“Fuck, that was hot,” he whispers into my hair, and I turn to catch him in a deep, slow kiss. I can taste sex in that kiss, in the air between us. When we break apart, we rest our foreheads against each other’s, and he cups his hands around my face on either side, as though shutting out the rest of the world. There’s nobody but us, nobody who matters besides the two of us.
“Clove…”
“Zayne.” I catch myself smiling like an idiot. I can’t help it. He always makes me this way. Giddy, almost insane with pleasure.
“Do you want to get out of here?” His eyes glint with mischief.
I let my hand trail down his neck, along his arms, until I’m gripping his wrists with both hands, his hands still cupping my face. “Fuck yes.”
We leave the theater, hands clasped, giggling like teenagers at yet another horribly cheesy line of dialogue. One of the old men sitting near the exit door hisses at us to “shush,” but that only sets us off into another bout of loud laughter, especially once the theater doors swing shut behind us and we’re safe in the lobby hallway.
“I cannot believe we just did that,” I gasp between laughs.
Zayne pulls me against him and plants a long, slow kiss on my lips. “You are fucking amazing. Have I told you that yet?”
“You might have mentioned it.” My eyes sparkle.
He lifts a single eyebrow, smirking. “If I have,” he says, “then I haven’t mentioned it nearly often enough. Because you are. Genuinely.”
I swallow around a sudden lump of emotion in my throat. “You are too,” I murmur, though it doesn’t feel like enough, doesn’t explain what I feel for him, not really.
That’s okay. We have time to say it. All the time in the world.
We emerge from the theater into the night, streetlights bright around us. That’s always a surreal experience in New York, the way that even late at night, on busy streets like this, it still looks like broad daylight. We wander along the street hand-in-hand, appreciating the storefronts we pass along our stroll. Zayne suggests ice cream, so we pop into a small shop for cones, which we enjoy as we continue our walk. Then we trade licks of one another’s cones, and burst into laughter again as we fail at holding the cones steady, and smear ice cream on each other’s noses.
Zayne cups my cheek, turns my face to his, and licks the ice cream straight off my nose without hesitation. I laugh and pull away, blushing. But whereas that would normally embarrass me on a date with any other guy, with Zayne it feels normal. Natural. I don’t care what anyone else who sees us might think about us, because we’re the only two whose opinions matter.
I can’t remember the last time I felt like that around someone. Maybe never.
“Where next?” he asks when we deposit our ice cream soaked napkins into the trash can.
“The park?” I suggest with a shrug. It’s still early enough that Central Park is full of activity, lights brightening paths, and couples strolling through in every direction, hands clasped.
“Maybe we can find a dark corner to sneak off into,” he agrees with a wink, and there’s that blush again. Damn him. My face is going to catch on fire if he makes me blush anymore.
We head into the park, and breathe in the cool evening air, scented with flowers and freshly cut grass and the faint whiff of waffle cone trucks packing up for the night. We stick to a path with some pedestrian traffic, some couples, dog walkers, and us, meandering slowly through Central Park. Still, something gives me the chills, makes the hair at the nape of my neck stand up and a faint shiver run through me.
Zayne senses it and pulls me closer to his side. “Cold?”
I shake my head. “It’s nothing.” I let my head fall back and gaze at the stars above to distract myself from this odd chill. “So, tell me about yourself. What’s the real Zayne like, what makes him tick?”
He laughs. “I think you already know that.” His grip tightens around me, protective and possessive all at once. “You learned how to push my buttons far too quickly, Clove.”
I grin. “Maybe. But I don’t know all of them. I mean, what about your family, for instance? Are you guys close? Who are they?”
“They’re great. My dad’s an auto mechanic, my mom stayed at home with me until I was in high school, then went to work as a secretary in a law firm. They’ve been together since they were in college.”
“They sound nice.”
“They’re probably the other reason I hadn’t dated much before. I’m picky, because…” He hesitates, and now it’s my turn to squeeze my arm around him tighter, reassuring. “I want what they have. A real partner. Someone who matches me. You don’t find that just anywhere.”
