by Kat T. Masen
“What are you doing here?”
“It seems that our conversation made me believe you weren’t responsible enough to be at this club.”
“Me? It shows how little you know about me.”
“If you’re so willing to lie to your dad…”
“Why are you so hung up on that? Surely, you have more important things to do than taunt me with matters that are still none of your business!”
I have no idea why he suddenly has to act so macho, and what’s with all the my dad talk? It’s been frustrating, to say the least. The point of me moving here was to gain some freedom, all of which seems impossible if Mr. Asshole follows me wherever I go.
“We’re going,” he demands, nostrils flaring.
“Let me go!” I tell him. “You’re such an ass, and besides, it’s my birthday.”
“An ass who’ll save your life tonight. And happy birthday.”
“Really, save my life?” I laugh, pointing my finger into his chest. “Are you going to tattle- tale to dear old daddy? Or better yet, follow me to my bedroom. How about the shower? You want to see me there?”
His face tightens, the skin bunching around his eyes like he’s suffering for being seen with me. Perhaps there’s some truth to what Andy said—I played it too safe for too long now.
I grab his hand, pulling him back onto the dance floor to torment him as I dance around where he stands, swaying my body, bucking my hips, laughing as I do while he remains perfectly still.
“What’s wrong?” I pout, throwing my hands around his neck. “Is it possible that Will Romano does not know how to have fun?”
He rests his hands on my hips, the sudden jolt of his touch sending this odd feeling throughout me. I’ve never felt this before, and quite possibly, the alcohol has everything to do with it.
“You need to calm down,” he sternly warns me.
“What for? I’m an adult now. Just admit it, you’re jealous because your whole life revolves around work and chasing your assistant’s pussy,” I blurt out, laughing. “I’m surprised you’re even here, unless, of course, you’re looking to get laid by someone here.”
I scan the room until I realize my hands are still on him, and his are still on me. Raising my eyes to meet his, there’s an odd stare as his gaze falls onto my lips. Taking a deep breath, he focuses back on my eyes. “We need to leave or else…”
“Or else what? What exactly will go wrong?”
Will shakes his head, a smirk playing on his lips. I let go of him, almost pushing him away in annoyance until he pulls me back into him and our bodies are flush. My mind is playing tricks, watching his gaze fall toward my chest, the slight flick of his tongue. I place my hands on his chest, pressing forward only to be distracted by something hard between us. Of fuck, that’s not what I think it is because this is all types of wrong.
He leans his head in, his breath against my ear. “You need to behave and stop rubbing yourself on my cock, or this won’t end well for both of us.”
I pull away, distancing myself until he latches onto my wrist, pulling me through the crowd until the cold air hits my face, and we’re standing outside on the pavement.
“I’m taking you home,” he grits, nostrils flaring.
“In case you’ve forgotten,” I say, a slight hiccup escaping. “My home is in New Haven, not here.”
“I’m taking you back to my place.”
He doesn’t say another word amid sudden anger, hailing a cab and shoving me inside. I begin to argue, though the more I argue, the more my head spins.
“Give me your phone?” Will demands without reason.
“Wh… why?”
“So I can text your friend to let her know you came home with me and you’re okay. What’s her name?”
“Liesel,” I mumble beneath my breath. “And it’s yet to be decided if I’m okay. I don’t know you anymore. What if you’re a knife-wielding murderer?”
“Trust me, sweetheart, the last person I’d want to deal with if that were true is you.”
The sudden stop-start of the cab is making my head spin more. I shut my eyes, ignoring the sounds of beeping horns and pray for all of this to be over.
Being an adult is hard.
How much so, I’m yet to find out.
Eleven
Amelia
Will yells to the cab driver to stop at some building.
Having not paid attention to the directions we traveled in, I have absolutely no clue where we are. All the buildings look the same—tall and fancy—nothing out of the ordinary.
With his hand clutched around my arm, he helps me out of the cab, my feet stumbling onto the pavement. The night air is refreshing, blowing against my tired face and causing me to shiver momentarily.
“Are you okay to walk?” he questions with a frustrated stare.
I nod before my ankle gives way, and I fall into him again.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” he mumbles under his breath.
Pushing me through the main door, he wraps his arm around my waist to carry me since, for some reason, everything begins to spin.
Somehow, we ride the elevator up and to God knows what floor until we’re standing inside his apartment.
“So, this is your place.” I look around at the bachelor pad, noting the leather furniture which appears untouched. There’s a large white sofa adjacent to an unlit fireplace. Between them, there are a glass coffee table with books on it and a plush white rug which lays on top of the dark floorboards. I’m surprised he bothers to read. Adorning the walls is black and white artwork. I can’t seem to make out the images. The only thing I can note is that the apartment lacks color. “Such a man’s place.”
“I highly doubt you’ve been in many men’s places to make that judgment.”
The heat rises in my cheeks—what a dick. “I’ve watched movies. It’s as stereotypical as you can get.”
