by Azzi , Gina
* * *
“This way.” She tugs my hand down a side street once we slide out of the cab.
“Who are you? A local?”
She grins at me over her shoulder and my breath lodges in my throat like a brick. It blocks off my oxygen supply, sucking rational thought from my mind. In this moment, with the colorful lights of a nearby restaurant lighting her up, color high on her cheekbones, her hair a wavy mess that tumbles over her shoulder, she’s breathtaking. Effortlessly, unassumingly so.
Like the first snowfall of winter.
“Come on!” She pulls me along, into the restaurant with the blinking Christmas lights.
Inside, the walls are a bright yellow, fans turn nonstop from the ceilings, and a boisterous warmth invites us deeper, carrying us right up to the bar.
“Bonsoir, mon amie.” The bartender leans over the bar to kiss both her cheeks. My back stiffens, my hand turning rigid in hers.
She squeezes my fingers tighter, chatting and laughing like it’s not weird that a bartender would already know her so intimately in the two weeks she’s been in the Seychelles.
“Laurence, this is my friend, Eli. Eli, Laurence.” She gestures to the bartender, a friendly looking dude with mocha skin and pale green eyes.
“Hey, I know you.” He points at me, his smile widening. “You played the elf in that Christmas movie.”
I toss my head back and laugh.
He’s right. I did play an elf in a Christmas movie. It was the second film I ever did, and one that nearly no one has ever seen. The fact that this is how he recognizes me instantly warms me up to him and his strange relationship with Zoe.
“Yeah, man. Good to meet you.” I drop Zoe’s hand to shake his and pull out a barstool for her.
Once we’re seated, Laurence hunches over the bar, propping up his elbows and dropping his head into his hands. “What kind of a day is it? Shots or fruity cocktails?”
“Fruity cocktails,” Zoe replies, running the toe of her flip-flop across the base of the bar. She leans forward, a smile playing over her lips, “I need something bright and fun to drink. Flirty and exciting. With an umbrella, of course.”
“I got you, mon amie. And for you?”
“Uh, I’ll take a Heineken.”
Laurence’s eyes cut back to Zoe and she snorts, the two of them laughing. Under any other circumstances their bonding would put me on edge, but watching her open up, even with the bartender, and be so carefree hits me with a flicker of happiness.
I like seeing her like this. Relaxed. At ease. Wild waves of violet and black hair caress her shoulders, her sun-kissed skin glows.
She’s radiating an energy that’s both present and not, eager yet aloof. It’s disarming. I wish I could read her thoughts, understand the emotions that flicker across her face like a movie reel.
Laurence raps his knuckles against the top of the bar before pushing back, getting our drinks.
“Hungry?” I ask Zoe.
Her eyes scan the menu. “I can’t decide between the curry chicken and the fish.”
“Order both.”
She glances up, her brow furrowing. “I can’t —”
“Laurence,” I call out, “let’s put in an order for one of every appetizer on the menu. Plus the curry chicken and the fish.”
“Okay, you got it,” he says.
“Oh my God!” Violet shakes her head, pushing my shoulder. “You can’t be serious. That’s so wasteful.”
“Only if we don’t eat it.” I swivel on my barstool, my knee tapping her thigh.
“You think we’re going to eat —”
“Tonight. Just for tonight, we’re not counting calories or worrying about workouts. We’re not overthinking and overanalyzing. We’re just…here.”
“In the now,” she breathes, her expression stilling.
“Yeah. In the now.” I reach out, my brain no longer connected to my body’s movements, and tuck some of her hair behind her shoulder. “You look beautiful, Violet.”
She smiles, her cupid’s bow dimpling. “Not going to work on me, Hollywood. I’m immune to your lines.”
I murmur thanks as Laurence drops a beer in my hand, my eyes never leaving Violet’s face. “Keep telling yourself that, babe.”
“You’re pretty cocky considering your current situation.” She swirls a straw around a fruity pink cocktail before fastening her plush lips around the end and taking a sip, her eyes closing.
