Total Trainwreck

by Evie Claire

  * * *

  Four vodka and waters in an hour. That’s one every fifteen minutes, which is definitely a personal best. I climb off the stool, satisfaction swelling my chest, and immediately grab the bar to stop the spins.

  “Carly,” Spence whispers through his teeth, landing an elbow in my ribs to get my attention.

  “Wha...” I regrettably pull my eyes from crowd-scanning. He nods straight ahead and I follow his gaze to where the head of Iliad Films is giving a speech. I look at him just in time to hear my name called.

  “And our leading lady Carly Klein is pure perfection.” He’s praising me, but in my inebriated state all I care about is finding Devon. Did he leave with Heather? Spence pushes me forward. I catch my stumble by grabbing onto his arm and take a quick bow, blowing kisses at everyone like I’m so honored. In truth, the only thing I am is a damned drunken fool. Spence guides me back to his side.

  “You need to lay off until after the screening. Everyone will want to talk to you when it’s over.” He pries the vodka from my unwilling hands. It sloshes over his sleeve when he finally frees it. “Nice,” he hisses under his breath. A waitress appears at his side, takes the drink and hands Spence a napkin. The next thing I know he has me by the upper arm, discreetly dragging me from the crowd.

  “Where are we going?” I stupidly ask, struggling to stay on my feet. He stops in a secluded hallway. I take the opportunity to kick off my heels. They’re totally getting in the way of life right now. He glares at me, horror and disbelief darkening his face, and bends to pick them up.

  “Carly, you have ten minutes to get it the fuck together.” He shoves the shoes into my hands and grabs me by the shoulders, shaking me. “Have you forgotten your entire career depends on this night? What the fuck do you think you’re doing pining over some douche bag? You are ruining the only chance you’ve got to restart your career. This isn’t going to come around again.”

  He shakes me so hard my teeth rattle and I bite my tongue. Tasting my own blood gets my attention. I snap to and his words break through my vodka-induced coma.

  What the fuck am I doing? I started drinking to calm my nerves. I kept drinking to forget my heartbreak. Now I’m teetering on wasted, and I realize what a huge fucking mistake that is. “Okay, okay, okay,” I repeat breathlessly to let him know I get it and hopefully stop the violent shaking. My swollen brain is having enough trouble thinking without all the sloshing.

  “Get your shit together.” He opens a door and points me down a stairway. “End of the hall is the master suite. You’ll find what you need. Splash some water on your face. Brush your teeth. Clean it up, Carly.” His brown eyes look like black orbs, daring me to say no. I stare at him wide-eyed, unable to believe this is my Spence yelling at me like this. He’s always been my club buddy—party till you puke. And if it were anyone but him giving me this pep talk, I’d probably laugh in their face and pour another drink. But Spence cuts through the bullshit. If he’s mad at me, I’m really fucking up.

  “Yes...” I head down the stairs, shoes in hand. “Sir,” I hear myself add like he’s some militant authority figure worthy of respect. I hold onto the shiny walls of the stairway and hallway, finding my way to the master suite.

  Tears of shock dampen my eyes and I blink them away. When I look into the bathroom mirror I gasp. God, I look awful. The wind has whipped my gorgeous hairdo to hell and back. My skin is as pale as the vodka I’ve been drinking and my eyes are glassy and dull. I’m no longer beyond fuckable. I look like every guy on the boat has taken me for a spin.

  I start pulling open drawers and find the answers to all my problems. My stylist is a goddess. Brand-new makeup compacts in every shade and brand I’m wearing wait in a top drawer. More than that, there is a fat curling iron plugged in and ready.

  Powder, blush, mascara and lipstick touch-ups done, I gargle a mouthful of Listerine and spit. Needing to save time, I decide to pee while I’m curling my hair. The only problem is this damn jumpsuit has to come all the way off for me to pee. I swear, these things are sexy as hell but so annoying when a girl’s gotta go. I unhook the top snaps, unzip the waist and sit down, wrapping a curl around the iron to double-team the effort.