I can feel a smile spreading across my face as I lean my head against his shoulder. “Oh trust me, I know.”
“When I dated my ex, I think it was just… I was lonely and sick of waiting for the right person. I thought I could make this girl into the right partner since she cared about me. So I thought. But she didn’t really care about me—not the real me. She just wanted to be with a guy, any guy, and she just projected who she wanted me to be on me.”
I can feel myself nodding in sympathy. I’d dated guys like that. Not for long, but I knew all too well how it felt to have someone date you because they wanted to change you, not because they truly appreciated you for who you were.
“But the best relationships are the ones where you can be yourself. Because that’s who the other person wants. The real you.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” I tilt my head back to catch his eye and feel another flash of gratitude. Even given everything that’s gone wrong, all the drama we’ve been through, I don’t regret meeting Zayne. Or, well, not meeting him—finally seeing him for the first time. This feels like a beginning. The start of something real. And as far as I can tell, he feels that too.
He leans in, and when we kiss this time, it’s slow, both of us savoring the moment. Our lips touch, part, and close again as we sink into one another. I could kiss him forever. His lips are so soft, his cheeks a tad scratchy with stubble, his hands strong yet gentle as he traces them up my back to pull my body against his.
I lose track of time, of everything else, while we kiss.
Until that faint tickle starts up at the back of my neck again. An uneasy sensation, like we’re being watched.
I pull back and can’t help stealing a glance around us. But like always, it’s just the two of us on this path, a few other people walking past, lost in their own conversations. Nearby, a woman is holding a leash while her dog pees. Up the road, another woman chats on a cell phone, oblivious.
Why do I feel like someone’s watching us? Like we’re being followed?
It has to be residual weird feelings from all of the problems we’ve been dealing with. The website, the hacked phones, the creepy messages from men who now have my phone number. That’s all. I’m just jumpy after dealing with all of that.
Still, Zayne notices the way I’m feeling, and leans in to kiss my cheek once more softly. “Are you okay?” he asks, brow knit in concern. “Maybe we should head home.”
“Yeah, maybe…” I shake my head, feeling stupid. I’m ruining the mood for no reason. I heave a sigh and cast a glance up the path, at the spot where a path leads off to the public restrooms. That’s what I need. Just a moment to collect myself, splash some water on my face, pull it together. “Can you give me a minute? I’m just going to run to the bathroom, then we can head back to the apartment.”
“Of course.” He squeezes my hand as I leave, and I cast a grin over my shoulder at him before I jog up the path toward the bathrooms.
Inside, it’s dingy and dark, away from the path and streetlamps. There’s a single bare bulb dangling from the ceiling but it’s burned out and I have to squint to see myself in the mirror as I splash cold water onto my cheeks.
That’s when I hear the door swing shut behind me.
Another woman steps inside. For a moment, I don’t recognize her, the way she’s holdin
g her head—face down, eyes averted, hair falling across her forehead. She’s cute, shorter than me, with a pixie cut and dark eyes. Then she catches my eye in the mirror, and I smile in recognition.
“Hannah, hey, how’s it going?”
I only get a scowl in response, which makes my stomach tighten. Crap, did I get her name wrong? She works in my office, but she’s pretty new and she’s always so quiet. I think back to the last time I saw her, on the day the email with my photo circulated around the building. She’d been glaring at me something awful that day, but then again, who hadn’t?
“Sorry,” I say, when she doesn’t respond. “It is Hannah, right?”
She crosses her arms and stands in the doorway, weight on one hip. “So you remember one thing about someone besides yourself. Congratulations.”
I blink in confusion. “Um…” What the hell did I ever do to her? “Well, it was nice seeing you.” I move toward the door.
She sidesteps to block me. “Great to see you too. Really funny, running into you here of all places.”
“What do you—”
“Here in Central Park. Here where he took me to break up with me on the anniversary of our first date. Did he tell you about that?”
