Call It What You Want

by Brigid Kemmerer

  “She has her moments.” I don’t know how fast half a can of beer can hit you, but my brain feels like it’s tripping over itself. “Thanks for the drink. I was worried about you.”

  He’s closer suddenly. Still not touching, but I can feel his warmth. “Worried?”

  “I know you’re anxious about being here.”

  He makes a face. “I ducked in, grabbed a beer, and walked out. It was okay.” Half a shrug. “And now we’re in the dark and dancing. It makes for a good cover.”

  Does that mean I make for a good cover? I’m so off-balance. I still have no idea where I stand with Rob.

  I have plenty of ideas where he stands with me. A lot of them involve taking his shirt off. Some of them involve him taking off mine.

  Okay, I’m definitely feeling the beer.

  The music changes, shifting into something pulsing and sensual, with a beat I can feel all the way through my body. Rob doesn’t ask me to dance; he takes my hand and spins me into the music. The bodies around us become a blur. I can’t seem to focus on anything but his eyes, dark and shadowed and fixed on mine. His hands brush my waist, my hips, my shoulders, but never more. Just enough to drive me crazy.

  The music shifts into a new song, but Rob shows no intention of wanting to stop. His hand brushes the line of my jaw. My shoulder. Falls on my waist. Stays there.

  Another song. More people. Closer. The living room is a pulsing wave of bodies. The beat controls my heart. His body brushes mine as we move.

  Then he’s against me. His hand brushes my hair back, and his lips drift along my neck. A gasp escapes my throat. I might catch on fire right here.

  “Hey,” he says, his voice low and just for me. “Can we get off the dance floor?”

  I nod, unable to speak. He tows me through the people, toward a darkened hallway. Suddenly, we’re away from the press of people, and the music softens. My heart rockets along in my chest, and my whole body feels like a live wire. I don’t know where he’s taking me, and right now, I don’t care.

  Every door along this corridor is closed, leaving us in near pitch-darkness. Rob stops at the end, in front of a set of double doors.

  He runs a hand through his hair and takes a deep breath. “Sorry,” he says. “Connor showed up, and I didn’t … I didn’t want something to happen.”

  My brain needs a few moments to process those words. They don’t compute.

  That was all a diversion? My breath comes quick and panicked, and I force myself to calm down. I feel so foolish. I was letting myself get carried away for no reason. Rob’s not interested in me. He’s trying to stay hidden until we can get out of here.

  I wish I had the second half of my beer. I feel about ready to cry.

  “Hey,” says Rob. He moves closer. It’s darker in the hallway than it was in the living room, so it’s easy to dodge his eyes. “Are you okay?”

  “Yeah. Just—” I have to sniff. Damn it. “Just out of breath.”

  He’s even closer somehow. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Nothing’s wrong.”

  “Maegan.” He breathes my name like a promise.

  I can’t say anything. I want to be bold and brassy and confident like Samantha, but I’m not. I’m honest and open and I wear my heart on my sleeve. So I fix my eyes on the collar of his shirt and feel my cheeks burn as I say, “I’m an idiot. I got—I got carried away.”

  He’s quiet for a moment. “I don’t understand.”

  I lift my eyes to meet his. “I forgot you were using me as a cloak so no one saw you.”

  “Is that what you think?”

  “You said you needed to get away from Connor.”

  “I wanted to get away from Connor.” His hand lands on my waist, warm and sure. The other finds my face, and his thumb strokes across my cheekbone. “Because I didn’t want to be interrupted.”

  Oh.

  And before I can fully process that, his hand slides into my hair and he presses his lips to mine.

  Rob kisses like everything else he does: slow and deliberate and full of confidence. No fumbling, just the warm addictive pull of his mouth. When his tongue brushes mine, there’s an unspoken question, and I answer by fisting a hand in his shirt and pulling him against me. A low sound escapes his throat, and my back finds the wall. I can’t stop touching him. My fingers trace the line of his jaw, the slope of his neck, the smooth skin of his collarbone before it disappears under his shirt.

