“You coming, sexy?” Blake asks with a leer. “I took care of your cover.”
I glance down and realize that my coat is open and my revealing dress is on display. No wonder the walk was so cold. I’ve gone sans bra (the dress won’t allow it), so the headlights are on full blast too.
I clap my coat closed instead of taking his hand. Blake winks at me in that irritating way that men do when they buy you something with the full expectation of reaping the benefits later. Damn, I really shouldn’t have let him pay for all those drinks, and definitely not for the cover.
Nico seems to be of the same mind. He whips the ten-dollar bills back at Blake, who takes it, obviously confused.
“It’s cool, man, she’s a friend,” Nico clarifies, now staring at me again. “How you doin’, NYU?”
And now it’s back to “NYU.” I smart. He only seems to call me that when he thinks I’m acting…I don’t know, really young. Privileged. Immature. Definitely nothing good.
“You know this guy, honey?” Blake says.
Nico’s face blackens at the word “honey.” I fight my own glare. I’m not sure this guy actually knows my name. But I nod, and Blake grins.
“Too bad, we could have all gotten in for free.”
“Yeah,” I mumble. “You go on in. I’m just going to say hi for a second.”
“You sure, Lay?” Quinn is standing beside me, now staring drunk daggers in Nico’s direction.
“Yeah, I’m sure.”
I still haven’t been able to stop looking at him, and his black eyes have been glued to mine since I spoke. Jamie whistles and follows her date inside with Blake. Quinn and her blond investment banker follow close behind, with Quinn singing “Fuck and Run” just loudly enough that Nico is sure to hear it.
“Balls to the pigeons, motherfucker,” she hisses at him.
He jerks his head at her, but before he can reply, the door closes behind all of them, leaving the two of us alone in the cold.
“She’s a real piece of work,” Nico remarks.
I have to fight not to lick my lips. Even covered by his thick parka and beanie, he looks so damn good. Just like always.
There’s no one else in line for the club; just the two of us on the street. His eyes soften as they fall back on me.
“Hey, beautiful.”
Nico’s voice is muffled slightly against the snow-covered ground, and even with the music pounding from the club, it feels like we are encompassed in silence.
“Hey,” I murmur.
“You look gorgeous tonight, baby. I like your hair straight like that. And that dress...goddamn, baby. For real.”
I glance down at my boots and dress, conscious again of the effort I put into everything tonight. I hadn’t planned to come here. At least, not consciously.
“Thanks.” I look back up again. “How’s it going?”
He glances back as the doors to the club open, but relaxes when it’s only a few patrons coming out for a smoke break.
He sighs. “Slow as fuck, actually. No one’s out because of the snow, and my boss won’t let me go until the band is gone. Grant—the bouncer on tonight—said he’d take over two hours ago, but the asshole said no. So, I’m stuck here freezing my dick off until last call.” He rubs his hands together and blows out a long, steamy breath over his fingertips between leering up at me. “I don’t suppose you want to keep me warm, do you, NYU?”
I start at that mega-watt smile, open and close my mouth a few times before I’m finally able to stutter, “Uh, n-no thanks.”
“Too bad. So, you and Clark Kent, huh?”
I glance at the door and chuckle. Blake does kind of look like a skinny Clark Kent. If Clark Kent had facial hair that made you want to punch him.
“Um, yeah, I guess he’s my date.”
“I see. You move fast, baby.”
I want to look away from Nico’s sad expression, but somehow, I can’t. And then the anger builds at his comment. Fuck this. He’s the one leaving me. I’m just doing what I have to do here.
I flip my hair back over my shoulder. “Yeah. I do. I gotta get back to my date now.”
I turn on my heel without waiting for his answer and flounce into the bar, leaving Nico and his puppy dog eyes to ponder that while he’s outside in the cold.