My stomach sinks even farther now, knotting in sudden realization. Oh my god.
No wonder she knew where to find me. No wonder she was able to circulate my image to everyone at work and use our own company servers to do it. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie, even as I try to ease past her again.
She steps in front of me once more and uncrosses her arms now. When I try to walk around her, she reaches out and shoves me, hard, in the shoulders.
“What the hell are you doing?” I ask, my voice going loud. Why didn’t Zayne tell me, why didn’t he tell me her name?
“I know all about you, Clove Walker. I know what kind of whore you are. Marketing manager at your big fancy publisher, just another boring New York transplant, another country-bred slut who came to the big city to chase other women’s men.”
Fire flares in my veins. “You don’t know anything about me.”
“I know what our boss thinks about your performance on that camera.” She smirks.
“That photo wasn’t for anyone else to see. That was private. All of this is private—you need to leave Zayne alone. Let him live his life.”
She rolls her eyes and laughs, a harsh, echoing sound. “Oh sure. Easy for you to say. Now that you’ve brainwashed the poor guy into saying whatever you want him to think. I know you sent him to speak to me, to try and mediate. You think that will work? He’ll see through your bullshit eventually.”
“Hannah, that’s not what’s happening here.”
“You stole my boyfriend.”
“You weren’t together anymore.”
“Only because he’s confused. He doesn’t realize what he needs. He doesn’t realize that I’ll give him more than any woman could. He needs me. You? You’re just the fuck of the minute. He’s had a million sluts like you in his bed. He’ll get bored of you before the week is up.”
“Hannah, let me leave.”
Instead, she squares off in front of the door and spreads her arms wide. “Well I’ve had enough,” she’s saying. “I’m not letting you fuck with him any longer.”
“You’re the one who’s fucking with him,” I counter, my voice rising. “You won’t leave him alone. That’s not normal, Hannah.”
“Of course it’s not normal. He and I were never boring, normal. We were better than that. We are better than that. As soon as sluts like you stop distracting him, he’ll see that. He’ll realize he’s meant to be with me.”
“You have to stop this. Let go of him.”
“Make me,” she snarls. Then, without warning, she launches across the room at me. I manage to catch her wrists in mine, but her momentum sends us both flying backwards. My back cracks against the tile wall and I groan. She takes advantage of the moment to pry one hand free and slaps me across the cheek. I shove her off me and bring up an arm to block her next strike which lands against my forearm. It stings, but not as much as my cheek, which burns where she hit it.
“Hannah, stop.”
“Fucking slut. I’ll ruin you. I’ll make you regret the day you laid eyes on him.”
She lunges at me again, and this time, I’m ready for it. I catch her shoulders with both hands and shove her sideways into the sink. She roars with rage as she crashes against it, and pushes off the sink to grab my hair. I ignore that and punch her straight in the nose, the way my dad always taught me. The way I’ve never had to do before.
But it works. Her eyes start to water, and she shrieks, letting go of my hair.
“Hannah, please—”
“You bitch!” She hits me with both arms now, and I don’t see the other hit coming, don’t have time to block before she’s shoving me against the wall again, hitting my chest hard enough to make me gasp for air.
Dimly, at the back of my mind, I’m aware of the door swinging open, someone else barging in. I hear shouting, voices. I’m too focused on catching my breath, forcing air through my aching throat into my lungs once more.
When I come to focus again, someone has pulled Hannah off of me and is holding her by both arms.
Zayne.
I gape at him, watch him pinning her o the wall as she struggles against his grip. At the same time, someone else, a young woman, pushes through the door and sees the three of us, Hannah kicking at Zayne as he struggles to stop her fighting.
“I’ll call the police,” the woman gasps, disappearing once more. Hannah, for her part, only takes that as a renewed reason to fight. She swings at me with a leg, trying to kick for my arm, but I back out of the way before the kick lands.
“Hannah, please, just stop,” Zayne says, his voice low with anger.