Jesus Christ. My hand clenches into a fist.
Opening her eyes, Zoe winks.
This girl is going to be the death of me. Never have I met a woman who loves toying with me the way she does. And never have a I enjoyed being taunted so goddamn much.
“What situation is that, Zoe?” I clink the butt of my bottle against her glass and take a swig of beer, hoping the cool liquid will temper the heat traveling through my veins.
I want to hear her say the words, to stop being coy and call me out on my shit. How messed up is that?
She snickers. “Elephant in the room. Brooke. Silver.”
“Ah, yes.” I roll my hand over my mouth and chin. “Saw you caught our performance earlier today.”
“That was some acting.”
“But that’s all it was. Acting.” I lean forward, my eyes trained on hers.
The air between us crackles to life. Two wills at odd with each other, both desperate to convince the other of our own superiority.
She stares at me for a long beat, the corners of her mouth pinched. “There’s a lot of feelings there.”
“Of friendship,” I grit out, my voice controlled, my fist clenching tighter.
“Friendship,” she repeats.
“Food’s up,” Laurence announces, placing an assortment of plates in front of us.
Zoe blinks, the solemnity of her expression falling away as her easygoing grin slips back into place. Popping a piece of fried calamari in her mouth, she groans in pleasure and my body tightens.
Jesus.
“To tonight.” She faces me. “The now.”
“The now,” I echo, my eyes raking over her face. Flushed cheeks, bright eyes. Caught up in the night.
Something about her expression, the slight sheen of sweat that beads at her hairline, irks me. Zoe is nothing if not professional, ambitious, determined.
In fact, her training circuits and commitment to her business have been incredibly impressive.
What would make her blow off steam two nights in a row to drink sugary beverages and eat her weight in seafood? What would make her even hint at crossing the professional line between us?
I drain my beer. What the hell is wrong with me?
She’s your trainer.
Yeah, keep telling yourself that.
To date, Zoe’s done a hell of a better job fighting the attraction between us. And I know if she gives me the slightest indication that she’s willing to blur our trainer-client line, I’ll give into the temptation in a heartbeat.
The truth is, I wanna roll around in this girl’s bed and bring her to the brink of a “come to Jesus” moment.
Not play Freud to the dark corners of her mind.
She wants to get fucked up tonight? I’m willing to play my part.
“Laurence, pour us some shots!” she calls out, her skin flushed, her voice high.
“You got it, mon amie.”
She leans forward, the soft skin of her lower back itching to be touched. I place a palm along the small of her back, skin to skin. Instead of jerking away, she sways slightly and I curl my hand, my nails grazing her skin.
“Careful, Hollywood, don’t want to give a girl ideas.”
“I’m going to fill your head with them, Violet.”
She turns, her chin dipping into her shoulder, smoldering bedroom eyes like melting caramel. “Promise?” Her voice is taunting, a thread of a dare that I want to say yes to.
Laurence drops off the shots, and Violet hands me one.
“Every. Damn. Thing. Zoe.” Her ey
es hold mine prisoner, a desperation I don’t understand edging her irises.
“And then some,” she swears, throwing back the shot and smacking her lips.
“And then some,” I repeat, nodding toward the food. “Now eat.”
Zoe picks at fried calamari and doctors up the clams on the half shell the way she likes – lemon, horseradish, extra hot sauce.
“Extra spicy, huh?”
“I like the experience more than the ending,” she explains, speaking in riddles.
“Not following you, babe. But I’m willing to try it your way.” I swipe a clam and nearly put myself into cardiac arrest, coughing.
Zoe laughs, pushing napkins into my hand and holding a glass of water beneath my lips. “Drink this, Hollywood. Can’t have you hocking up a lung on my watch.”
I swallow long sips of water, my eyes smarting with tears, my throat burning. “Jesus Christ, Violet, you don’t mess around.”
“No, I don’t.”
Motioning to Laurence for another beer, I switch to French fries.
“Let’s play a game,” Zoe suggests, chewing the corner of her mouth.
“What kind of game?”