* * *
The next few hours seem like a fight as the effects of more alcohol seem to darken my mood even more as the night progresses. A fight to keep Blake’s clammy hands off my ass, a fight to make sure Jamie and Quinn don’t do anything inordinately stupid with their dates, a fight not to run back outside and throw myself at Nico. They’re all fights I’m losing, and I’m at the point where I don’t feel like I’m in control anymore. The band isn’t terrible, but the club is a lot less crowded than it was the first time I was here. I feel on display every time Blake shoves his obvious erection against my leg in rhythm-less time to the music.
“Dude!” I say for the fifth time. “Some space, please!”
I haven’t let him buy me any more drinks since we’ve arrived. I even bought a couple for him with money I don’t really have in hopes of erasing the “you owe me” look in his eyes. So far, it hasn’t been working.
“Come on, honey,” he slobbers in my ear, tightening his grip on my ass. “You’re so hot. I just want to dance with you.”
He smells like vodka and sweat, and suddenly I want to get as far away from this dude as possible. I try to push him off me, but with little success as he only pulls me closer and goes in for a rubbery kiss.
“Dude, I said to fucking stop!” I shout, trying to be heard above the blare of the music.
Suddenly, Blake flies backward toward the bar, and a cool rush of air flows against my body as I’m left alone on the dance floor. Nico is standing over the prostrate form of my “date”, fists clenched and eyes flashing murder. The bouncer—Grant, I presume—lugs up Blake and starts steering him toward the club entrance while Nico follows.
“What the fuck, man!” Blake protests, holding the back of his head while he stumbles along with Grant. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong!”
“Get the fuck out of here.”
The deep tenor of Nico’s voice is menacing enough that it still carries through the club without yelling. He’s not the biggest guy in the club—next to Grant’s hulking form, he almost looks small—but between the tension radiating through his chest and the black expression that threatens violence to anyone who would cross him, he’s definitely the scariest.
He turns to me, his eyes still flashing. “You.” He stalks over to where I stand on the dance floor and takes my arm. “Get your coat. We’re leaving.”
“Get your own fucking coat,” I spit, trying unsuccessfully to pull away. “I’m not going anywhere with you. You’re not my man. You don’t give a shit about me. Just ‘fuck and run,’ right? Well, I have friends here—”
“Your ‘friends’ left an hour ago with that douchebag’s posse!” Nico thunders, his New York accent getting thicker with every word.
A few people stop dancing to watch the commotion.
“You’re making a scene!” I hiss through clenched teeth.
“I don’t give a shit.” He scowls at our onlookers, and they immediately turn away. “My shift is up, and I’m not leaving you here by yourself. Get your fuckin’ coat, Layla, because otherwise we’re leaving without it, and you’re just gonna have to freeze.”
I stare at him for a solid ten seconds, but he doesn’t blink, just keeps his stony grip on my arm until finally I relent.
“Fine!” I grit through my teeth. “Let’s go.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Nico
She’s lucky Grant was there, is all I can say. I’m still shaking as I drag her over to Tenth Avenue to catch a cab. I don’t have any patience for the train tonight, and I sure as fuck can’t deal with anymore slimy motherfuckers eye-fucking Layla in that underwear she calls a dress.
Fuck, this girl makes me feel out of control. Fuck.
Once we’re safely in the cab, it doesn’t take long for the stop and go rhythm of the engine to lull her to sleep against the car window. The driver gives me a knowing look, and I have to bite back the urge to tell him to mind his own fuckin’ business. I haven’t said a word since we left the club, and I’m still too pissed off to be nice.
But the anger wears off a little as we shoot up the Westside Highway. Asleep, Layla’s lost that angry pout—the pout I put there. Her words ring in my mind. Just fuck and run. You don’t give a shit about me.
No, I think. She’s drunk. She doesn’t really think that.
I’m so lost in my thoughts that I barely notice when the cab stops in front of my building. Layla is still asleep, so I pay the cabbie and walk around the other side to help her out.
“Come on, baby,” I mutter, wrapping an arm around her waist and lifting her out of the car.
She wakes up and starts walking, but leans on me in her daze.
“Hey.” She looks around drowsily. “This isn’t my dorm.”
