“This series has its erotic moments!”
“You’re so predictable.”
I’m not that predictable….
“Have you eaten anything?” Brooke asked.
I screwed up my face at her. “Now you sound like my mother. By the way, she called earlier and asked me the same thing. I spoke with her and Aunt Marion. It was as epic as you’d expect given that each was in the same room with the other. Talk about a division of ideals. I’ve never understood how it’s possible that they’re sisters.”
“I love your Aunt Marion,” Elle said. “She’s kind of my idol. Imagine, living in Paris throughout your twenties. Talk about epic.”
Brooke nodded. “That woman isn’t only hot, but she’s a hoot. How is she?”
“Crazy as ever, which naturally made for a festive conversation that ended with my mother grabbing one of her plastic crucifixes and threatening to exorcise my aunt with it before the line went dead.”
“Now I miss home,” Elle said.
“A good dose of Aunt Marion is all a girl needs,” I agreed.
“I love your mother to death, but I can’t say the same about a good dose of her. I think she holds you back. Her and her goddamned religious beliefs. Did she get into your head again?”
“She warned me against ‘the city boys.’”
“See what I mean?”
“I’m fully aware of my mother’s issues, Elle.”
“I just wish you were aware of how much they’ve affected you.”
I shot her a warning look, and she held up her hands.
“But enough about that,” she said.
“So, did you eat?” Brooke asked.
“It’s too hot to eat. I think I’d feel sick if I ate anything.” I lifted my bottle of water. “However, I am keeping myself properly hydrated. Did you two eat?”
“Negative—same reason. The heat is insane.”
“It’s hell outside.”
“My mother suggested that I step outside, fry an egg on my face, and eat it,” I said. “Because apparently I’m not eating enough.”
“No comment,” Elle said.”
“None needed.”
She flopped down on one of the over-stuffed chairs opposite me. Brooke stepped in front of her and curled up in the chair beside her. Each was wearing shorts and a tank top, and I thought that they looked cute. Brooke was so fair, she had turned pink during the five-block walk to Starbucks. But not Elle. Elle had only gotten darker. Her tan was something to envy, but when wasn’t it?
“When did you get up?” she asked.
“A couple of hours ago.”
“How do you feel?”
A little anxious, thanks. The word on the street is that my barriers are about to be smashed apart.
“Great. I wanted to sleep longer, but it was so hot in that room, sleep was impossible. So I got up to take a shower but then my mother called. We talked. She and Aunt Marion squabbled. And then Chance called.”
They looked at me, then at each other—and I braced myself for what was to come.
“He did what?” Elle asked.
“He called me.”
“You gave him your number?”
“Not exactly….”
“He hunted it down?”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
“What is he—some kind of stalker?”
“Well, he said that he wasn’t.”
“How did he get your number?”
“He said that he asked his assistant to get it for him. She did. So, I guess she’s the stalker, not him.”
“Oh, aren’t you being cheeky,” Brooke said.
“I’m not being cheeky.”
“Then why do your cheeks look like apples right now?”
“Because I’ve decided that I want to see him again. I’ve decided that I want one more night with him.” I cocked my head at them. “Chance and I are having dinner tonight. Then we’re going to sleep together. One last time. And you two are going to help me get ready for it.”
* * *
“Abby, what are you thinking?” Brooke asked out of concern. “Last night was enough. They’re called one-night stands for a reason. You don’t ever do a second-night stand. There’s a reason for that. Look it up in the Bible.”
“The Bible, Brooke? Seriously?”
“Yes, of course. ‘The Internet Bible for Single Women.’ It’s a popular website.”
“Guess I’m out of touch with that….”
“Never having a second-night stand is one of the Bible’s main commandments—and for good reason. Being with this guy again could cause you to become emotionally attached to him. Why do you want to do that to yourself?”
“Ummmm… let’s see. First, because becoming attached to him isn’t going to happen. Second, because he was nothing if not a gentleman at the party. And third, because he was incredible in bed, and I want to experience that with him again.” I clapped my hands and smiled at them. “So, that pretty much sums it up.”
“You’re making a mistake,” Elle said.
“You know, I never call either of you out when you have your little trysts. So, why am I being singled out for mine? It’s not fair—and I’m not stupid. I haven’t lived an irresponsible life. Hell, I haven’t been with anyone since Brian—”
“That’s what concerns us,” Elle interrupted. “If you’re going to put yourself out there again, you should play the field and take it slow.”
“I’m a big girl, Elle. And I’ve already made up my mind. I’ve called in sick to work. Chance and I are going out for dinner. I’ll text one of you if I’m not coming home.”
“You already know you aren’t coming home,” Brooke said.
“Unless things go to hell during dinner, you’re probably right. But I’ll still text you either way.”
Elle shook her head at me. “Abby, don’t take this the wrong way. You know that I love you and respect you. My fear is that you’re going to get hurt. That’s all.”
“I know the potential downside of this, Elle.”
