“Uh huh. Full-blown boo-hoos. Sometimes, the pleasure is just too much, and the tears just overflow. The intensity is just too overwhelming, and their eyes start to water from an overload of sensation.”
Her expression tightens. “Thank you for that interesting and unwelcome lesson, Lukas,” she quips, deadpan. “Like, I said… I am not a crier.”
I shake my head at her response. Goddamn, she’s so stubborn. And I usually can’t fucking stand it, but tonight—tonight feels different…
“I don’t know. I’ve seen some… interesting things happen,” I continue to press. “It seems like one of the rare nights, doesn’t it? Where the unexpected just… takes place…”
I can tell that she’s intrigued. She cocks an ash-blonde eyebrow, causing her blue eyes to twinkle.
“The unexpected? What unexpected stuff? Enlighten me…”
I shrug casually. “Like you… coming over here, getting rid of Trina, dancing with me… That’s all pretty unexpected, wouldn’t you say?”
I tighten my hold on her ever so slightly, using my thumbs to caress the silk at her sides.
Her lips are bright red, as red as her dress. They’re slightly parted and all of a sudden, all I can think about is putting my tongue between them.
The thought makes me grow hard. Irrationally and undeniably hard.
I’m close to Elena, but not close enough for her to feel it.
If I step one millimeter nearer, I’ll be skimming the “v” of her thighs with an erection that could hammer nails.
She starts speaking, and I have to look away from her lips and concentrate back on her eyes. Those amazing, light blue eyes.
“It’s really not unexpected,” she declares. “After what you did earlier, I owed you one. And now… the favor’s returned. Have a good evening, Lukas.”
She extracts herself from my arms, turning away without a backward glance. She walks in the direction of the ladies’ room, and I am confused about what to do next.
Damn.
My cock tells me to follow, but my pride just plants my feet. The latter wins the battle this time, but then again… he always does.
I’ve never been one to chase after a woman. Never had to… until now. Sigh. This is going to be harder than I thought.
I need another drink.
Double or Nothing
“When you see a good move, look for a better one.” - Emanuel Lasker
ELENA
I act as if I’m going to the bathroom in case Lukas follows. When I’m sure that he isn’t, I make a detour, heading for the preparatory kitchen.
Cake. Cake. Cake.
I need some cake. Something to calm me down.
Sweets were always a go-to in our household growing up. My mother always said, “There was no illness that sugar couldn’t cure.” If we hadn’t gone to the dentist regularly, our teeth would’ve rotted right out of our heads.
Luckily, we made it into adulthood with our original bicuspids in tact, but that crazy sweet tooth hasn’t escaped a single one of us.
I need the cake to bring my nerves back to neutral. And I’ve already had enough alcohol to drown a small nation.
I whiz past waiters and trays and chefs with large hats. I scan the countertops, the cabinets until bingo—I hit the fridge. The rush of air is cold and refreshing, and my eyes are gobbling up every square inch of space.
Cake. Cake. Cake. Cake. Ah-ha!
But the cake is far too large, and I wouldn’t be able to sneak it out of here without getting discovered and dropping the large sheet all over the kitchen floor.
Think, Elena. Think.
Oh, yessss. Cupcakes.
They sit on the bottom shelf with champagne and creamy white hues of frosting, topped with decorative and shiny round-shaped sprinkles.
I reach for them like a crack-fiend. I’m no better than Lukas’s coked-out groupie in the ballroom, but I have no choice. I need this.
I grab two cupcakes, pulling them close to my body before closing the fridge completely. I shield them with my arms as I pass the unsuspecting and, frankly, unconcerned wait and kitchen staff.
I stow away with my stolen stash into a separate side-room near the kitchen, where I sink into a white and unused foldout chair with my treasure, ready to eat.
The minute I sink my teeth into the frosting, I feel calm. Mmmffff, I mumble through a mouth full of buttercream. There. That’s better.