  His hands are equally invested in me, a strong weight at my waist, sliding under the edge of my shirt. The feel of his palms against the bare skin of my lower back pulls a gasp from my lips, and Rob draws back half an inch.

  “Good?” he whispers.

  I draw a shaking breath. “Very good. Don’t stop.” But I grab the collar of his shirt and say the words so fast they all run together. Verygooddontstop.

  Rob smiles and obliges.

  My shirt slides higher as he gets more daring, his thumb skirting across my abdomen to light me with warmth while making me shiver. He’s kissing my neck now, whispering my name in a way I’ll be replaying over and over again later. One hand shifts lower, tracing the edge of the skin beneath the waistband of my jeans. I’m all but panting against the wall, and I’m glad it’s here to hold me up. I’m a little dizzy and a little dissociated, like I’ve stepped outside this moment and I can’t believe it’s happening. Then his fingers find the back strap of my bra and stroke beneath.

  “Rob,” I whisper. “Rob.”

  His hand slides free. His eyes are dark and heavy and fixed on mine. “Too much?”

  Not enough. The music from the party seems louder suddenly, and I’m very aware someone could walk down this way any time. “No, just … we’re in a hallway.”

  He smiles, his eyes questioning. “Do you want to not be in a hallway?”

  I nod rapidly, and his smile turns into a wolfish grin. He takes my hand and turns for the double doors. A pin-code type lock mechanism sits over the doorknob. I expect him to turn for one of the other doors, but Rob starts punching numbers, and the lock gives immediately.

  I hesitate. “Do you know where you’re going?”

  “I pretty much grew up here. Come on.”

  I expected a bedroom, possibly a master suite, but the doors lead to a dim hallway beyond, lined with floor-to-ceiling windows. Another set of double doors are at the other end. I can see out to the side of the yard on one side, and the torch-lit pool to the other. The door swings closed behind us, and the lock clicks into place. The sounds of the party are gone, and we’re trapped in a silent fishbowl of windows.

  “This is an addition to the main building,” Rob says. “It leads to the pool house.” This time when he tugs on my hand, I follow. The second set of doors doesn’t have a lock on it, and we slide through quickly, into a huge room with a cathedral ceiling crossed by wooden beams. The floor is all gray ceramic tile, the walls lined with stone, but my eyes are drawn to the massive hot tub throwing off steam in the center of the room. The jets are running, creating a rushing white noise that echoes off the walls. The only light in the room comes from the lights in the center of the hot tub, throwing blue-and-white aquatic patterns across the stones.

  “Holy crap,” I whisper. We’re not poor, but I don’t know one single friend who has something like this attached to their house. My eyes flick to Rob’s. “Is your house like this?”

  “I don’t have a pool,” he says. But that’s all he says, which leads me to think that his house isn’t much less extravagant.

  A big-screen TV is attached to the wall on the other side of the room, above what looks like a wet bar, complete with a full-size refrigerator, two rows of liquor bottles, and two dozen wineglasses hanging upside down from a rack. A door to the right of the bar is closed and dark.

  “Connor won’t let people back here during the party,” he says. The rushing water softens every word. He nods at the closed door. “His dad would lose his shit if anyone got into his office. But his close fri
ends will come back here once everyone starts to leave.”

  I step away from him and trail my fingers in the water of the hot tub. This whole room is like a secret paradise.

  My hand stops at the corner. Diamond earrings are sitting in a little divot in the plastic. I touch them with a finger. “Someone will be missing those.”

  “Connor’s mom is kind of careless.”

  “With diamonds?” But then my eyes glance around the room again and realize that Connor’s mom probably can be careless with diamonds.

  “With everything.” Rob speaks from right behind me. His hands close on my waist, and he leans down to kiss my neck. In half a second, I’m flushed and wild with attraction, and I’ve completely forgotten what we were talking about.

  “Is this okay?” he whispers, his lips a soft brush against my skin. His hand is flat against the front of my abdomen, his body a warm weight behind me.

  “Yes,” I say. “Yes.”

  But then my brain clicks into place and I turn in his arms. “Wait. What am I saying yes to?”

