undress. I clear my throat. “I have a new camera for you to try.”
That works.
Her face falls, and I let go of her hand as we walk up the alley to my place.
“Are we going on a date, Beckett?”
I spin around on the steps and find her right behind me. Her chest collides with mine, and I grab her waist so she doesn’t tumble backward. That’s the lie I tell myself, anyway.
“Do you want to go on one?”
She scrunches her nose at my question, then giggles. She’s so unlike Everly right now I feel dizzy. Or maybe it’s just the shots kicking in. “It wouldn’t be terrible,” she whispers.
Except it would be. It would be fucking terrible because it would be the start of something real between us.
Her hands wrap around my waist, and she leans into my chest, still laughing. “I guess you think so.”
I can’t stop the reaction that’s exploding inside me, one slow spark that flares and ignites a stick of dynamite. It’s not a slow burn. It’s a blast that leaves my heart racing and my tongue tied. I bump my fist under her chin, drawing her face up to mine. I want to see her eyes. See the way she looks at me, as if I’m not someone who’s on the verge of a breakdown. Everly looks at me, and I think I can save the world. That’s the power hiding behind her sad, blue eyes.
There is never going to be a good time for us. You can’t force together two objects whose edges are worn in some spots and jagged in others. We’re not puzzle pieces. We’re two people with a world of shit between us, but my mind is quiet when our gazes meet.
The rest of the planet can fucking burn down right now and I wouldn’t care because I’m holding Everly.
I bend down and press my lips to hers, tasting vodka and cigarettes. I tip forward, and we both sway to regain our balance as our kiss deepens. I realize the stairs probably aren’t the safest place to kiss, but I never thought kissing Everly was going to be safe. So I go with it. I brace my hand on the railing and cup the back of her head as her arms tug me closer.
I’m wrong about the puzzle pieces. The fit is fucking perfect.
She sighs when I lick her bottom lip and opens her mouth to me. Then she flicks her tongue against mine, and things start to go black.
I lose myself to her. One kiss and I have no idea what I’m doing, where I am, how I’m holding the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen. Nothing and everything makes sense.
I pick Everly up. Her legs circle around my waist as I stagger backward up the steps, not breaking our kiss. Which is completely and wholly out of control. Her fingers dig against my neck, her hair drapes around us like a curtain, her body is warm against mine. We’re on fire. We’re going to burn down this city. I’m fucking stupid not to have done this sooner.
I stumble up a few more stairs, closer to my door, and move my lips to her cheeks, down her neck. My phone vibrates in my pocket. I ignore it.
“I like this truth.” She tosses her head back to the sky as I kiss the small curve where her shoulder and neck meet. I took a photo of this, and now my lips are here exploring. I’m not sure how we got to this point exactly.
She’s greedy and grabs my face between her hands to pull my mouth back to hers. “Kiss me again,” she whispers. “Again, Beckett.”
I do because I’m a sucker for this girl.
“You taste like vodka and bad mistakes,” she says with a sigh.
“I am a bad mistake.”
I pin her up against the wall, fumbling for my keys. It’s near impossible to get to the lock with her wrapped around me, tracing her lips over my face as if she’s committing me to memory. I have no idea what’s going to happen once I open this door. It’s going to change everything again, but I push it open anyway, a little more daring with five shots of vodka in my stomach.
My phone vibrates again, and she laughs, pulling it out of my back pocket. Her voice is still husky when she answers. “Beckett can’t answer the phone for the rest of the afternoon.”
I laugh because I think we’ve figured out our day together and it won’t involve the outside world or those plans I put in her calendar. Instead, we’re going to be staying in to figure out one another, escape our fucked-up lives for a few hours.
Then I hear the caller answer, “Why not?”
The question echoes through the phone speakers and in my flat.
Shit.
It’s too late. Everly stiffens in my arms as footsteps storm out of my bedroom. I turn us around, and see Nadine wrapping herself up in the blanket from my bed.
It seems she had plans this afternoon, too. Even if I didn’t want to be involved.
Everly lets go of my neck and slips down my body, stepping away in an awkward stumble.
“Va te faire foutre!” Nadine screams, angry tears running down her face. She waves her free hand at me, carrying on in French. I block her out for now. I don’t care much about her reaction. It’s Everly I’m worried about. I’ve made a wreck of everything.<
br />
She stands beside me, still and quiet. Her lips are swollen from our kiss, and I think I’ve left a hickey on her neck because I guess after some vodka shots I’m a prick. Everly watches Nadine as if she’s worlds away. And I know I’m in trouble because I’ve lost her.
“Get dressed, Nadine. I’m sorry,” I say. “We can talk—”
“Ta gueule!”
I can’t make anyone happy in this situation. I switch between French and English clumsily, the words stuck. The shots turn sour in my stomach as Everly backs toward the door, her eyes glazed over, absent of everything.
I did that. I put that look on her face. I close my eyes and think back, try to figure out how I could have stopped this, but I’m not sure I could and now it’s too late.
When I open my eyes, Everly is gone.
Beckett
She won’t answer my texts or calls. I guess I deserve that. But after two days, I cave and go to her flat because she deserves an apology.
I should have been honest with her and Nadine. I should have thought of them instead of myself. I shouldn’t have kept lying to myself that I don’t like Everly. That I don’t feel something for her.
Fuck me, feel something for her? Paris has made me into a girl.
I stand outside her door and knock again, but the rapping of my fist is lost to the chaos on the other side. The bass is shaking the floor, and I hear screaming and shrieking. I look behind me, expecting an angry neighbor, but no one seems to care what Everly does.
I knock again, even though I know I should turn and run. That’s always the answer where Everly’s concerned. Fucking turn around and leave before she eats you whole.
Everly After Page 9
