Bet Me

by Lila Monroe

  33

  Lizzie

  “You still love me, don’t you, kitty?”

  The cat just blinks his sultry green eyes at me, then yawns, walking to the far end of the fire escape and sitting down in a puddle of silky white fur. He settles in to calmly lick his paws, looking past me like I’m not even there.

  Great. Even animals think I’m awful right now.

  “I screwed up,” I whisper to the cat, sitting on the windowsill. “I pushed away the best guy I’ve ever known, so I deserve what I get, right?”

  The cat just blinks at me again, purring so loudly that you can probably hear him six stories down on the street. I pull my bathrobe around me and sigh, taking a sip of the now-cold mug of jasmine tea I made a half hour ago and then promptly forgot about. I can hear the sound of people walking by, the shouts and laughter from groups and couples on the street, out having a good time, and it just makes me feel even sorrier for myself than I already am. It’s been a week since the gala, and that inconvenient jagged raw gaping wound in my chest isn’t going anywhere. If anything, it hurts even more now that I’ve had time to think about what happened—and just how much I’ve lost.

  Stop wallowing, I tell myself sternly. After all, you were doing just fine before Jake Weston came along. Right?

  “I still have my career, my apartment,” I count off, as the cat opens his eyes again, examining me dubiously. “The exhibit is a hit! Even Morgan respects me now. And it’s not like things were so bad the way they were before,” I say, trying to convince myself—not to mention the cat, the random dude across the way currently murdering a saxophone, even the spring night that’s getting chillier by the second. But the way my voice wavers let’s me know that I’m not fooling anybody.

  Nothing was better before—because before means without Jake.

  Sure. I’ll just go back to Tinder now, and bad dates . . . and men who don’t make my heart skip a beat just by walking into the room . . . or melt my panties with a single gaze . . . or make me come my brains out, with just his very skilled fingers and tongue.

  I’m filled with a wave of regret, giving in again to the sadness that’s been following me around, tapping me on the shoulder every time I manage to forget for five minutes that I’ve ruined everything.

  If only I’d trusted him.

  If only I hadn’t jumped to conclusions.

  Maybe I would be with him right now, naked, instead of settling in for another night alone and lonely.

  Suddenly, a clatter comes from out in the alleyway. “Kitty?” I call, leaning out to check the poor cat hasn’t just plunged to its death.

  At first, I can’t see anything in the dark. Then a pair of headlights light up, dazzling me. There’s someone down there, too.

  “Hello?”

  “Lizzie, it’s me!”

  I nearly fall out of the window in shock.

  It’s Jake. In my alleyway, holding . . . “Is that a boombox?” I call down.

  He grins, illuminated in the headlights. “I know the eighties are too modern for you, but I figured it was the way to go.” He hits a button, and “In Your Eyes” starts to play, just like in Say Anything.

  A laugh bubbles up in my chest, full of gladness and pure relief.

  He’s here.

  He came back.

  I haven’t lost him. Have I?

  “What are you doing here?” I call down.

  “Just hear me out!” he yells up, then before I can stop him, he puts the boombox down and launches himself up the fire escape ladder.

  “Jake!” I cry, my heart leaping in fear. “That thing’s like a hundred years old.”

  “It’s fine,” he insists, hoisting up rung by rung until he can pull himself onto the platform outside my window. “See? All good.”

  The platform makes an ominous buckling noise, and I grab Jake and yank him inside before we can both plunge to our doom.

  Inside, I catch my breath. I can’t believe that he’s here—and that he serenaded me at my window.

  “Listen,” I start, “we need to talk.”

  “I know.” Jake stops me. “That night at the gala, I was way out of line.”

  “No!” I protest. “It was me! I should’ve trusted you more—I was just worried you were only in it for the chase. I was scared that once you had me, you wouldn’t want me anymore.”

  “I’ll always want you, Lizzie.”

  I look up, stunned, and find him right there beside me. “I mean it,” he insists. “I don’t care about what happened with Todd. You’re right, it’s none of my business. I just want to be with you.”