  His eyes widen in surprise, but then he laughs, a little. “You’re a cop’s daughter, that’s for sure.” He brushes a stray hair out of my eyes, his fingers lingering as they stroke along the curve of my ear. “Whatever you want,” he says. Then he makes a sheepish face. “Well. Not whatever you want, because I didn’t come prepared for all that, and the tile floor is cold, not to mention hard—”

  I giggle breathlessly and put a hand over his mouth. I’m blushing fiercely. “I don’t think I’m ready for all that.”

  He nods behind my hand, his eyes serious. Then he takes my wrist and kisses my fingers gently. “We can go back to the party if you want.”

  “I want to stay here. Just …” I’m blushing again. “Slow.” I blush harder. “Slowish.”

  “I can do slowish.”

  Oh, yes he can.

  He’s more sure now, if that’s possible, his hands stroking the length of my back under my shirt. Every time his mouth falls on mine, I feel ravenous. I could spend the rest of my life like this, kissing Rob Lachlan in the dark, with the sound of rushing water behind us.

  When he breaks free again to kiss his way down my neck and across the bare line of my shoulder, I whisper, “Did you bring Callie here, too?”

  “Callie who?”

  God, I could fall in love with him. I fist both hands in his shirt and pull it free from his jeans, and then my hands are on the curved muscled slope of his back.

  I’m rewarded with a gasp. “Jesus, Maegan.” His chest is against mine. I can feel his breath. His heart, tripping along as quickly as my own.

  Without a thought, I jerk my shirt over my head and move to fling it away from me.

  Rob snatches it out of the air before it can go flying. “Maybe don’t throw that into the hot tub.”

  I burst out laughing. I’m suddenly self-conscious and giddy. I close my arms together over my chest, then press my hands to my mouth. “Sorry. I’m the one who said slowish.”

  He doesn’t bother unbuttoning his shirt, he simply pulls it over his head. “Don’t worry. I can catch up.”

  Then he pulls me against him, and this time, his mouth is everywhere. I’ve gone this far with a boy before, but never like this. Never with this electricity in the air, this heady rush of adrenaline and attraction that has me wanting to take the rest of my clothes off. My hands stroke across his shoulders, the corded muscles of his arms.

  His hands close on my waist, and before I’m ready for it, he’s lifting me to sit on the edge of the hot tub. I squeal with laughter, but he holds me still, then kisses fire across my stomach.

  I’m so drunk on him that I don’t notice the click of a door—or maybe there is no sound. I hear a footstep, and then a man’s voice.

  “Well now. Is that Rob Lachlan?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Rob

  Well, damn.

  Before everything happened with my father, I never had a bad relationship with Connor’s dad. I could fill a diary with the stories Connor has told me about him, but the guy has never been anything but polite to me. Sometimes I’d complain to Dad about him, especially after the sleeping-outside-in-freezing-rain incident, and Dad would sigh and say, “Bill’s a good man, Rob. I didn’t always see eye to eye with your grandfather, but now I can respect the choices he had to make. Connor might be upset, but a man’s relationship with his son can get very complicated.”

  No kidding.

  I have no idea where Bill came from, but he’s by the wet bar, looking like the perfect corporate dad in khakis and a polo shirt, dark-framed glasses perched on his nose. For a brain-splitting moment, I wonder if he’s been there all along and I somehow missed him. I’m still standing beside the hot tub, but Maegan has slid off the ledge. Now she’s clinging to my back, hiding behind me.

  Her breath is a hot rush against my shoulder. “Oh my god, do you know that guy?”

  “Yes.” I have to clear my throat. My body was not prepared for the abrupt 180 of emotion. I’m flushed and hard and angry and humiliated. Maegan’s breasts pressing into my back are not helping. Then again, neither is the knowing look on Bill’s face.

  I can’t read his expression, but there’s no disguising what was going on here. Maybe he’ll call the cops and sell out a second member of the Lachlan family.

  I have to clear my throat again. “This is Connor’s dad.”

  The man looks over his glasses at us. “It’s been a while, Rob. Shall I give you and your … friend … a moment to arrange yourselves?”

