by Aly Stiles
I lick my lips when he closes the remaining space between us, crowding me against the wall. His forearms brace on either side of my head as he hovers centimeters away. I feel the heat of his body, breathe in that intoxicating cologne.
Say it, Hadley. Lie to him. You know this is a mistake. You know this is irresponsible.
I also know I’ve never wanted someone so much in my life.
“Hadley,” he says quietly, his eyes searching mine. His lips are right there. Waiting, just waiting for the slightest encouragement.
“Julian,” I whisper back. I’m shaking from the effort of resisting him. I lock my fists behind my back to keep them from doing what they want. He steps even closer, his hips now aligned with mine, his chest pressing me further into the wall. I gasp in a late breath. Time stops. The universe too as I search his eyes.
It’s my leg that makes the decision.
He stiffens in surprise when my heel tucks behind his ankle and forces him even closer. An involuntary groan escapes me when his hips shove into me, rocking me with the force of how much he wants me too. I reach around him and grip the edge of his jeans, positioning him exactly where I want him, gasping when he pushes again. And again. I let go to find the button on his jeans.
“Hadley,” he breathes out, shoving his hand in my hair and pulling my lips to his.
His mouth covers mine, almost desperate in the way his tongue seeks refuge. Or maybe I’m the desperate one. My fingers release the button and slip around his neck, angling us to deepen the kiss. I want to consume him, to take all of him at once. What felt too fast a minute ago now feels painfully slow.
Our bodies slide together to the rhythm of our kiss, our hips grinding in unison with each volley of our lips. We’re fluid, molten lava molding together in a violent eruption. He groans and reaches for the zipper on my dress, tugging it down with angry force. I let the dress fall to my feet, stepping out.
“Holy fu—crap,” he mutters, staring at me.
Who needs to be a model when Julian Campbell looks at you like that? I feel like a runway bombshell when his eyes fill with covetous wonder, his head shaking in disbelief.
“You’re not so bad yourself,” I say, yanking his jeans down and throwing my arms around his neck again. It’s my favorite position, when every part of me touches every part of him. He frees himself from his pants, and I take a step, forcing him back. Then another. And another. Soon I’m backing him down the hall toward his room. I kick the door closed behind me and shove him on the bed.
His grin.
I forget my urgency, paralyzed by the image of him. He seems just as taken with me, his eyes moving rapidly, as if trying to absorb me all at once.
“God, you’re beautiful,” he breathes out, shaking his head.
“So are you,” I say with a coy smile, finally moving forward.
“Right,” he huffs.
I study his face as I straddle him on the bed, curious about his response. He’s so confident, so sure about everything he does. Surely, he knows he’s girl crack with his gorgeous everything and bad-boy vibe.
I trace my finger down his cheek, lost again in his conflicted expression. What’s he thinking right now? I’ve never wanted to read minds so much in my life.
“Hadley, if you don’t want to do this, we can—”
I cut him off with another kiss, my hands sinking into his hair again and tugging like I’ve seen him do so many times. I now realize how jealous I was of his fingers. Maybe I was being a pain in the ass just to enjoy the image of his exasperation.
His arms wrap around me as my legs circle his back, locking us together in an upright position. I like this pose even more, our bodies intertwined as one, the perfect fit. Mess and fixer. Rulebreaker and rule-follower. Two souls existing alone that suddenly make sense together.
No one fires me up like Julian Campbell because no one scrapes my soul like he does. We’re abrasions for each other, filing the other down so the best pieces of ourselves can shine through. Now that I’ve glimpsed what he could be, I’m hopelessly addicted. Does he feel the same?
“This is irresponsible, you know,” I say, sinking down hard in his lap. He hisses in a breath at the direct contact, and I kiss him as I rock again. And again. And again, digging my heels into his back until he tilts his head up and closes his eyes.
“You’re killing me,” he rasps out.
“Yeah? Good.” I shove him back and unclasp my bra, loving the way his eyes widen. I give him just a second to enjoy before reaching for the drawer on his nightstand.
He pushes up on his elbows. “What are you doing?”
“Looking for a condom. Geez, this drawer is a mess. How do you find anything in here?”
He shakes his head with a wry smile I’m starting to enjoy more and more. Twisting toward the drawer, he reaches in. Sure enough, he doesn’t even need to look to grab what we need.
“It’s an organized mess,” he says smugly.
He chuckles when I shove him back down, throwing his arms up in playful surrender to rest above his head. I slide my hands along them, tracing every muscle and tattoo I can touch on the path to his hands. Entwining my fingers with his, I transfer the small package from his palm to mine while my mouth finds his again. Gosh, he tastes and feels so good. My body is already buzzing, desperate to experience his in a way I’ve never felt before. I’m not a virgin by any means, but this foreign fire makes it feel that way. I’ve been missing out.
I gasp when we come together, closing my eyes to soak in every movement, every sensation. Urgent becomes slow again as sweet tension builds in my belly. I move once, triggering a potent spark. I move again, sending another red-hot spear straight to my core.