  “You don’t care that I slept with him?” I search his face, unable to process what I’m hearing. “How can you not care?”

  “Well, sure,” he says, a smile twitching at the corners of his lips. “I’ve planned a dozen elaborate revenge scenarios against him. But, it doesn’t matter now. I understand why you needed to do it and get the whole strike out of the way. Everything that happened is in the past. I want a future with you, Lizzie. Our future.”

  He pulls me into his arms, pressing his lips to mine, and damn, nothing else matters. He wants me!

  I give in to the feel of his mouth, hard and hot and so good, I never want it to end. But even though I’m already backing him towards my bed and peeling off my robe, I know there’s something I have to say, even though I really, really don’t want to right now.

  “Jake.” I come up for air. “Since we’re laying everything on the table here . . .”

  “I was thinking the bed, but sure.” He grins.

  “No! I mean, yes, please, but I have to tell you something.”

  “Can it wait?” He kisses down my neck, dipping his tongue in the hollow of my collarbone, and god, this is a really bad moment to come clean.

  “I never slept with Todd.” I rip off the band-aid.

  His head jolts up. “What? But you said—”

  “I lied.” I wince. “I’m really sorry, I was just so hurt and angry after hearing you with Dylan.”

  “You were testing me.”

  “Maybe?” I gulp. “But look, you’re here! And you just said, it’s all in the past!” I pause, nervous. “Can you forgive me?”

  “For not sleeping with Todd?” Jake grins. “Yeah, I think I can manage that.”

  He suddenly picks me up and swoops me over to the bed. We collapse back in a tumble, and I reach for him, hungry to have that hard body pressed against me, where it belongs.

  And god, inside me. At last!

  “Wait,” Jake pants, pulling back. “I nearly forgot. I have something for you.”

  “I bet you do.” My hands slide lower, tracing the hard outline of his cock through his pants.

  Jake stifles a groan. “That too.”

  He tears himself from me, and goes to retrieve his jacket from the floor. He pulls out a velvet jewelry box, large and flat. “I got you something. I was going to give it to you after the gala . . . but, well. Here.”

  The smile on his face is pure, boyish triumph, and I open the box slowly, no idea what’s inside.

  “Holy shit!”

  Jake laughs. “Does this mean you like it?”

  “But . . . how . . . ?” I gape, totally lost for words, because staring back at me, nestled in the velvet, is the one piece for the show that eluded us, the infamous necklace from Bring Me the Stars. Diamantes sparkling in elaborate rows.

  “You said . . . You didn’t . . .” I stutter, disbelieving. This is the necklace that graced the neck of one of the most famous starlets in cinema. It’s spawned conspiracy theories and decades-long hunts. It’s HISTORY.

  “Want to try it on?”

  Before I know it, he’s fastened it around my neck where it glitters coolly—against my ratty blue terrycloth robe.

  “Oh my god,” I say when I can finally speak again. “How did you find it?”

  “Never ask a magician to reveal his secrets,” he says with a grin.

  I reach up, feeling the weig
ht of the stones in my hand, and all of a sudden something occurs to me. “Wait . . . there were two necklaces made: the fake, and the real diamonds . . . This is the prop one, right?”

  Jake pulls me back into his arms. “Who knows?” He smiles, tracing the outline of the gemstones on my skin. He leans closer, and nips at my earlobe “Now get undressed. I want to see you naked in it.”

  He peels off my robe, until I’m lying there wearing nothing but fabulous historic costume jewelry. Either that, or a breathtaking amount of diamonds. But none of that matters, not with Jake looking at me like this, like I’m the center of his whole world.

  “God, you’re beautiful,” he whispers, closing the space between us. I strip off his shirt and pants, and then he’s naked right along with me. Fuck, how long have I waited for this? To taste the contours of his body, and feel his hands running possessively over every inch of mine? I’m in heaven, totally lost to the moment as he licks and teases my breasts, dipping one hand between my thighs to stroke at my wet core. I press against him, squirming with need. My desire feels like it’s taking over me completely, like just one touch could make me explode.