“This slut is corrupting you. Brainwashing you. Don’t you see?”
“All I see is you attacking my girlfriend,” he spits back.
A little thrill sparks in my stomach, even in spite of the circumstances, at hearing him say that. Girlfriend.
“She doesn’t deserve you. She won’t care about you the way I do. She won’t give up everything, sacrifice the world for you. Don’t you see?” Hannah twists in his arms to meet his eye, her face a mask of desperation. “Zayne, this is real. Me and you.”
“No, Hannah. This was never real.” His face, on the other hand, is torn between fury and pity.
“How can you say that? I’ve been here every minute. Watching you, waiting for you. I helped you get rid of those ugly sluts on that dating app—”
“Hacking into my phone without my permission and harassing women I like isn’t helping me.”
“They weren’t good enough for you. Nobody is. Nobody but me because I love you.” She twists in his arms until she’s facing him, and I can see even from here what effort it takes him not to cringe away. “This is real love, Zayne.”
“No. It’s not.” He releases her, carefully though, hands still poised to catch her again if she lunges for me once more. But as he lets go of her, his gaze drifts to me, his eyes dark and serious. “Love is not toxic or controlling. It’s not spying on people and hurting innocent bystanders in the process.” He locks eyes with me. “I know what real love is now.”
My mouth falls open as I look at him, a flurry of sparks setting off in my belly. Does he mean…?
Just then, the door bursts open once more. Zayne steps away from Hannah as the woman who poked her head in before returns, now with a couple of police officers in tow.
“What’s going on here?” the cop asks.
I open my mouth to explain, but I don’t need to because Hannah chooses that moment to lose it again.
She’s been shooting me death rays ever since Zayne looked my way. Even more since he said those words. Words that haven’t stopped echoing in my head since he said them. I know what real love is now.
“You whore!” Hannah flings herself at me again
, and I raise my hands over my face defensively.
The officers catch her before we collide again. It takes both of them to wrestle her into handcuffs, and only when they’ve finally subdued her do they ask us what happened. Zayne takes over, explaining about how Hannah has been following him, hacking into his phone. At that point, I interrupt to explain that my company, which Hannah also works for, is pursuing a lawsuit against her for hacking their equipment. Zayne catches my eye at that, startled. Hannah, for her part, just continues to yell from the corner, calling me a slut and a man-stealing whore until the other cop finally frog-marches her outside to sit down while we finish explaining the situation to his partner.
In the end, they book Hannah. Through it all, though, Zayne keeps hold of my hand, his fingers tight around mine, his touch giving me the strength to see through the end of this nightmare at last.
“I didn’t know she worked at your company,” he murmurs. “I haven’t spoken to her in years. She sends me messages now and again, but I delete them unread—they’re usually too crazy, too upsetting to read.”
I shake my head. “It’s okay. It’s over now. Work will figure it out; I’ll explain it all to my boss…”
When the police car lights finally fade in the distance, and we’re left alone at last on the edge of Central Park, the last obstacle in our path finally removed, I collapse against him, relieved and exhausted at once. Zayne wraps his arms around me tightly, strong and reassuring as always, even now. Even after dragging up all of his own personal past shit, and confronting a person he used to care about, a person who has gone off the rails with her abuse.
“Did you mean what you said?” I murmur, tilting my head up to meet his gaze.
He smiles down at me. Plants a soft kiss on my lips. My strong savior, he doesn’t even look ruffled, even after all of that. “What I said when?”
“In the bathroom. When Hannah was yelling at you, you said…” I pause. Shake my head, because my throat has gone tight again just remembering. “You said you know what real love is now…”
“I do.” His eyes stay locked on mine, burning into me, snagging my gaze the way nobody else can. “You taught me that, Clove.” He nudges my chin, tilts my head up further, and leans in to kiss me once more, slower, softer. When our lips part, I sigh, leaning unconsciously closer to him, our bodies pressed together. “I love you, Clove.”
Big Bad Boys: A Romance Collection Page 57