Blacklist

by Geneva Lee

  My phone buzzes and I reach for it, a smile slipping onto my face, when I see it’s a text from her about tonight.

  I can’t think of a better objection than I’d prefer to have her all to myself. Instead, I agree.

  “Hey, man.” I kick the end of his bed. His eyes jolt open and he lifts one side of his headphones. “Want to go to Hennie’s with us?”

  “You ever had hot chicken?”

  I shake my head.

  A wicked grin twists over his lips as he sits upright. “I’ll come. This will be worth seeing.”

  Outside of a sports event, I’ve never heard so much smack talk as when the three of them start in on what I’m going to think of Nashville’s famous dish. It lasts the entire drive to the nearest location. Cyrus continues it as he backs into the glass door at the restaurant.

  I block out their taunts and check out my surroundings. Bright, purple high back booths run the perimeter of the space with a sprinkling of tables. The black checkered floor is clean, and glowing neon illuminates a sign hanging in the front window that declares “hotter than hellfire.”

  “You better go for the mild,” Poppy advises me as she orders hers hot. There are five levels of heat: mild, medium, hot, hellfire, and damnation.

  “Really? You think I can’t handle it?”

  “Darling, I’m half-Indian. I can handle my heat.” She keeps to my side, and I can’t help noticing that she’s putting some distance between her and Cyrus. I make a mental note to ask Adair about it later.

  “Hellfire,” I tell the girl behind the counter. This earns a round of disbelief from the others. They’re so loud that a beautiful black woman sticks her head out from the back.

  “Why are y’all making such a ruckus?” she asks.

  “Sorry, Ms. Palmer,” Adair calls. “We brought a Yankee and he ordered his chicken hellfire hot.”

  “You think you can handle that?” she asks, studying me shrewdly.

  “Yes, ma’am,” I say. “It’s not like they don’t have hot food in New York.”

  “We’ll see.” She doesn’t look convinced of that.

  We take our number and find a booth. Adair slides in next to me, and for a moment, Poppy looks like she might try to as well. Finally, she sits next to Cyrus. They’re both careful to keep their bodies from touching. It’s like there’s a line of tape down the center of the seat that only they can see.

  “Palmer,” I say, “like Darcy?”

  “That’s her mother, Henrietta. She keeps close tabs on all her restaurants,” Cyrus explains.

  “I wouldn’t be surprised if your chicken comes out damnation hot,” Adair warns me. “You don’t brag to a Palmer about how much heat you can take.”

  “Where’s your faith in me?” I elbow her gently, and Adair moves a little closer so that our arms and legs brush against each other when we move. Across the table, Cyrus raises an eyebrow that says friends, huh?

  When it comes to Adair, I’m not making any assumptions. We haven’t exactly decided we’re anything more than friends, even if her body keeps sending signals for me to cross the line. Every time I get close, someone interrupts us. Even tonight we have two chaperones. Maybe I’m reading Adair all wrong. Maybe the reason nothing’s happened is because she’s been so careful to keep herself from being alone with me.

  Our order arrives with a bit of fanfare. Ms. Palmer herself brings out a tall glass of milk for me. I make up my mind then that there’s no way I’m reaching for it.

  “Why’s it red?” I ask when they put the plate down in front of me.

  Instead of an answer, everyone laughs, but no one louder or harder than Hennie herself. She heads back to the kitchen, shaking her head and howling, muttering why’s it red the whole way.

  No one picks up their food. They’re too busy watching me.

  “After you,” Adair finally says with as much sugar as the sweet tea she insisted I order.

  I pick a piece up, say a silent prayer that I don’t make an ass out of myself, and take a bite. It’s hot—like singe off your tastebuds hot—but it’s also delicious. I swallow it. “Not bad.”

  “Need some milk?” Cyrus asks.

  I shake my head and take another bite.

  “Okay, you can keep him,” Poppy proclaims.

  So this was some type of test and I must have passed, because Adair wraps her arms around my neck like she’s just been presented with a prize.