Suddenly, the room begins to spin, and bile rises in my throat. “Where’s your… your…” He points to the bathroom, and with only seconds to spare, I say goodbye to the multiple Cosmos I drank—the vile taste lingering in my mouth. Cradling the toilet, I beg for this to be over until it becomes evident that my hair and dress have been caught in the aftermath.
Stripping my clothes off, disgusted at the thought of my own vomit, I grab a towel and wrap it around me. Opening the door slowly, I call his name but beg him not to come over.
“Can I please borrow a shirt, and can you leave it at the door?”
I close the door again, my head spinning from the small movements. Pressing my head against the tiled wall, it offers some relief but only momentarily.
There’s a gentle knock on the door. “It’s here, and yes, you can use my shower.”
Relieved, I retrieve the shirt, then hop into the shower, desperate to wash my hair. The water feels like absolute heaven, the shower alone big enough to fit my entire economics class. I relish in the warmth, allowing it to caress my body, which feels incredibly charged. The bar of soap glides against my skin, but I stop just shy of my thigh and take a deep breath.
Blame the Cosmos and the lingering effects of the alcohol. A small moan escapes me as I close my eyes and wash between my legs. My mind flashes to the dance floor, Will’s body pressed against my mind.
Shit, this is all drunk thoughts.
Stop. Now.
Quickly, I place the bar of soap back in the holder and run my hands through my hair one more time. I finish up, drying myself and placing his shirt on. Using my fingers, I comb my hair out.
The shirt is long enough to appear like a dress—black with some rock band logo on the front.
I put my heels on, wondering if cabs will take me back to New Haven at this hour. Staying here isn’t an option. I need to go back to the sanctity of my own room.
Exiting the bathroom, Will’s eyes fall onto my legs. His gaze is exploring my exposed skin.
“You plan to do what exactly in my shirt and your heels?”
“I don�
��t know, take a cab,” I mumble, wincing my eyes to ignore the pulse inside my head.
“I’m taking you to bed.”
“I don’t want to have sex with you,” I say, defeated. “Besides, you’re old.”
“I’m not suggesting we have sex. I’m ordering you to sleep in my bed because you’ll thank me in the morning when hopefully, your hangover is less than vile. And besides, you’re too young.”
“You’re not my dad.”
“If I were your dad, knowing Lex, you’d be flown back to LA and confined to a nunnery. Stop being so stubborn.”
He orders me to follow him to his bedroom. Opening the door, the lights turn on but not too bright. There’s a king-size bed with black satin sheets, which looks so good right about now, and nothing else besides a large glass window overlooking the Hudson River.
I stand beside him until he motions for me to get in. Sitting on the edge, I remove my heels, then climb in beneath the sheets. It feels fantastic, but I wonder how many women have been in this bed and when he last had the sheets cleaned.
Will leaves the room but returns moments later with Advil and a glass of water.
“Drink this, take this, and go to sleep.”
“Where are you sleeping?”
“On the couch. Why? I can sleep next to you, but sweetheart, just letting you know that sleeping with you will cause you more problems than for me.”
“You’re a jerk,” I mutter.
He hovers next to the bed, continuing to stare at me.
“Is there something wrong? Has my dad ordered you to sit and watch me all night?”
“Happy birthday, Amelia, and good luck tomorrow morning.”
I close my eyes, ignoring his scent splashed all over the pillows and how, even in my intoxicated state, I wonder what it would be like to taste his skin with my lips. The door behind him closes, and the second he leaves, that familiar ache between my legs returns. I try my best to ignore it, moving in various positions, but it begins to consume me. Maybe if I just touch myself, it will go away. My fingers inch toward my thighs, then slowly graze between my legs. Instantly, my body grows hot and feverish, a fluttery sensation bouncing inside my stomach.
I graze myself again, but this time, I arch my back, and the desire is too much to ignore. My fingers move faster, the pool of wet building between my thighs putting me on the verge of combusting. I turn my head, burying my face into the pillow when all I can smell is Will.
A sudden flush of warmth spreads all over me, my body jerking at the sensitive touch of my fingers. The shallow breaths make it hard to swallow until I finally gain some control, my body sinking further into the bed.
I can’t move a single limb, not even to reach beside me and find a tissue to wipe between my legs.
Sleep is imminent.
Slowly, my eyes begin to droop, and I can see Will’s face, almost as if he were in this very room, watching me.
Twelve
Will
I watch her sleep despite my reluctance to do so.
Before I stepped into the room hours ago, soft moans filtered from behind the closed door. My mind began playing tricks on me—dirty tricks—and instantly, I stepped away and stood on my balcony to clear my runaway thoughts.
The chill in the night air is exactly what I need, a cold slap on my face after what has been a tumultuous night. I don’t nurse the whisky I poured myself for long, downing it in close to one go and allowing the warmth to spread throughout me.
She’s crawling under your skin.
Slow and steady like a creature in the wild.
When I got the call from Lex last night informing me of Amelia’s Friday night adventure into a club, it took a hell of a lot of trawling through her social media, which, thank God, was an open account. She’d posted a story with a picture of a restaurant in SOHO, and I knew precisely which club was located next door.