  I find his cock and fist him in my hand, loving how hard he is. For me. Jake groans and begins to kiss his way down my body, but I pull him back.

  "No," I gasp. “I need you. To fuck me. Right now.”

  His eyes flash with lust, and fuck, it’s so hot, I can’t wait even another second. I reach blindly for my nightstand, and hallelujah!, I find a condom in the drawer. I roll it on him, and then he positions himself above me, braced on his forearms. He’s kissing me hard and deep, like he can’t get enough, but when he thrusts inside me, it’s slow. God, so slow, I feel him filling me up inch by hard, thick inch.

  Oh. My. God.

  Jake stills for a moment, just looking down at my face, but I can’t stop from flexing around him, and it’s like some kind of release. He groans into my mouth, pulling back and then pistoning hard inside. I moan, drawing my knees up to my chest so he can fill every inch of me, even deeper. So fucking deep.

  He thrusts again, and I arch up, meeting him stroke for stroke. I’m clawing at his back, and he’s burying his face in my neck, fucking with all the pent-up abandon we’ve been holding back until now. He shifts position, and then YES, he’s stroking up inside me at a new angle, hitting my clit with every thrust and drilling deep all the way to—

  Holy fuck, is that my G-spot?

  “Yesssss!” I scream. “Oh my god, don’t stop. Don’t ever fucking stop!”

  But Jake suddenly changes the pace, slowing to longer, deliberate strokes. I thrust, trying to get back that hard, swift rhythm, but he grabs my wrists and pins me to the mattress.

  “Not so fast,” he says, a glint in his eye, and fuck, it’s so sexy. I love the feel of him holding me down.

  He thrusts into me again, slow, so sweet I feel it everywhere. I whimper.

  “That’s right, baby. Take it all. Every fucking inch.”

  I shudder. Dirty talk, too? God, I love this guy.

  I love him.

  Oh.

  Jake fucks me again with infinite gentleness, and I can’t stop the tide of pleasure from rising, the wild tingles starting in my toes and spreading like stardust through my whole body.

  “Jake,” I gasp, and I can see it in his eyes, he’s right there with me.

  “Lizzie.” He leans down and kisses me, drenched in sweat, both of us riding out this incredible high until it takes over, consuming us, and I come with a cry. Pleasure slams through my body and I feel Jake explode inside me with a strangled cry as I lose my mind in the rush, and how long I’ve waited to feel him, just like this.

  Holy shit.

  That was incredible.

  When can I do it all over again?

  Jake collapses on top of me. “Worth the wait?” he asks, breathing hard.

  I laugh. “Not bad, for a start. But you know what they say about practice . . .”

  “How it only improves on perfection?” Jake rolls off me, pulling me to spoon against him. “Just so you know,” he murmurs in my ear, “I love you, Lizzie Ryan.”

  My heart blooms wide open. I twist to face him, grinning so wide I never want it to end.

  “Just so you know, I love you, Jake Weston.”

  Jake smiles back at me, reaching to touch the necklace—which somehow, amazingly, stayed on through that epic fuck. “It looks good on you.”

  “Mmmm . . .” I yawn, my eyes already drifting shut. He chuckles, wrapping his arms around me, and I start to drift into a happy sleep. But something’s tapping lightly against my mind, something I should be remembering right now.

  The bounty.

  Holy shit!

  My eyes fly open. “Oh my god,” I squeal. “That fuck just earned us fifty thousand dollars. We’re rich!”

  34

  Three Months Later

  “We need more drinks!” Della exclaims, rapping her hand on the bar to get Zach’s attention. “Oh, bartender!” she calls out in a lilting voice. “Don’t you know that the first rule of dive bar etiquette is to never neglect your patrons?”

  Zach walks back over, bending down to kiss her. “What are you gonna do?” he asks with a cocky grin. “Write me a terrible Yelp review or something?”