  “He’s all mine,” she declares without a hint of reservation.

  I don’t even think about it. Leaning over, I press my lips to hers. It doesn’t matter that her friends are with us or that my mouth feels like I just ate a beehive. I’ve kissed her a thousand times with my eyes and tasted her words like they came from my own lips, but nothing prepares me for finally having her, even just for this one moment. Nothing ever could. Nothing ever will. I know someday I won’t remember what she’s wearing or what’s said after I finally release her back to the wild world. All I’ll remember is the way she sighs into my kiss and this unshakeable feeling of finally finding home.

  30

  Adair

  Present Day

  I roll over, clutching a sheet to my chest, and stare around the unfamiliar room, my heart beginning to pound as hard as my head. I have no idea where I am. Next to me, the bed is empty. It’s been years since I woke up this hungover—or this confused. It doesn’t help that blank walls stare back, giving me nothing to ground myself with. No pictures. I look for any clue. One nightstand with no photos. My shoes and jeans on a rug next to the bed. I turn toward the blinding light and realize there’s an unbroken pane of windows and it’s clearly morning. Outside it’s all unbroken blue skies. I’m up high—penthouse high. This realization sinks in and then plummets right into a pit in my stomach.

  I spent the night with Sterling.

  I can recall most of the evening prior to leaving the Barrelhouse. After that, I think hot chicken was involved. The rest? I have no clue. I don’t know what’s worse: that he brought me home or that I can’t remember it?

  “Gather your dignity and your panties,” I coach myself, “and get out of here.”

  My phone is charging on the nightstand, which is surprisingly thoughtful for someone who took a drunk woman to bed. I yank it free from the wall and drop the cord on the ground.

  I’m not sure who to call. Poppy and Kai are nearby if they’re still at her place, but calling Poppy means admitting what happened. I’m not sure I’m ready to do that. There’s always Uber—the modern walk of shame. I need to get out of here before he comes back and uses his charm to talk me out of leaving. I’m considering stealing his car when his head pops into the room. I clutch the sheet like a life preserver and glare at him.

  “You’re up,” he says.

  “Well spotted.” When he doesn’t make a move to climb into bed with me, I decide it’s now or never. Throwing off the sheet, I scramble for my jeans, ignoring the heat blooming on my cheeks.

  “Leaving so soon?” he says dryly. He steps inside the room and leans against the wall. If I wasn’t certain his appearance confirms my suspicions. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of boxer briefs. I turn my head but not before I get a glimpse of the many assets he has on offer these days.

  I can feel his eyes following me, watching as I wiggle on my jeans and adjust my bra. His interest is as shameless as taking me home in the first place. “I can’t believe you.”

  I’m not sure why I trusted Sterling. Because of who he used to be? That’s clearly not who he is now. The worst part is that it feels like my fault. I’d been the one to suggest the fake relationship. I’d been stupid enough to pretend that we were together in front of my friends. No one thought twice about leaving me with him last night, even if I was drunk. All because of this little game.

  “What do you think happened, Adair?” he asks slowly.

  “Let’s see,” I explode. “I wake up in your bed without my pants after drinking half the whiskey in Nashville the night before. I th
ink it’s pretty obvious what happened.”

  “Feel free to tell me.” He crosses his arms over bare chest, and I try to ignore how his biceps flex into a massive coil at the motion.

  “I can’t believe you took advantage of me.” I’m not angry. I’m hurt. I feel my mask slipping away, revealing the part of me I’ll never give him again. I can’t help it. It’s not that I trusted Sterling before last night. I know he’s hiding plenty from me: how he wound up back in Nashville with a bank account capable of buying a million-dollar penthouse, where he’s been for the last few years, why he’s really come back. I’m not stupid enough to believe it has anything to do with me. Not really. But I never thought he’d stoop to taking a drunk woman to bed.

  “You think I raped you?” he asks flatly.

  “I mean,” I splutter, hating that he’s actually said it. “I guess it’s not really…”

  “Let’s be clear,” he interrupts me. “If I took you to bed in that state, it’s rape.”