“Get your head out the gutter.”
“You’re the one who walks around with blindfolds.”
“Sleep masks!”
Chuckling, I hold up a hand in surrender. “What’s the game?”
“Two truths and a lie.”
“How do you play?” I wipe my mouth with a napkin, noting how she tracks the movement, her mouth parting slightly.
My blood hums with awareness, with want. But Violet keeps her cool, makes me work for it.
It’s been so damn long since any girl gave me any type of chase, I’m nearly salivating for the chance to prove just how hard I can fuck her world.
“We each say three things. Two truths. One lie. And the other person has to guess which one is the lie.”
“You’re cute, Violet. If you wanted to get to know me so badly —”
“I’ll start,” she cuts me off.
“Alright.” I kick my feet up on the rung of her barstool and lean back. “Let me hear it.”
“I love horror films. I hate waking up early. I have an older brother.”
“You hate waking up early is the lie,” I smirk, knowing she’s up at 5AM every morning for work.
“Ehhh.” Zoe sounds like a buzzer. “I really do hate waking up early. The lie is that I have a brother.”
“Wait. You seriously love horror films?”
She grins, contorting her face to look evil.
“You’re bizarre,” I snort, throwing a fry at her face.
She picks it up and pops it into her mouth. “You have no clue. Your turn.”
“Okay. Let’s see. I’m a billionaire. Surfing is my favorite hobby. I want to have a basketball team of kids.”
“Hm.” Zoe frowns, narrowing her gaze and peering from one of my eyes to the next.
“Why so serious?”
“I’m trying to deduce if the billionaire or kids is your lie.”
I laugh. “And?”
“Kids. No man wants that many kids.”
“Ehhh.” I make her buzzer sound and she winces, her eyes dropping to the floor for a moment. “Wrong, babe. I do want a ton of kids. And I really am a billionaire.”
“Wait, so surfing is your lie?”
“Yeah. Basketball is my favorite hobby.”
“You’re really a billionaire?” she murmurs after a beat, some of her enthusiasm deflated.
“My dad, not Derek who raised me and who I love like a father, but my biological one, left me and Evan a shit-ton of money when he died. Companies and properties and trusts. The fucker missed our entire lives. He never gave a damn about us, never sent child support or even tried to communicate with us. He left my mom all on her own, working two jobs and every side hustle imaginable just to make ends meet until she met Derek. And then he kicks the bucket and changes my world overnight about two years ago.”
“Damn.” Zoe whispers, studying me. “That sucks, Eli. I’m sorry.”
I nod, turning back to my beer and taking a gulp. Why the hell did I bring up Dad? I never talk about him. “Don’t be sorry, babe. I’m fucking flush, remember?”
She winces, as if I’ve hurt her. Maybe I have. But Zoe is tearing down too many walls, getting too close to my real thoughts. The ones that rarely make it out of my mouth. “Your turn.”
“I want to see the Eiffel Tower at night while eating macarons. I wish I was brave. I hate the color orange.”
“You hate the color orange.”
She shakes her head. “I wish I was brave.”
“Huh?” I grip her thighs and physically shift her body closer to mine. Beneath my touch, her skin is hot, even through the flimsy material of her skirt. “You are brave, babe.”
“No, I’m not.” She says the words clearly, without judgement.
“Yeah, you are. Not everyone would leave their lives behind to take a job like this.”
“Uh, yeah. Pretty much everyone would.”
“Nah. You’ve got balls, Violet. Big, donkey balls.”
She snorts, “You’re ridiculous.”
Laurence drops off more shots.
“You’re perfect.” I tilt my shot glass of rum toward her until she laughs. Then I throw it back, enjoying how with each drink, the colors burn brighter, the restaurant grows louder, and Zoe looks more and more like a dream just out of my grasp.
She’s the unattainable. The goddamn elusive truth wrapped up in so many tangled lies.
“One more.” I whisper, returning my hands to her thighs and bracing my weight.