Eating the cupcake gives me time to simmer down, time to think. Time to reconsider all of these crazy ass ideas that have been popping into my head.
Like kissing Lukas.
What… the hell… is wrong… with me? My subconscious is screaming at me at this point.
What are you thinking, Elena? You hate this guy. Hated this guy.
Wait… Is this past tense? Or present?
Have I all of a sudden stopped hating this guy? No… that can’t be right, but then…
Why did I want to kiss him? Why do I want to kiss him? Present tense.
As in now. Like, right now.
While my lips and teeth are sinking into this soft and succulent cake. Soft… So soft… Like Luke’s lips.
My thoughts meander.
His bottom lip looked divinely supple. I tried not to stare at it, but then I would have had to stare into his eyes, and that would’ve been infinitely more dangerous.
They’re a deep evergreen color… like a forest. They’re framed by lively, dark eyelashes that constantly move as his eyes look me up and down. I feel lost when I look into them: abandoned in an evergreen wilderness from which there is no escape.
I shake my head. I’m talking crazy. I’m drunk.
I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this drunk. And I’m a mess. Not on the outside, but on the inside. On the outside, I think I’m still passing off as calm and collected.
But internally, my stomach is going nuts, and I am secretly craving a taste of something else. Something stronger than alcohol. Something sweeter than confection.
Something like Lukas.
A loud sound rings out in the empty room, almost making me jump out of my seat. I start to panic from where I sit, my head rotating on a rapid swivel, when I realize that the sound is coming from me.
It’s my cell phone in my wristlet. It’s ringing. It’s Linda calling.
I’m a piece of shit.
I’ve been putting off returning her phone call for days and now she’s resorted to calling me at the party. She knows I’m here… so why would she call?
It must be more important than the fashion emergency that I had previously assumed. I pick up the phone.
“Hello?”
“Elle? What the hell, girl? I’ve been calling you for days on end. Where have you been?”
I huff heavily. “In Tampa… trying to piece my goddamned life together. I’m sorry, Lin.”
Her voice softens. “Don’t be sorry for me, Elle. I have some bad news.” She hesitates.
“Looks like one of our pieces dropped out of the puzzle. Someone purchased the studio space we were buying.”
A long pause stretches out while I try to gather my thoughts. A minute passes. Two. Linda shows infinite patience.
I finally manage to find my words. “Wait… what? That can’t be… My offer on that space was pending.”
Linda sucks in a breath over the phone. “Not anymore. And as your friend, your attorney and your active representative, they broke the news to me a little over a week ago.
“I just didn’t want to break the news to you through voicemail or text. Just didn’t feel right.” She gives a small sigh, and it drops like a final axe, like the thud of a gavel, closing the case. Game over.
And there it is. That’s all, folks. Looks like I’m back to square one.
I don’t know what I feel. Hell… I’m not even sure what feeling is at this moment.
I’m too tipsy to process anything—too drunk to register any true emotions.
I wait for the additional kick
to the gut, for the fiery onslaught of outrage to hit me, but neither one appears.
In fact, something totally unrelated starts to happen. I laugh.
The sound is almost hysterical, and I can hear myself cackling uncontrollably, but I can’t do anything to stop it.
I can barely hear Linda’s voice over the noise.
“Elle?”
“I’m sorry, Linda baby, but this is a party,” I squeak.
“Sure, I’m going to have to tuck my tail between my legs and go crawling back to my misery in Memphis. But tonight?
“I am fully fucking sedated. And if I’m lucky, I’ll get fully fucked as well. I’ll talk to you in person tomorrow.”
I hang up at the fading sound of my name, stuffing my cell phone back in the small pocket of the purse attached to my wrist.
I pick up my cupcake to take another bite. A minute passes before I consider what I just did. Shit. Did I really mean what I told Linda?