  “I just might,” Della purrs, leaning in for another kiss. “Slow service, rude staff, but the bartender is fucking amazing in bed.”

  And to think I was actually worried about them for a hot minute.

  But after Jake and I announced the strike was over, Zach folded, too—to Della’s intense relief. Plus, she’s definitely appreciating Zach more these days. So all’s well that ends well, as Shakespeare might say.

  I’m just glad to be plain old Lizzie again, instead of Dapper’s prize bounty. Okay, Lizzie with a hot boyfriend, great friends, a job I love, and my student loans almost entirely paid off, but Lizzie nonetheless. I still watch old movies in my ratty bathrobe and cry at the endings—but now it’s because I know that I was right to believe: you really can find it all. Love, romance—not to mention what just might be the hottest sex on the planet with a guy I’m crazy about. A guy who fucks me up against the wall just because, and who will show up with a bottle of champagne on a random Tuesday night for no reason whatsoever.

  And most of all, a guy who really cares about me.

  Because that’s all that any of us are really looking for. Someone to see us for our best, and love us at our worst. It may be cheesy as hell, but there’s a reason the classics stick around.

  Love never goes out of style.

  “Time for a toast!” Miles announces, pulling Tatiana onto his lap. She smiles and strokes his hair like a kitten—instead of the untamed mountain lion Miles was complaining about. I guess that trip they took last month to the Maldives sans baby did the trick, because they haven’t kept their hands to themselves since the moment they walked in. “To the end of the strike!”

  “To Lizzie getting laid!” Della hollers.

  “Gee, thanks.”

  “Or how about we toast the real reason for this get-together,” Jake corrects them. “Here’s to my gorgeous, talented girlfriend, who is finishing up her first week in her position as the new head curator at the Met!”

  We cheer. Morgan surprised us all by quitting last month. She just walked in one day, said she was done with all of us, and moved to Paris with her fiancé. I didn’t think I had a hope in hell of such a major promotion, but I guess I was riding high off the amazing Hollywood exhibit reviews, because after a nerve-wracking series of interviews, they just announced today that I got the job.

  “You deserve it,” Jake says, leaning down to kiss me. “Who knows? Maybe you’ll find room in the budget to hire me for another project. But I’m warning you, I don’t come cheap.”

  “That’s not what I heard,” Della interrupts, and he throws a peanut at her.

  I laugh, nestled in his arms, and suddenly, I feel a wave of affection too big to contain.


  OK, not just affection. I’ve been horny as hell for him since the night we hooked up, and it doesn’t show any sign of fading just yet.

  “Come on.” I tug Jake’s hand. “We’ll be right back!”

  “Get a room!” Zach complains after me. “In fact, you have one. It’s right upstairs!”

  I hear Della hushing him as I lead Jake into the back hallway. I shove a door open and tug him inside.

  “Where are we?” he says in the dim light.

  “Storage closet. Now take off your pants.”

  Jake chuckles. “Yes, ma’am.” He unbuckles and shoves me back against the wall. Goddamn, but he feels good. He rubs my clit until I moan, biting down on his shoulder.

  “Are we ever going to be done making up for lost time?” he asks, easing my thighs wider and thrusting inside me.

  “Nope.” I gasp, taking him deep. “Never.”

  “Now that sounds like a happy ending to me.”

  And it is.

  THE END

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  GET LUCKY

  What happens when you wake up in a hotel suite next to a gorgeous naked man with absolutely no memory of the past twelve hours?

  I guess it's true what they say. What happens in Vegas stays in Vegas.

  Or at least I hope it stays here. The Romantic Style convention was meant to be a weekend of raucous fun with friends, sun, and enough poolside margaritas to forget about my ex. But now, instead of meeting my fans and signing books, I'm stuck with cocky divorce lawyer Nate Wexler. He's arrogant, infuriating, and I can't keep my hands off of him. Judging by the state of our hotel room, last night was wild. I just wish I could remember it.

  A pair of matching tattoos. A cheap wedding veil. A half empty box of glow in the dark condoms.