  Spence was right to mentally bitch slap me. Here I’ve spent my night either searching for Devon or pining over his unavailable ass. And it’s gotten me nothing. If he really loves me like he says, he’d have solved our problem by now. This night is supposed to be everything. Aboard the legendary Vincent Hugo’s infamously fabulous toy, screening my new film for the Academy members. The fucking Academy. There isn’t an actress in Hollywood that doesn’t wet-dream about moments like this. And here I am pissing it away.

  No. I’m going to get it together. I’m going to sober up. Watch my film and then charm the pants off every voting member on board. I can do this. I can totally be awesome. And Devon, well, he’ll just have to wait.

  After curling my hair, I take another look in the mirror and sigh, relieved to see a semblance of the fuckable fox that first stepped onto this yacht. Now, to get this damn bodysuit back on. I zip the waist, but am still left with two slinky pieces of black silk that need to meet around my neck somehow. Maria had to do it for me earlier. I simply couldn’t get it to hook. With drunken fingers, I’m totally hopeless. There’s a knock on the door. God bless Spence! Coming to my rescue again. I throw open the door. But the eyes meeting mine aren’t warm and brown.

  “Need some help,” he guesses by the way I’m holding my clothes together. No, not from your hands I don’t, I think to myself, and swallow hard against the breath that’s already racing through my throat. I say nothing. Standing and staring like an idiot. This is not good.

  Inside me, civil war rages. I should walk away. Show up at the party naked if I have to. I’ve given him an ultimatum he’s yet to answer. But, my feet stay planted. My arms begin to shake, tired of holding my clothes together. The only thing they want to hold is him.

  He steps around me into the bathroom and takes the black silk from my hand. “You look gorgeous tonight,” he whispers against my neck. The heat of his breath pops chill bumps over my chest. They run down me, tightening my nipples and curling my toes. His fingers carefully push my hair to the side, causing sweat to dampen those bumps. “I have to confess, when I saw his hands on you I wanted to break them.” He miraculously finishes the clasp then runs his hand over my exposed rib cage exactly where Spence’s hand went.

  “Good,” I spit through my teeth, and turn on my heel. “Now you know how it feels.” My eyes narrow and I want so badly to hate him. I dig deep, searching for that familiar angry rage. I find nothing. Devon shakes his head.

  “It’s not at all the same. I’d never touch Heather like that.” Devon’s fingers trace down my arm and he takes my hand. I stare at our clasped hands, knowing I should rip them apart. Where is that fiery bitch in me that used to be so good at this? “You’re the only one I want.”

  Now it’s my turn to shake my head. I look into his eyes, ready to turn and leave, but the hollow look darkening his gaze stops me. He’s just as lost as I am. Just as desperate to find a way back. Being apart is impossible for both of us.

  There isn’t a single part of me that doesn’t want a single part of him, and when he squeezes my hand, silently pleading for an answer, a spark so fiercely hot scorches through me I swear I’m on fire. Oh, what the hell am I thinking? I love this man. I don’t want to leave.

  “You shouldn’t be here.” My voice is weak and trembling as I try to do the right thing. It isn’t lost on Devon.

  “Then tell me to leave.” He steps closer, reaching around me to close the door.

  “You should go,” I say, shaking my head and studying the taut, tan skin glowing under his white shirt.

  “No, not like that. Tell me to leave.” He clicks the doorknob into its locked position. With every sense so deliciously heightened
by him, the soft sound startles me. I jump against him and he quickly closes the distance between us. I step back. The cool wooden door meets my bare back. Fire in front. Ice behind. What’s a girl to do? “Tell me to leave and I’m gone.” His lips brush against my cheek. The irresistibly male scent of him—something more innate and carnal than any cologne could ever be—does crazy things to me. Like steal the ability to speak—no, to scream—a simple word like leave.

  Instead, I roll my head back, opening my neck, inviting his lips to do something that will make leaving impossible. He wastes no time. Diving lips-first onto the soft flesh below my ear like it is manna from the heavens, he pulls me against him. A helpless moan escapes my throat, and I throw my arms around him, pulling him to me with all the pent-up need I’ve been wrestling with.