“It’s my apartment.” I tug gently on her arm. “I didn’t know if your friends took those other assholes home, and I don’t want you there with them.”
She looks equal parts tired and curious, but the anger is still gone. She lets me guide her into the building, and suddenly I’m self-conscious, seeing the old place with new eyes, the way she must see it. It’s one of the prewar stone buildings that are all up and down the West Side, but far enough uptown that it’s not in the greatest shape. I wonder what she thinks of the cracked black and white tiles of the lobby floor, the streaks of mold and cracks running up the walls, the splotchy graffiti tags on the elevator door. It isn’t the worst-looking apartment building I’ve ever seen—not by a long shot—but it isn’t exactly her posh dorm with the security guard.
I lead her into the tiny, fluorescent-lit elevator that barely fits the two of us, and she lets me tuck her hand in mine as I press the number four and close the accordion-style gate.
She wrinkles her nose. “It smells like pee in here, Nico.”
I swallow back a sharp retort and just sigh. She’s not wrong, but she sounds like a spoiled fuckin’ princess. It’s just another reminder of the miles of difference between us. At least this building even has a working elevator. We could be taking the stairs.
The elevator stops. I walk her onto my floor, which is only lit by the ghostly moonlight coming in through the windows. My landlord barely pays for the elevator maintenance. The cheap bastard would never shell out for hallway lights.
Layla follows me down the hallway over more cracked tiles until we reach the apartment marked 406.
“This is me,” I say as I dig my keys out and unlock the door.
It’s nothing to be proud of, although because of rent control and a shady landlord, my place is a lot bigger than you’d usually get for this price. Keeping Layla’s hand in mine, I lead her down the very long, dark hallway that connects the two bedrooms, living room, and kitchen. It’s kind of like what realtors call a “railroad” apartment, where all the rooms are lined up one on top of the other, one after another, except this one has the hallway down one side, and the rooms jut off.
I knock on lights as we go, gesturing silently at the kitchen, with its sink half full of dishes, the living room where I keep a faded plaid couch I picked up for free and my TV, and a third common room that I never use because it’s full of Maggie’s crap and a cot Gabe sometimes uses when he needs a break from our mom.
Layla follows me into the kitchen, where I open the fridge and pull out a beer for me and a bottle of water for her. She twists it open and takes several long, grateful pulls of the cold water. It’s hypnotic, watching her lips on the bottle, sucking on it like that. It reminds me of something else she’s sucked on before.
Goddammit, Nico. That is not where your mind should be.
She looks up and catches me staring. I swallow, then take the bottle from her and toss it into the bin by the sink before handing her another.
“Feel better?” I ask after she’s done with the second.
Looking a lot more alert and a lot less drunk, she throws the second bottle in the recycling bin and straightens up.
“Yes,” she says. “Thank you.”
“So,” I say.
“So.”
I cross my arms. “What the fuck, Layla?”
She jerks her head up, blue eyes blazing. Ah, there’s that anger again. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“It means what it means.” I yank off my hat and shove it into my coat pocket, then run a hand through my hair, not caring if it stands up. “Let’s see. I bring you food, and you ignore it like I don’t fucking exist. You kiss me, then run off. So I leave you alone, just like you want. But knowing how I feel about you, you still decide to show up at my fucking place of work, blitzed out of your mind, and proceed to let some dude molest you on the dance floor right fuckin’ in front of me!”
The memory is too much, and a torrent of Spanish escapes my mouth, causing Layla’s eyes to widen and her mouth to drop, even though I doubt she knows what I’m saying. Sometimes English cuss words aren’t enough.
Finally, I stop, out of breath, and glare at her. “I think that about covers it.”
She shuts her mouth, then glares right back. “So?”
I gape, about to lose it all over again. “So? So, I don’t deserve to see you being dry-humped right in front of me by some Opie-lookin’ motherfucker who doesn’t know when to stop! You shouldn’t be doing that kind of shit with other guys, Layla!”