Oh my gosh, this is what it’s supposed to feel like? I’m already breathless when he starts to move with me. Tiny sparks flicker around sharper surges, spiking through my bloodstream into every recess of my body. I’m air and water and fire all at once, weightless as my body is ravaged by sensations I can no longer contain. They’re too much, building, blazing, swelling hotter just when I’m sure I can’t take more.
“Julian!”
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even look at me, his eyes closed and his face contorted like he can barely withstand the onslaught raging inside him as well. His fingertips sink into my thighs; my own brace against his stomach.
“Julian… just…”
He blinks up at me then, so beautiful. So perfect. A tidal rush explodes inside me, bursting out in a muffled cry. Animalistic and raw. Who was that person? Not the rule-follower. Definitely not the prim and proper Queen of Responsibility.
I collapse against his chest as he finishes with his own violent gasp, his head falling back to the pillow. My hands thread into his hair as I lean forward and kiss him again.
“Just what?” he says, eyes still closed as a sly smile curves his gorgeous lips.
“Jerk,” I say, swatting his chest.
He laughs and finally opens his eyes.
My amusement fades as I’m caught in the pull of his stare, the sudden depth I desperately want to explore and possess. He reaches up and tugs at a lock of my hair, studying it in the silence.
“Are you going to tell Viv?” he asks finally.
“Tell her what?” I ask, curious where he stands on the subject.
His gaze flickers back to me and he searches my face. “That you just had the best sex of your life?”
His grin breaks, and I smack him again.
CHAPTER 11
JULIAN
Did I want to sleep with Hadley last night? Hell. Yes. Did I intend to sleep with her when we left that annoying restaurant? No. A hundred times no, because now is when shit gets complicated.
She left early this morning, supposedly to escape before Naomi woke up, but by the way she avoided my eyes as she slipped her dress on, it was me she was escaping—this whole effed up situation. Because irresponsible doesn’t begin to cover the shitstorm we’ve just invited into our lives, and she know
s it as well as I do.
I have to work with this woman, embark on a lifelong journey with her boss and best friend, which means there will be no escaping each other without screwing up several lives. That’s not even considering the impact on Naomi and the thawing that is just beginning thanks in large part to the girl who practically ran out of my apartment this morning.
“Fuck,” I mutter, locking my fingers in my hair as I stare into my coffee mug.
“What are you doing up?” Naomi asks.
I glance up in surprise, instinctively checking the clock on the microwave. Shit, it’s later than I thought.
“Figured you’d want some breakfast before school,” I say, pushing up from the table. “What do you think? Waffles?”
Her eyes narrow as she stares at me like I’ve suddenly grown alien parts. “Yes… but… you never get up this early for school.”
“I know. But I should be,” I say, surprising myself.
Should I be? I’m asking an eleven-year-old to get herself up at the crack of dawn and off to school while I sleep in like a loser. Just because she’s used to that shit, doesn’t mean she should be. “In fact I’m going to start driving you so you can sleep in a little later. I don’t like you using public transportation by yourself anyway.”
“It’s just one stop.”
“Not the point.”
She shakes her head, still in disbelief as she drops her bookbag by a chair and settles into it. “Fine. And I want extra syrup,” she says.
I shove two frozen waffles into the toaster and turn to lean against the counter.
“Actually, it’s good you’re up,” she says abruptly, reaching for a folder in her bag. She pulls out an envelope and slaps it on the table with a pen. “I need you to sign this.”
“What is it?” I push off from the counter to join her at the table.
“Nothing important. It’s just to say you saw my report card.” She flips the pen toward me and holds it out.
“Okaayyy,” I draw out, not moving. “So where’s your report card?”
She squints at me and pushes the pen further in my direction. “You don’t actually have to look at it, Uncle J. Just sign it.”
I cross my arms and lean back. “I will. After I see your report card.”
Her eyes narrow, the familiar scowl spreading over her face as she slaps her palm on the envelope and drags it back to her. “Never mind. I’ll just sign it myself. You’re not my real guardian anyway.”
Ouch.
I lurch forward and snatch the pen from her hand before she can use it. “Not an option. Let’s see the report card.”
“Uncle Julian…”
“Let’s see it.” I hold out my hand and motion with my fingers.
“Grr… why, even?”
“Because I want to. Because I love looking at report cards. If I hadn’t been a musician I would’ve been a fulltime report card inspector.”
She rolls her eyes, but the slightest hint of a smile leaks out. “Ugh. Fine! There’s nothing to see, though. It’s bad.”
I shrug, my hand still outstretched. The waffles pop up as she yanks a sheet of paper from a folder and slaps it into my hand.
“Thank you,” I say, leaning back. “Go get your waffles.”
She grunts as she pushes up from the table and sulks toward the toaster. Pretty sure I don’t make that much noise getting a plate from the cabinet and a fork from the drawer. Pretty sure no one in the history of humanity has.
While she works on her waffles, I flatten the page out in front of me. It takes a second to interpret it, and when I do… shit. She wasn’t kidding. Her highest grade is a C in art class. She’s legit failing math and some class called Infotech? What even is that?
I swallow my reaction and wait until she returns with her waffles. Sure enough, they’re loaded with what must be half the bottle of syrup. Maybe that’s our first problem. Note to self: Do a better job procuring real food.