  I lift my chin defiantly, my fingers slipping as I try to lace my shoes. “Yes, it is.”

  “I agree.”

  I’m not sure what to say, so I just stare.

  “But I didn’t sleep with you,” he adds. He points to the other side of the bed as though it’s proof.

  Unlike the rumpled side I woke up on, the sheet over the mattress is smooth with not even the slightest indentation in the crisp bedding. “That doesn’t prove anything.”

  “You were still dressed,” he says.

  “My jeans were on the floor.”

  “You took them off. I think you were going to strip completely,” he admits, “but you passed out before you did. If I’m guilty of anything, it’s that I didn’t stay up and watch you all night to make sure you were okay. I’m sorry for that. I slept on the couch with Zeus so he wouldn’t keep trying to jump into bed and wake you up.”

  My jaw clenches, locking my words in place until they’re backed up in my throat, scratching for release until it feels as raw as the rest of me. Finally, I manage to force out, “How can I believe you?”

  “You’ll have to take my word for it.” He doesn’t look happy that I’m questioning him still.

  “You want me to trust you, but how can I? Why should I?” I demand.

  “Sometimes you have to have faith in a person,” he says in a quiet voice. “You have to ask yourself what they’re capable of.”

  I swallow this sage advice washing down all the retorts crowding on my tongue for their turn to be spoken. “Nothing happened?”

  He shakes his head, but instead of looking relieved, he looks disgusted. “That’s what you think of me?”

  “I don’t know what to think of you,” I confess. More and more is coming back to me about last night. Sterling laughing at the bar. Sterling feeding me hot chicken. Kissing Sterling. Sterling carrying me into his apartment. I also seem to remember throwing myself at him multiple times. Yeah, now that the memories are coming back, I wish they wouldn’t. I hadn’t just pulled off my jeans, I’d try to strip for him in a pathetic attempt to get him into bed. I’m the one who should be ashamed.

  Instead, I finish tying my shoelaces and search my pockets for a hair tie. I need to get out of here. I can’t breathe in the thick air of words unspoken. He’d been a gentleman. I’d been drunk. Nothing changes that I’d kissed him—and that I’d wanted him to keep kissing me.

  “I should go,” I say, heading for the door but he moves in front of it. His long arms stretch over his head, bracing the doorframe. The light from the living room windows halos his body, casting shadows over the ripples and ridges of his muscular body.

  The gentleman is gone. I can’t see a hint of him hiding in Sterling’s primal eyes.

  “You wanted me to fuck you,” he says, his voice nearly a growl. “You wanted me to fuck you so that you could hate me. You’d get off on that – screwing someone you hate. Poor little rich girl with no one who loves her. Don’t flatter yourself that I’d lay a finger on you. You begged me last night. You were on your knees.”

  A dangerous flicker in my chest ignites into fire. “I’ve never begged you for anything.”

  “Tell yourself that, Lucky. You did and you will again. I know you. I know the only thing you crave more than someone to love you is destruction. You want to be wrecked. You want to be broken.” His hand moves to my face, but I don’t flinch. I just scowl as he traces my profile with his fingertip. “Isn’t that, right?”

  “Think what you what,” I shoot back. “From now on, no more making this look real. No fake dates. Stay away from me.”

  I duck under his arms, half-expecting him to stop me. Sterling is true to his word, backing away to let me pass. “You don’t even see it do you? I took care of you last night. I kept you safe—and you thanked me by accusing me of something you know I would never do.”

  “That’s where you’re wrong.” I whirl on him. Zeus pads up to me and sits at my feet as though he senses now is not the time to jump up for some love. “Don’t pretend that I know who you are anymore. Don’t pretend that you know me. Stop living in some idealized version of the past. I don’t know what you’re capable of, and you certainly don’t know what I’m capable of.”

  “Not an apology, clearly.”

  “Oh, I am so sorry that I jumped to conclusions!” I storm. “It’s not like it’s that hard to imagine. You did kiss me!”