“You have no right to say that!” she retorts, finally starting to yell just as loudly as I am. “I don’t know if you’re dense or something, because you obviously haven’t noticed the most obvious fucking thing! I don’t give a shit about other guys, whether it’s on the street or at a party or at a fucking bar. The only person I am currently interested in fucking or loving or doing anything else with right now, is you! And you don’t want me like that!”
We stare at each other across the kitchen, chests heaving, both of us out of breath. Suddenly, I can’t take it anymore. It’s too hard. All of this with her is too fuckin’ hard. Without thinking twice, I hurl my half-empty beer bottle into the sink, where it breaks with a nasty crash.
“Fuck!” I shout. “Do you ever fuckin’ listen? Don’t want you, Layla? I want you more than anything in the fuckin’ world!”
I take two big steps across the kitchen so I’m all up in her space, nose to nose, surrounded by her scent of coconut and liquor while I back her against the counter.
“Don’t want you?” I repeat through gritted teeth. Fuck, she smells good. I’m angry and hard all at once. How can I want someone who makes me this crazy? I take a long inhale. “One breath, and it’s like I’ve never had oxygen. One look at your blue eyes, and water never existed. Fuck, Layla, I don’t just want you. I need you.”
We stand like this for a moment, nose to nose, just staring at each other, breathing the same air and each other’s intoxicating scents. She gulps, frozen in place, even while her eyes start to water. What is she thinking? Was it too much? Should I have kept it to myself?
Too late. I’m all in now, for better or for worse. Because the second I saw this girl, I knew on some level she was it. Finally, I raise my hand slowly and run it through her hair, caressing the silky strands meditatively. She closes her eyes as if in pain and leans into my touch.
Stay. The word echoes through my head. That’s all I have to do to fix this.
“You want me to stay, Layla?” I ask softly.
Her eyes blink open at my words, like she’s unsure if I actually said them.
“I wouldn’t do it for anyone else,” I continue, my voice shaking with the effort of reining in my emotions. Something in my stomach drops, even while my heart thumps in my chest harder than it ever does at the gym. “You’re killing me here, baby. Tell me what to do. You tell me to stay…I’ll stay.”
“Nico…”
She stares at me like she’s hypnotized.
And then I can’t take it anymore. I can’t stand being this close to her and not touch her everywhere. If she can’t understand what I’m trying to say with my words, then I’ll have to show her, any other way I know how.
“Come with me,” I breathe, taking her hand in mine. It’s strange. My hands are so much bigger than hers, but they still seem to fit. “Right now.”
She lets me lead her out of the kitchen and down the hall, and I walk us into my bedroom at the end. I kick the door shut behind us, closing us in darkness lit only by the snow and the moonlight shining through my fire-escaped window. I yank her to me without another word.
Her lips find mine in the dark, and she devours my mouth, like I’m also the air she needs to live. I don’t fight it. I can’t anymore. I’ve got my hands around her waist, our bodies flush together, opening my mouth as wide as I can, urging her as deep as she can go. I also can’t seem to get anywhere near as close as I need to be.
With a few quick yanks, I get her dress unzipped and over her head, leaving her standing in just her underwear and her boots, those boots that should be illegal. I want to take a moment to enjoy the beauty in front of me, this girl who looks like a piece of art to me. But I need her more than that, and so I pull her back against me, grinding anxiously while my tongue licks and twists, my teeth occasionally biting her lower lip, sucking on it like candy. I should leave her alone, I know. But she tastes better than anything in the world, and I’m a starving man.
“Don’t think I want you?” I breathe in between kisses that are so sweet, yet still almost painful.
She’s already wrenched off my coat and is pawing at my t-shirt. My hands grab at her ass, and I rub my cock into her through my jeans.
“Can you feel how I want you, baby? Can you feel that?”
She groans into my mouth, and the feel of it travels straight to my dick. I can’t wait anymore. I need her, yesterday. And by the way she’s ripping off my belt buckle and my jeans, she can’t wait either.
Bad Idea: The Complete Collection Page 22