“I don’t think you do. You haven’t been with as many men as Brooke and I have. You don’t know the pitfalls of expecting something more, and then not receiving what you hoped you’d get. I think what you’re doing is dangerous. You told us that he doesn’t even live here. That he just touches down in city after city.”
“Exactly,” I said. “Which is one of the reasons I won’t be getting attached to him. Look, let’s just cut to it. Last night was fun. And who knows? Considering my staggering record of male conquests, there’s a very good chance that I might not get laid for another year after this. Or two. And I want to have sex again—with him. Why can’t you accept that?”
“Because we know what’s coming,” Brooke said. “And we don’t want you to be disappointed when it doesn’t turn out the way you think it might turn out.”
“I’m confused. How do you think I think this is going to turn out?”
“Happily,” she said. “Like in one your romance novels. I’m here to tell you that those books exist only to sell a fantasy. But right now, you’re dealing with reality, and it might bite you in the ass.”
“I understand the difference between fantasy and reality, Brooke.”
“I hope you do.”
“I’m still going.”
“Fine—that’s your choice,” Brooke said. “But as your best friends, it’s our job to try to protect you. That’s all this is about. It’s not about getting in your face or getting you angry—that’s the last thing we want, OK?”
“I get it. And I appreciate it.” I looked at them both and popped my eyes at them. “I do! And I love you for it.”
“We’re not going to say anything more on the matter,” Elle said. “If you want to go, go. Brooke and I will help you get ready. We’ll turn you into the siren you want to be. OK?”
“I’ll need all the help I can get, so I appreciate that. And look—I also appreciate where you guys are coming from, but I’ve got th
is. Just consider this part two of my one-night stand with this guy. Nothing more. I’ve already come clean with Chance about that. I’ve been honest with him that this is it. I’ve told him where I stand, and I think what’s most important—to me at least—is that I haven’t led him on. That would be disingenuous. Tonight is it for us.”
But even as I spoke, I caught the look in Elle’s eyes. I knew my Elle, and that look was pure concern for her friend. She was troubled. She was worried.
And it was obvious that she wanted no part of this.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Later that evening, after taking another shower, I blew out my hair, put a flat iron to it, and applied my makeup.
I didn’t put on too much. I wanted a fresh face and a bold lip, which I painted deep red. I added just a touch of mascara to my lashes—nothing dramatic, but nevertheless sexy. I wasn’t going out for an expensive night on the town—I was going out to have a hamburger and fries at a neighborhood diner with a man I planned to sleep with later, so I dressed appropriately for that.
With Brooke and Elle’s help, we agreed upon a perfect outfit—a pair of dark skinny jeans and a gray, form-fitting metallic lace hem tank that I bought for next-to-nothing at Century 21. I put them on, slipped into the pair of black Louboutins Elle had snagged from one of her wardrobe peeps at Vogue, and then went into her bedroom, which had the apartment’s only full-length mirror. I stood before it, turned from side to side, and decided I liked what I saw.
But now for the real test.
I walked into the living room, where Brooke and Elle were having martinis before they headed out to go clubbing later that night. When they saw me, their chitchat fizzled.
“So,” I asked. “What do you think?”
“Perfect,” Brooke said. “I love the jeans. And I especially love what you did with your hair. Very chic.”
Ever the fashionista, Elle lifted her martini to her lips and took a moment to study me before she spoke. “Look, your boobs are your boobs—they’re so big, they’re always going to look as if you spent a few months seeing the sights at Chernobyl. Not that any man is ever going to complain about that. Or them. Still, you were smart to wear that particular tank—instead of revealing too much cleavage, you’re showing just enough to look sensual, but not slutty. Your makeup is spot-on. I also love the hair—love, love, love it. And by the way, those shoes make you look ridiculously tall and slim. I say that you’re more than good to go.”
“Other than my watch, I’m not wearing any jewelry. Should I?”
“I like the clean look,” Brooke said. “I don’t think you need anything more. Elle?”
“In this case, simple is best. It’s all about the lines—and we sure as hell don’t want to interrupt them. I wouldn’t wear anything else.”
“What are you bringing for a clutch?”
“My red one.”
“To match your lips?”
“Exactly.”
“Do you have enough cash for a cab in case you need one?”
“I do.”
“And you have your phone so you can text us?”
“I’ll be texting you either way. I promise.”
“He’s picking you up, right?” Elle asked.
“At eight. Ten minutes to go. We’ll see how punctual he is.”
“Do you know what he’ll be driving? I’m betting that he arrives in a limo,” Brooke said.
“Or a Rolls. Or maybe some over-priced sports car.”
“Does it really matter?”
“Of course it does,” Elle said. “If he’s trying to impress you, he’s going to do it first with his car, and then by talking up Caldwell International at dinner, and then, when he gets you into bed, by showing you that python of his again. You’ll see.”
But when Chance rang my cell at exactly eight o’clock to tell me that he was waiting outside, he didn’t say that he was in a limo, a Rolls, or some sort of sports car. Instead, he said that he was just outside my door, leaning against a cab.
“A cab?” Elle said.
“So much for first impressions,” Brooke said.