  His hands trace down my sides, up my back and under my hair, searching to undo the clasp he just secured. I’m shaking with need, want and a heavy desire that makes my thighs slick together. I reach for his waist, remembering a belt and the way his white shirt tucked in over it. God, his waist. That damned V that gets me every time. My eyes are closed, head rolled back, relishing every lick he lays on my flesh. I fumble with the belt, button and zipper, but manage to find my way to him. He springs into my hand, every bit as ready as I am.

  Devon still fumbles with the clasp at my neck. Growing frustrated, he whips me around. Slams me against the door and swats my hair to the side.

  “Rip it!”

  He does. Seconds later, the two pieces of flimsy silk slide over bare skin and hang from my waist. The zipper holding it all together is much more accommodating. It gives way and the black silk puddles at my feet.

  In another rush of need, Devon spins me back around. A hand fists the hip string of my thong. It snaps under the pressure and disappears. Devon scoops me up. My legs circle his back. I work the buttons of his shirt. We stumble to the bathroom counter. My bare ass hits cold marble. Seconds later, I’m filled with the sensation of him charging into me. Fuck the buttons.

  I brace myself. One hand on the mirror to push down on him, the other on his lower back to pull him further in. I want this to hurt in a glorious way that will make me remember him with every step I take for the next week. I need that. I need to know how much he wants me. His hands circle my hips. He slides me to the edge so I can take every inch he has to give me.

  Our lips find each other. He slides out of me. Our bodies tense and then find each other again. We moan wildly at the wicked way we come together. As long as I live, I will never feel anything that compares to this. It isn’t just fucking. It’s a total-body sensation that rings from the core of my sex to the tips of toes. Every touch, every thrust, radiates through me, electrically hot. It’s a high I can only get when he’s inside me. This is what I want. What I need. What I will spend the rest of my life needing.

  Again and again, he fills me, then slowly, painfully pulls away. The coming I love, the leaving I hate. Over and over, he works against me, building my need to a point that’s ready to blow. Sex like this is always so fast and hot. Our need is such that we never last long. At least not the first time. We need a warm-up fuck to get it out of our system.

  My insides clench tightly around him. He knows what it means and responds, growing bigger with the next thrust. We’re going to do this together. Because that’s how badly our bodies need one another. I’m balanced on the edge, ready to tip over and forget everything but us. Us.

  Us.

  “Stop.” I hear the word before I realize it’s me saying it. Devon pulls away and looks at me with the strangled, sweat-soaked glare of a man desperate to lose his load. “Stop,” I say again, pushing his hands off me. Seconds ago I was ready to embrace orgasm bliss. Now it’s completely gone.

  “What the hell? We’re right there.” He is beyond frustrated, moving again in me like I must be mistaken.

  “No, Devon, stop.” I push against him again. His rock-hard erection pops out of me. A suction sound echoes in the now-silent bathroom. He takes two backward steps to catch his balance, unable to believe what I’ve just done.

  “What the fuck?” he asks again, bewilderment and blue balls seizing his body.

  “Tell me something. What’s changed?” I ask, resting my hands beside me on the countertop’s edge and leaning forward. I stare at the floor so his damn navy eyes can’t snake charm me.

  “Nothing’s changed. I still want to be with you.” His voice is desperate, searching for words that will change my mind and spread my legs. His words are the exact ones I need to hear. But they close my thighs and turn the key. I nod knowingly, still looking at the floor. They’re still HeaVon, and until that changes, loving him is pure hell.

  “Exactly.” I shrug and slide from the counter. My sex is so tender and swollen I wince.

  “Carly, wait.” He comes at me, cock slapping against his thigh, groping in the dark for words. “This is us, Sunshine.”

  “Don’t call me that!” I snap, and bend for my clothes. I throw them on, searching for the words I need to say to him. Realizing it’s over, he turns to button his fly. I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, straightening the curls in the mirror. I use a bobby pin to hold the pantsuit around my neck.

  He shakes his head, still searching for an answer.