“Told you,” she says, shoving a bite in her mouth.
“You did.” I spin the page toward her so she can see it. “So here’s the problem I’m having.” I lean back again and study her with a thoughtful look.
Her chewing slows, her back straightening a bit. She clearly wasn’t expecting that reaction.
“That I’m shit at school? Surprise,” she quips, fluttering her fingers in the air.
“Actually, that wouldn’t be a problem. I’d expect someone who’s shit at school to have grades like these. I had grades like these and ended up dropping out. No, my problem is that you are one of the smartest, most mature kids I know, so these grades don’t make sense to me.”
She blinks, her mouth completely still now. “Whatever,” she huffs out finally, looking away.
“No, not whatever.” I reach over and tap her wrist until she looks at me again. “Your mother was ridiculously smart. Even I have my moments, although all my brains went to surviving and music not school. You know why we never got anywhere? Because no one gave a shit about us. We didn’t have a chance.”
I press my elbows into the table, searching your eyes. “But you. You, Naomi Hayes, have someone who gives more than a shit about you. I happen to give all the shits about you, so guess what, that means you’re going to take that smart brain of yours and do something with it like your mom and I never got to do. You pick, Naomi. Doctor, physicist, engineer. I don’t give a crap, but you do something. Got it?”
She stares back at me, clearly not sure what to do with any of that. I’m not either, and eventually she picks up her fork again. “My math teacher said she’ll let me re-take the last test if I turn in all my missing homework,” she mutters, pushing waffles around her plate.
“Good.” I pull the envelope and pen toward me. “Let’s look at it together tonight.”
I scribble my name on the line marked Parent or Guardian and slide it back to her.
“You’re not my real guardian anyway.”
Naomi’s words grate on me as I drive to rehearsal. I’m early today, having had no desire to sit at home in the dark after I dropped her off at school. She was just trying to hurt me with that comment, but there’s an uncomfortable truth buried in there. I’m not her legal guardian. What if something comes up in school that requires more than a half-assed signature? What if I had to set up an account for her or put her on my health insurance? Hell, does she even have health insurance? God forbid something happens to her and someone has to be responsible for her medical care.
Fuck.
I shove a hand in my hair as I pull into the lot of the studio building. I’d been avoiding this confrontation for weeks now, only half-heartedly reaching out to my brother-in-law with cursory attempts to connect. Honestly, I’d been too angry to deal with him. And now? Maybe my hesitation is more than that. Maybe… I shudder, not even wanting to consider the thought of losing Naomi.
But he’s a necessary evil. Like it or not, Allan Hayes is still the father of the little girl I’m starting to need in my life.
After putting my car in park, I pull out my phone and stare at the blank screen for a long time. Memories of his weaselly face flicker through my head. Him standing in my open doorway, abandoning his kid without so much as a goodbye and flat-out lying to my face about it. He doesn’t deserve a sliver of consideration from us, but if I have any hope of saving Naomi from her hellhole, I need to jump in and pull her out.
I scroll to Allan’s number and try again for the eleventh time. He hasn’t answered the last ten times I’ve called. My texts and social media messages have gone ignored as well. I’d think he was dead if not for the “read” confirmation on my messages and the garbage scattered around the trailer when I broke in two weeks ago to get more of Naomi’s stuff. He hadn’t been there of course. Or maybe he had and was buried under the mounds of debris.
“Hello?” a groggy voice answers.
“Allan, it’s Julian.” My pulse picks up. Stay calm. You need him. Do this for Naomi.
“Jul… ah shit,
” he grumbles, awareness settling in. Guess he was too fucked up to read his caller ID this time.
“Remember me?” I ask.
“What do you want?” he slurs out. “It’s not even nine yet.”
“Your daughter is fucking fine, by the way,” I snap. Shit. Calm down, Julian.
He’s quiet on the other end, and I pull in a soothing breath.
“Look, she really is fine. She can stay with me, but for this to work I need some stuff.”
“What? Like money?”
God, I wish I could send my fist through the phone right now. “No, not money,” I force out, my fingers tightening around the phone. “Documents. Her birth certificate, social security card, insurance information, shit like that.”
“Oh. Yeah.”
I have zero confidence any of this is registering.
Then: “I want to see her.”
I stagger in my seat, his statement a straight punch to the gut. “Excuse me?”
“I want to see her. Just for a minute.”
“No fucking way.”
“You want the papers, you let me see my daughter,” he says, his voice still garbled like he’s definitely hopped-up on something.
“She is not your daughter. She won’t be your daughter until you clean yourself up and get your shit together.”
After another pause, his labored breathing breaks the silence.
“Tomorrow night. Cathy’s Café. Seven o’clock. I’ll have the papers, and you bring her.”
Fuck! My hand flies into my hair as I pull until it burns. Then I pull harder. No way I can do that to Naomi. No fucking way I’d ask her to face him again after what he’s done. But I need those documents to have a prayer at setting up a real life for her. I should have just ransacked the trailer to find them when I was there for her clothes. He wouldn’t even have noticed. Too bad I was still a clueless idiot back then.