  He doesn’t wait for an answer, just turns and walks through the door to his dimly lit office.

  Was he in there all this time?

  His voice floats out to us. “Come in and talk to me for a minute when you’re done, Rob.”

  That doesn’t sound promising.

  Maegan is scrambling to grab her shirt off the floor. “Is this going to be okay?” she whispers quickly. “Are we going to be in trouble?”

  “Taking your shirt off isn’t a crime.” My voice is edged, but none of my anger is at her, so I run a finger along her jaw to soften the words. “It’s okay. It’ll be okay.”

  I have no idea whether that’s true.

  She pulls her shirt over her head in a rush. “Why does he want to talk to us?”

  “Not us. Me.” I’m fumbling to get the buttons undone on my shirt; they don’t go back on anywhere near as easily as they come off. “You don’t have to go in there.”

  “But he said—”

  “I don’t care what he said. I’m not dragging you into this.”

  “Are you still getting dressed?” Bill calls.

  I pull my shirt on, then give Maegan a quick kiss on the cheek. “Find Samantha. Just wait for me in the living room.”

  My shirt is only half-buttoned when I get to the doorway of Bill’s office. The room is shadowed and dim, thanks to a tiny desk lamp sitting by his computer. The furniture in here is all rich red leather and sleek polished wood. Diplomas and awards hang framed on the wall behind him, along with a painting of a moonlit harbor that’s a real Chagall.

  I never gave these things much thought a year ago. Now, they’re hard to reconcile when I think about Owen asking if I ever had a ten-dollar bill in my pocket when I saw him with a cheese sandwich. Connor’s mom can be careless with a pair of expensive earrings, while Owen’s mom was stressed about walking through a hundred-dollar pair of work shoes.

  I have to shake these thoughts free.

  Despite prompting me twice to come talk to him, Bill doesn’t look up when I stop in the doorway. A few documents sit on the desk in a near-perfect line across the blotter. A pencil is in his hand, and he’s looking at one of the documents. It’s a passive-aggressive move. You’re not important until I decide you are.

  I have zero tolerance for this bullshit. I rap my knuckles on the door frame. “You wanted to see me?”

  “Rob! Come in. It’s been ages.” He shuffles the papers t
ogether into a pile and turns them facedown. When he looks up at me, he removes his glasses, and his eyes are troubled. “I’ve been worried about you. We haven’t seen you around, and I know things have been difficult.”

  Things.

  I don’t move from the doorway. “Mom and I are doing all right.”

  “Marjorie called her the other day. She said your mom’s been encouraging you to get some help.”

  I bristle. I don’t like the thought of Mom talking about me with anyone in this family. I know my father is responsible for what he did, but Bill Tunstall is the one who brought it crashing down. Maybe Mom can separate that in her head, but I sure can’t.

  “I should go check on Maegan,” I say.

  “I didn’t mean to interrupt your little … ah, rendezvous, but I’m glad you’re here.” He rocks back in his chair. “Connor said you’ve been avoiding him. It’s good to see you boys are spending some time together again.”

  “I wouldn’t say that.” I hesitate. “Have you been back here this whole time?”

  “I’m always here when Connor has friends over. Too much liability otherwise.”

  I shuffle my feet, then tell myself to knock it off. Being here, standing in front of Bill, is reminding me of my father in ways I don’t appreciate. I can almost feel him clapping me on the shoulder, saying, “Stand tall, Rob. Be a man.”

  I feel like I’m the one who drank half the can of beer instead of Maegan.

  Bill nods at the chairs by his desk. “Sit down. I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”

  I want to bolt, but in a different way from how I wanted to run from Mr. London’s office. Bill Tunstall represents everything we once had. If he could have warned my father—if he could have warned us—if he could have helped turn it around …

  These thoughts are choking me. My hands are tight. I take a step back. “I really don’t want to leave Maegan alone too long.”

  He doesn’t move from his chair. “Rob. Please. You were like a son to me.”

  The words hit me like a bullet, lodging in my chest with a lump of pain that’s difficult to breathe through. “No,” I say, and it’s tough to speak through it. “I wasn’t.”