I just don’t know…
Maybe I’m using all of this hoopla to self-medicate. The party, the cupcakes… Lukas. It could all be a numbing method—a temporary anesthetic.
A large clatter from the adjacent kitchen interrupts my thoughts. I hear a voice soon after. A very distinctive voice.
I can’t avoid him. And if what I’m thinking really does apply, he may be just what the doctor ordered.
***
LUKAS
Despite being caught in a game of “Cat-and-Mouse” with the elusive Elena, I’m actually enjoying this party that we’ve arranged.
The drinks are cold. The women are hot.
But why the fuck doesn’t anyone here speak English?
I make a drinking motion with my hand. “White cognac,” I say. “White cog-nac.”
The kitchen staff stares back at me with blank eyes. I point to an empty glass on the counter. White… Clear…
They don’t understand a word I’m saying. Where’s the damn water?
They motion towards each other, speaking to one another in fluent French. I hear the word “tequila.”
“Tequila! Yes!” I slam an excited fist on the counter. “Tequila. I’ll take some of that.”
A chef in a large white hat nods, reaching into a cabinet and pulling out a bottle of amber-colored liquid.
“Yes! No!... Not gold. Silver. Sil-ver.” I enunciate as if it will help them understand me any faster.
Ask me anything in Italian, and I’ll spit it right out. Talk to me in French, and watch my brain fry itself from the stress.
I start pointing at random staffers. “How about you? Ingles?” No, that’s Spanish. “Aleman?” Fuck. No.
What’s the French word for English?
Ang-something. Anglee. Anglass.
Ah! It’s Ang…
“Le monsieur veut savoir comment dire en anglais en français,” says a voice from behind me.
I wheel around to find myself staring at the “lady in red.” She raises her eyebrows, glancing quickly at me, and then back at the kitchen staff.
“Il veut aussi savoir si vous avez une liqueur claire.” Her French is impeccable, mellifluous.
The staffers exclaim simultaneously, throwing their hands into the air with mirthful enthusiasm. “Ahh, liquer clair!”
They talk excitedly. “Au début, nous ne savions pas ce qu'il voulait,” one of the chefs cries out.
“À un certain moment , nous avons pensé que peut-être même qu'il demandait des faveurs sexuelles.” He finishes the sentence with the same drinking motion that I used earlier.
Elena bursts out into laughter, prompting my eyes to dart between her and the staffer. She catches my narrowed eye.
“Something funny?” I ask.
She giggles, covering her mouth with a small hand. I realize that I’m the butt of some French-fried joke.
My anger is taking turns with desire, and the two jockey for position on the tip of my tongue. I don’t know whether to kiss Elena or curse her.
“They’re saying you confused them—that at one point, they thought you might be, uh… asking for sexual favors.” She makes that same “bottoms up” gesture.
Watching Elena do it, I realize how close the motion is to the act of sucking…
I bristle, getting ready to wipe the smirk off of the chefs’ grinning faces. They may not understand English… but they do understand the sudden anger that is radiating from my direction.
Their smiles drop.
The last chef to speak shakes his head at Elena, speaking even lower. “Aucune liqueur blanche.”
She nods ruefully in response. “Merci beaucoup, Messieurs. A bientot.”
She tugs insistently on my sleeve, pulling me gently into the next room. It’s quiet in this smaller space—with just me, Elena, and some extra chairs. In one of the chairs sits a swirly beige cupcake.
I turn to Elena. “That’s the second time you’ve rescued me tonight. Didn’t know you were as tired of the brown liquor as I was.”
She grins. “Who said anything about liquor? I was there for the extra cake.” She motions towards the small sweet that’s in the seat.
“And as the bride’s sister,” she continues, “I get first dibs.”
Her smile is genuine this time—real. It’s the first time she’s shown teeth since I’ve met her—teeth that weren’t involved in any snarling or growling at me.
Her eyes sparkle with uninhibited humor and when they do, my previous anger melts like butter. I am no longer pissed off; I am turned on.