  “So you remember?” he says coolly. “And the rest?”

  I take a deep breath and do the last thing he expects, if only to prove him wrong. “Thank you for taking care of me.”

  “You’re welcome,” he says tersely.

  Zeus pushes his muzzle into my hand and I scratch his head absently.

  “But you’re right. This thing between us isn’t going to work. I can see that now.”

  “I tried to tell you,” I say.

  “It was your idea.”

  “Pretending—not actually going out on dates,” I remind him. Why does it feel like a moot point?

  Sterling stalks toward me, stopping a few paces before he reaches me. “Answer one question for me.”

  “Why should I?”

  “Because you just accused me of taking advantage of you. I figure you owe me,” he says.

  “Fine,” I mutter.

  “When was the last time you had that much fun?” he asks.

  A half-dozen moments flash to mind. He’s in every one of them. “I can’t remember.”

  “That’s what I thought.” His tone makes me shiver. Sterling sees right through me. He always has.

  “I should go.” I force myself toward the door.

  “I can drive you home,” he offers.

  “I’m going to meet Poppy,” I lie.

  Before he can call my bluff, the lock turns and his door swings open. Zeus bounds toward the girl coming through it with a leash in hand. She’s gorgeous, leggy, maybe nineteen.

  “Hey, boy,” she greets Zeus, freezing when she realizes we’re here.

  I glare at Sterling before forcing a smile onto my face. “You must be the dog walker.”

  “Um, yeah.” She clips the leash on Zeus. “I’m sorry. Should I come back later?”

  The question is directed at Sterling, who is looking at me when he answers. “We’re all through here, Carly.” He looks to her and speaks like I’m already gone. “Zeus has been pacing around waiting for you.”

  “Did you miss me?” Carly croons.

  I slam the door on their conversation. I avoid the bellhop’s eyes the entire ride to the lobby. I’m sure a guy who works an elevator for a living has seen his fair share of graceless morning-after exits before.

  Digging my phone out of my pocket to call a car, I see I have a missed call. I half-expect it to be Poppy checking up on me after last night’s shenanigans, but it’s not her. It’s Trish, the editor from Bluebird.

  The future called while I was busy reliving the past.

  That’s the problem with Sterling, I can’t be the girl h
e fell in love with. Not anymore. If he knew the truth, he wouldn’t even bother trying. I can’t keep doing this. I’ve given up too much. I’ve lost too much. It’s time to move forward. I press the call button.

  Trish picks up on the second ring. “I was hoping you’d call back today.”

  “I’m glad to hear from you,” I say truthfully. The universe seems to be sending me a sign. “What’s up?”

  “Do you think you could drop by the office? I had a chance to look over those edits you sent back to me the other day.”

  I bite my lip dreading what comes next.

  “I love them,” she says to my surprise. “You totally understand the author’s direction and where she’s losing focus. You’re exactly what this book needs. I was hoping we could discuss a job.”

  “Of course,” I stammer.

  “Excellent. Can you be here before noon? I have phone calls after lunch, so my availability is tight. Otherwise, it will have to wait until next week.”

  There’s not enough time for me to get home and change. Last night’s bar attire is not exactly the height of professionalism. Still, there’s no way I’m losing this opportunity or waiting longer to move on. I needed a sign. The universe sent one.

  “I can be there in an hour.”

  “Great. I’ll see you then.”

  I hang up feeling more buoyant than I have in months. Now I just have to figure out what to do next. There’s no way I can show up to Bluebird smelling like a bottle of bourbon and hot chicken. I haven’t even brushed my hair. Being there in an hour doesn’t leave me a lot of options though. I could go back up, swallow my pride, and use Sterling’s bathroom. But that’s a step in the wrong direction. I’m not even sure he’d let me.

  Instead, I do what every girl should when she has an emergency. I go to my best friend.

  Poppy answers her door in a crimson silk dressing gown, its bell sleeves drape elegantly and little black tassels hang off them. She looks like a movie star from old Hollywood with her hair piled on top of her head.