  “You’re right, Devon. This...” I run a finger between us “...is exactly the same. I can’t be the other woman. Loving half of you isn’t enough. I need it all.” I look down, pretending to search for my heels, but really needing an excuse to avoid eye contact. Telling him no sucks in every way it can. Especially with an orgasm still cocked and loaded in my crotch.

  I can only assume my words are the right ones, because he turns back to me, pants hanging open and face blank of every emotion but urgent regret. But I can’t stop now. I lean against a nearby shelf and step into my heels. Emboldened by my new height I lean over and kiss his cheek like this is a final goodbye.

  “I can’t let you break me again.” My whisper is hot and hard to hear. I pull away, knowing my words found their mark. He’s crushed. Totally leveled to the point where his brain cannot even process what I’m saying. This is either really good or really bad. I can’t stick around to figure out which one. Because I mean it. A girl can only break so many times before she shatters.

  I arrive at my designated seat beside Spence as the opening credits finish rolling. Inside I’m crumbling. Outside, I’ve pulled it together, because it’s what I have to do. Spence’s nose curls. He smells sex on me. Everyone in a ten-foot radius does. I reek of the salaciously musky odor that can’t be passed off as anything else. Spence takes one whiff and glares at me like he’s about to kill me. I swallow hard, lean into him and shake my head.

  “It’s over.” My voice cracks. He stills when my weight falls against him and sucks air through his teeth, but says nothing more. After what feels like a mini eternity, he wraps an arm around me and hands me a black coffee.

  Chapter Ten

  My phone buzzes somewhere in the darkness. I’m alone. Tangled in sheets and not a clue where the damn thing is. Swimming through cool white folds, I find it and hold it to my ear still half asleep.

  “Hello?” My voice is scratchy and hoarse. I swallow against the razor blades lining my throat. The damn thing keeps beeping. I squint and realize it isn’t a call. It’s a text.

  Last night...WTH?

  Whaaa...? I bolt upright in bed, rubbing my eyes to be sure I’m not seeing things. I read the text again. And again. A text like this, after a night like that, from a man like Devon Hayes requires CIA-level analyzation skills. I fire up a smoke and force my brain to think.

  If he were pissed, it would read nothing more than WTF? Or he wouldn’t text at all. He’s reaching out for a reason. Last night implies he’s mind-fucked by what happened, which is a total no-brainer after I turned his balls bluer than his eyes. It
’s those three little dots that change the entire tone of this text. Three little dots that make it seem like maybe he’s got some regrets.

  Once the party wrapped, I proceeded to drown my sorrows, certain he would never speak to me again. But now this. If I didn’t know better, I’d say my disappearing act unknowingly bounced the ball back into my court. But, hungover as I am, it’s way too early for games like this.

  Responding immediately looks pathetic anyway. Instead, I haul my aching ass into the shower. The water is hot, steamy and everything. I step into the spray and my muscles release, taking with them a scorching ache from my throat.

  Last night. I don’t even know where to start. It was hot in so many ways. I thought walking out of that bathroom would be the death of me. But I somehow turned it around, kissed the right asses and became the toast of Academy society by the time the boat docked. When I step from the shower, there’s a text from Maria with a link to a webpage.

  You’ve got some work to do ;)

  I pull up the website and a full-body shot of Spence and me arriving at Bootsy Bellows fills the screen. I look hot. Like hotter than I remember looking. The photo must be retouched. Photoshopping is totally expected of a scandalous back-page gossip site like this. I laugh to myself because everyone wants to pretend they don’t waste their time reading this shit. It’s called Hollywood’s Most Fuckable, and I guarantee you everyone reads it. How else are you supposed to know how you stack up in the real world?

  This morning, I’m on the list. Finally. The sexy-as-hell Gucci pantsuit and a two-thousand-dollar hairstyle did the trick. I’m sandwiched between Mila Kunis and Megan Fox. I’ll take those odds. Any day. Besides, nobody’s seen the movie yet. I’ll be number one once it’s released. I’m coming for you, Kate Upton! I think, totally drunk on my sexy success.