It’s like all the boiling blood that ran heatedly through my veins because of her has conveniently made its way to my cock, and in its absence, all I am left with is want.
Her eyes are strikingly blue, and the gentle curve of them makes me think of guilelessness, of innocence.
But there is nothing guileless or innocent about the filthy words we used just days ago, and the dichotomy of her sweet and sultry face mixed with the naughtiness beneath is more than I can bear.
I have to have this girl.
The words are out before I can think.
“I’ve got something better than that cupcake. Have a drink with me.”
Elena giggles. “We’ve got drinks here.”
“Not what I’ve got. It’s white liquor… and it’s good. Have a drink with me.”
“But the party…”
“Will be fine without us for half an hour… Have a drink with me.”
She huffs. “You sound like a broken record.”
“And I will continue to do so… until you…”
“Have a drink with me,” we say in unison.
She shakes her head slightly, staring down at the floor for a few seconds. Whatever excuse she comes up with, I am more than prepared to spoil.
I wait…
Suddenly, she raises her head. “One drink… and this place better be damn close.”
Poker Face
“When you defend, try not to worry or become upset. Keep your cool and trust your position - it's all you've got.” - Pal Benko
ELENA
The place to which Lukas brings me for a drink is close. Damn close—just like I asked.
In fact… it’s in the same hotel… exactly one floor below… in his hotel room.
Lukas leads me down the elevator, guiding me through a short walk down the hallway of the Hyatt’s thirteenth floor.
Lucky number thirteen. Or unlucky…
That remains to be seen.
I stand by, nervous and giddy, as Lukas removes a dark key card from his pants pocket and inserts it into the hotel door’s slit.
The door lock blinks from red to green, and we enter the room with a simple flick of a handle, the clicks of my heels marking the passage of each agonizingly slow second.
Each second, every single millisecond, alone with Lukas is an individual test of my will, and I have to fight the urge not to press my nose into his now-unbuttoned collar.
It’s the drinks… my hormones… his aura. They’re all combining
into this heady mix—this elixir of naked lust and sudden wanting.
He drips sex with every footfall, leaving a trail of wantonness in his wake.
It’s impossible to ignore.
He doesn’t know it, but I am lapping up every single drip, licking and swallowing to my heart’s delight right up until the very last drop.
I follow him like a lost puppy, past his gigantic King bed, past a ginormous flat-screen TV. His room is long and large and lined with soft beige furniture.
Looking at him now, I know that I was a fool to ever come here, to accompany him to his hotel room, knowing that the temptation was so great.
I never claimed to be a fan of Lukas Griffin. In fact, I’m not sure that I even like him.
But I do know this…
I don’t just want to fuck him. I need to fuck him.
I need him to pound out all of the latent frustration that’s been building since I got off of the flight from that God-forsaken city—to stroke away all of the sudden sorrow that I feel at losing the life in Tampa that I never had.
I need to lay all of my lust on the table tonight… and forget him by morning.
But can I do that? Can I be that woman? The type of woman to lay her inhibitions on the line? To bed a man that she damn near despises?
What’s that even called? A Wham-Bam-Thank-You-Asshole?
The abrupt stop in his trek jerks me back to reality.
He stops by the fridge, opening the door and reaching inside to remove a singular bottle of vodka, the bottle frosted over with a chill that makes the iciness look like smoke.
He sits two glasses out, pouring a shot’s worth of vodka into both before adding individual cranberries from a nearby bowl.
He swallows one, offering me a taste of one from his fingers. I’m tempted, but decline.
We drink the vodka in silence, and I prepare to grimace at the inevitable burn that will hit the back of my throat. But there is none.
The vodka is smooth, so smooth in fact that it’s almost like tasting water—a sort of cranberry-flavored seltzer spritz.
I swallow the shot with one gulp.
Fool's Gold: A Kisses and Crimes Novel Page 25