It was the last thing I wanted to do. I’d just flown in from Chicago after what had been an exhausting day at a business summit. I spent most of the day surrounded by every idiot and their pathetic plea for me to look at their ideas—apps that could do this or that, nothing innovative or remotely interesting, in my opinion.
And Lex is anything but patient when it comes to the so-called safety of his oldest daughter. His bark over the phone was less than pleasing, leaving me no choice but to find her and get her out of there intact.
I didn’t expect to find her drunk, assuming she’d have been more responsible. Her body swayed on the dance floor, men eyeing her with thirst in their mouth-watering stares. A few tried to touch her, slide their hands to places that would’ve compromised her innocence. Anger ripped through me as I stormed through the crowd, unapologetically, pushing people out of the way and almost into a fistfight with one fucker who wouldn’t move.
Then she yelled at me, laughed at me, and did something I didn’t expect—she placed her arms on me and rubbed herself against my body. Of course, my dick was fucking hard. What do you expect? Her tits bounced in the tight dress, and her lips looked like red candy.
Over and over again, I had to remind myself why I came to get her—Lex’s voice replaying in my head, his desperation mixed with fury.
But I shouldn’t have sat here staring at her all night listening to the tiny snores she releases and watching the way her body is spread out in my bed. Thoughts cross my mind, things I should be ashamed of. I need to control myself, act like an older sibling, and not like a man wondering what she tastes like between her legs.
Sweet, I bet.
When the morning light streams through the bedroom, I escape to the kitchen, waiting for her to wake up.
It’s just after eight when I hear feet drag through the hallway.
“Good morning,” I greet with an overbearing smile. “Has death found you yet?”
She sits on the stool, moaning. The shirt she wears pulls up, exposing her thigh, yet she doesn’t seem bothered. I quickly shift my attention, ignoring my dick hardening at the sight. Seriously, get a fucking grip on yourself.
“Remind me never to drink again.”
“Gladly, since you’re nineteen, the law can also remind you.”
“How brotherly of you…” she mumbles beneath her breath before her face cringes. “What’s that smell?”
“It’s called hangover food. A breakfast burrito.”
“Don’t say the word burrito.”
“Take it from an old-timer like myself, it works wonders.”
A smile manages to escape her lips before she takes a bite. At first, she stops mid-chew, her face turning a slight shade of green, but soon after, she swallows and begins to look somewhat normal.
“I told you, right?”
“I do feel much better,” she admits, accepting the coffee I pour for her. “You’re quite the morning host.”
I can see where she’s going with this, but as much as I’d like to put her in her place, I take the softer approach feeling somewhat sorry for her. My first drink was in high school, some party from memory and done so as a dare. Boy, did my parents give it to me the next morning. Dad, of course, laughed, but Mom grounded me. It wasn’t the best of hangovers and definitely memorable.
“Believe it or not, women don’t stay here.”
Her eyes draw up to meet mine with a curious gaze. “How is that even possible?”
“I’m quite particular about my routine and my bed.”
Letting out a small snort, she shakes her head. “I find that hard to believe. You seem to be a man who likes his women, and I assume your interest in them goes well beyond the night and into the early morning hours.”
“Did my mother, or your mother, tell you that?”
“I drew that conclusion when I forgot for a moment where I was and opened your bedside drawer to a bulk pack of condoms.”
My face falls flat, but quick to save face, I tell her, “No glove, no love, right?”
“I didn’t realize a safe sex talk was part of your breakfast burrito c
ure. Thanks, I guess. Since I’m not exactly having sex with anyone, I think it’s fair to say that I’m as safe as you can get.”
I cross my arms, leaning against the countertop with curiosity. “How about this boyfriend of yours?”
She bows her head. “Nothing to say.”
“C’mon, Miss Edwards always has something to say.”
A laugh, though sinister, escapes her. “There’s literally nothing to say. We barely talk anymore, and I’m pretty sure if you troll his Instagram account, there’s someone else.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Hey…” Her eyes meet mine, but with a hopeful smile, she releases a breath. “It was bound to happen that one of us would find someone new.”
“You’re beautiful. The guys will be lining up, just like my dad pointed out.” The second it leaves my mouth, I regret telling her she’s beautiful even though I can’t stop thinking about it. But also, the thought of her dating, let alone sleeping with other men, shoots anger through me, followed by this pang I have no idea where it comes from.
“Why… um… thank you.” She clears her throat. “And you’re rather handsome, so I guess it isn’t long before someone actually sleeps over in your bed because you want them to.”
She hops off the stool the same time my phone rings, and Lex Edwards flashes on the screen.
“Lex,” I answer, which stops Amelia dead in her tracks. “Is everything okay?”
“I should be asking you that,” his stern voice echoes over the speaker.
“If you’re calling about last night, Amelia is fine.”
“She’s fine?”
“Yes, I stayed around, then she happily agreed to head home, so I drove her back to campus.”
“You drove her back?” he repeated.
I hated lying to him, and why I feel the need to protect her, I have no clue.
“Of course, the streets are no place for a young girl at night. She’s fine.”
A heavy breath releases. “I’m glad you watched out for her. She hasn’t picked up my calls.”