“Actually, I think he just made a very sensitive impression.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look where we live,” I said while I hurried into the bathroom to give my face and hair a final once over. “He knows I’m working two jobs. He knows I’m trying to get through grad school. He’s not stupid—he knows that I’m barely making it. He likely knew that we lived in some hole in the wall. And that if he showed up here in anything expensive or flashy, he’d look like an asshole. So, I guess he isn’t one.”
“She has a point,” Brooke said.
But Elle, who had been against this from the start, remained silent. I wasn’t angry with her for holding back her support—I knew that her only concern was for my emotional well-being, and I was grateful for it. But what I hadn’t told either of them was that Chance was leaving Manhattan tomorrow afternoon. I chose not to tell them that now because when I did tell them, I wanted them to see that I was indeed capable of going into this with my eyes wide open. I wasn’t being stupid about this. They needed to see that I could take care of myself. I planned on enjoying myself tonight, and then getting on with my life. Because, regardless of how well tonight went, if Chance didn’t live here—and he didn’t—then there was no point in investing more of my time with him. Tomorrow, he’d move on—and so would I.
“I should go,” I said.
Each came over and gave me a hug.
“You look fabulous,” Brooke said. “Have fun.”
“Remember to text us,” Elle said.
“Done and done,” I said. And with that, I was out the door and down the stairs. When I reached the bottom of the stairwell, I stopped to calm my nerves with a deep breath before I opened the front door.
When I did, Chance was waiting for me at the curbside as promised. He was in a pair of faded Levis and a white T-shirt. His muscular arms were folded over his chest, and he was leaning against the idling cab with a smile on his face.
“You look beautiful,” he said as I walked over to him.
His voice had a low, husky edge to it that I’d never heard in it before. As I crossed the distance between us, a warm breeze caught my hair and lifted it off my shoulders, revealing my bare neck. And my breasts, which were so full, they pressed suggestively against my tank.
I saw his expression darken with a kind of need as he took in all of me, and then, unexpectedly, he stepped away from the cab, moved toward me, and gave me a kiss that was so searing, it set me aflame.
I didn’t resist it. I wasn’t going to resist anything with him tonight, so I matched his passion with my own, and kissed him back with everything I had.
When he released me, I pressed my hands against his chest to steady myself, and what I felt beneath his T-shirt was a body made of steel. While still holding his hands, I took a step back to admire him, and it was then that I saw the obscene bulge in his jeans, which was as ridiculous as it was sexy.
Last night, in his suit at the party, he’d looked hot. But this was a game-changer. In tight 501s and a white T-shirt, he looked even hotter, if that was possible, which apparently it was. He didn’t just exude sex. He was sex with an exclamation point, something that commanded a room of its own.
“You’re like a schoolboy,” I said.
He arched an eyebrow at me. “A schoolboy?”
I glanced down at his jeans. “One kiss and you’re ready to go.”
“Maybe. But I’m no schoolboy. You’ll find that out later, Abby.”
“I’ve already been with you. I know what to expect.”
He gave me a bemused look, and then he shook his head before kissing me again. But it wasn’t just any kiss—this time it was a kiss that was so gentle and so tender, it suggested a depth of intimacy that we hadn’t yet achieved together. But there it was, right against my mouth, a kiss so meaningful, it seemed designed for me to never forget it.
It was a
t that moment that I knew it would be a miracle if we got through dinner with our clothes on.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
When he finished kissing me, I cupped his face with my palm, stroked his stubbled cheek with my thumb, and then saw the unflinching intensity in his eyes.
It was as if he’d come here to claim me. But there was no way that was going to happen. Earlier, he’d sounded serious when he’d said he planned to smash apart my barriers. Now I could see that he wasn’t joking. He’d obviously come here with his game on—it was clear that he’d come ready to do battle—and already I was wondering if I had it within me to ward him off.
I turned around and faced our apartment building.
“Isn’t she a beauty?” I asked.
He shrugged. “She probably was at some point. I bet in its day, this block was amazing. You can see it in the details.”
“Not so much now.”
“This is nothing. You should have seen where I lived during my freshman year in college. Total shithole, but at least I had a roof over my head.”
“I’d ask you inside so you could experience the building in all of its sweltering glory, but my girlfriends would only grill you—and I can promise you that you don’t want that.”
“You mean those two up there?” He waved up at the building, and with a sense of dread, I looked up to see Brooke and Elle’s faces filling the living room window. Brooke waved back and Elle lifted her martini to us. Then—likely because they’d been caught watching us and were shamed to move out of view—they both left the window.
“Sorry,” I said. “They’re just curious.”
“And protective, which is good. How long have you known each other?”
“Since we were six.”
“Then you’re practically family.”
“We are.”
“I wish I had close friends like that,” he said. “I used to have a few really close friends—but then everything changed when my life took this weird turn. I guess they saw someone else after what happened to me, even though I was still the same guy inside. It took me awhile to process it, but eventually I realized that it was them who changed—not me.”
Chance (The One More Night Series) Page 9