She wraps her hands around my wrists, leaning forward. We’re now inches apart. So close that I can count the freckles that decorate the bridge of her nose like sprinkles.
She smells so damn good, like wind and sea and woman.
“Tell me,” she whispers, her breath fanning across my lips, sweet like her pink fruity cocktails.
“I’m going to kiss you now. I’m going to fuck you tonight. And tomorrow, you’re going to beg for me to do it again.”
One side of her mouth ticks, not a smile nor a frown. “Lies. All lies.”
“Nah, baby. Every one of those was the fucking truth.” I grin, my gaze dropping to her lips before I cover her mouth with mine.
Her mouth is perfectly shaped, warm and willing as I mold my lips to hers. It’s heady, the feeling of her mouth moving against mine. Sensual, which is ridiculous because the act is so damn innocent.
Her mouth parts and I dip my tongue inside, languidly. As if we’re not making out in front of an entire restaurant full of people.
As if I’m not famous.
And she’s not the most confusing woman I’ve ever met.
I slide my hands up, up, up, skimming her ribcage, her shoulders, until I palm her cheeks. Pulling away, I grin down at her. “Let’s get out of here, Violet.”
She snorts, but the sound is too breathy, her eyes too hazy with lust to be haughty. “So you can fuck me?”
“Every. Damn. Thing. Promised you, Violet. Mean to keep it.” I throw down a wad of cash on the bar and tug Zoe off her barstool.
She follows me out of the colorful restaurant into the quiet night. I pull her toward the main road where we can grab a taxi, but she pulls on my hand, causing me to follow her down an alley instead. She places her back against the wall and glances up at me, a challenge sparking in her eyes.
Moonlight shines off her cheekbones as she bites her lower lip. Her eyelids are heavy with need, her eyes bright with desire.
My heart thumps in my chest, excited and wary at the same time. I want nothing more than to straddle her thighs, cage her in with my arms, and kiss her senseless. But something about the expression on her face, needy yet remote, gives me pause. Connor said Zoe is a thousand percent focused on her business, a woman who walks the straight and narrow. Right now, his words don’t add up to the deliriously beautiful
, somewhat tipsy, borderline reckless woman standing before me.
“Why are you doing this, Zoe?” I murmur, my thumbs brushing her cheekbones, my hands cupping her cheeks. I angle her head, trying to see into her convoluted mind, to uncover her buried secrets.
“Because I can,” she whispers, her breath rippling over my chin, her hands finding the belt loops of my jeans.
“What do you want?” I drop my face a millimeter closer to hers.
“All your lies.”
“I have enough to fill every cell in your body.”
“Give them to me,” she demands, her breasts brushing against my abdomen.
“Two truths and a lie,” I remind her. Her hands settle on my hips, the tips of her pinky fingers slipping under my T-shirt and grazing my bare skin. I shiver at her touch. “You’re the most unattainable woman I’ve ever met. This means nothing. I don’t trust you.”
“You shouldn’t.” She lifts up onto her tippy toes, placing open-mouthed kisses along my jawline.
“Shouldn’t what?”
“Trust me.” She pulls back, her eyes completely sober. “I’m the biggest liar there is.” She pops the button on my jeans and I stop caring about this game, this conversation, the fact that we’re out in the open and I’m about to fuck her against an alley wall.
Instead, I take her advice and focus on the goddamn now.
15
Zoe
His mouth closes over mine with intent, possessive and unyielding. It’s only after I part my lips that his fingertips ease their bruising grip on my hips and he slows the pace of his tongue from a crescendo to a melody.
Slow and languid, unhurried and unbothered by all the people who could be watching us right now, we commence making out like two horny teenagers too desperate to seek shelter. A passerby would take one look at us and know the truth — our bodies are a hell of a lot more telling than our words.
We like each other more than we let on. We like each other too much.
Eli rolls his forehead across mine. “You’re fucking killing me,” he groans, his right hand trailing up from my hip, palming my stomach, until it’s pressed against my heaving chest, nestled in the valley of my breasts. “I don’t know how to do this with you, Violet.”
