Hooking Up

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Hooking Up Page 21

by Helena Hunting


  I pass over my credit card, drop a tip in the jar, and move aside to wait for my order. I scan the tables, there doesn’t seem to be an empty spot in the place.

  And that’s when I notice the cascade of blond hair across the room, close to the window facing the street. I know that hair. I’ve had it wrapped around my fist. I’ve had my nose in it, buried my face in it, touched it countless times. I know how it smells and how it feels on my skin.

  Her elbow is propped on the table, coffee cup held in one hand. Long legs are crossed over each other, her foot bouncing restlessly, a red heel lying on the floor. The jolt in my chest is echoed in my pants. The chair across from hers sits vacant, a jacket draped over the back. A coffee cup indicates that someone has been sitting across from her recently. I can’t tell if it belongs to a man or a woman. Electric jealousy propels me forward before reasonable thought allows me to better assess my actions.

  She doesn’t look up right away as I move into her personal space. I step closer, until my shadow crosses the papers scattered before her and her toe brushes my pant leg. Her head lifts slowly, her coffee cup held daintily in her hands. Her nails are pale pink. The same color they were in Bora Bora.

  A thousand images flash through my mind, all of them lurid, all of them making the sudden stiffness in my pants that much harder to control. She sucks in a quick breath and nearly drops her cup. As it is, the contents slosh over the side, onto the papers scattered on the table. The cup rattles against the saucer as she sets it down and lifts her fingers to her lips.

  Her eyes, those blue, fathomless eyes, widen as they move over my face and then down my chest before they come back up. She can’t see that I’m hard. My coat covers that issue.

  “Lex.” It’s barely a sound in the noisy, crowded café.

  I gesture to the empty chair. “Lunch date?” Bitterness serrates the words. It’s an emotion I have no right to.

  She glances at the void space, confusion knitting her brow. “What?” Her fingers drift down her throat.

  I follow them to the open buttons of her blouse. It’s white, crisp, now dotted with coffee stains. I wonder what kind of bra she’s wearing under it. I wonder if it’s pale satin, or lacy. I wonder if I’ve seen it on her before. If I’ve taken it off her body.

  Before I can say anything else a tall man, likely in his mid-to-late thirties, approaches the table. I size him up. He’s average, at best, with a receding hairline. He looks at me uncertainly and then turns his questioning smile on Amie. The color has drained completely from her face.

  “Everything okay here, Amalie?” He glances my way briefly.

  She forces a tremulous smile. “Yes. F-fine. Norman, this is Lexington Mills, my um, best friend’s boyfriend’s brother, who is also . . . a friend of mine.” She laughs breathily and shakes her head at her explanation. “Lex, this is my colleague, Norman. We were having a working lunch.”

  “Your colleague?” The tightness in my chest eases a little. What the hell is wrong with me?

  She nods. “Um, yes. Norman has been very helpful showing me the ropes while I settle in at Williams Media.”

  Norman’s answering smile is one I want to erase with my fist. “You’re a quick study. It really hasn’t been work at all.”

  “You have a new job.” Of course she does. She was working for one of the Moorehead magazines.

  “I do. It was a necessary move, all things considered. And more in line with my interests and strengths.” The color rises in her cheeks.

  Norman, being the gentleman he apparently is, picks up his jacket. “I’m uh, going to head back to the office and uh, leave you two to catch up, unless . . .” It’s phrased in such a way that he leaves it open for her to join him.

  “That would be great. I’ll be back shortly.”

  “Take your time. We’ve accomplished about four hours of work in one, so don’t feel rushed.”

  “Okay. Thanks.”

  He holds out his hand to me. “It was nice to meet you, Lexington.”

  I take it because I don’t have another choice, squeezing back harder than necessary. “Likewise, Norman.”

  I watch him leave before I turn my attention back to Amie. Amalie. I don’t know who I’m getting right now.

  Her fingers flutter close to her lips, lingering there before they drift lower, down to the open buttons at the collar of her shirt. “How”—she has to clear her throat before she can continue—“are you? When did you get back?”

  I avoid the first question, because I don’t have an answer to it yet. “Just yesterday.”

  She motions to me. “How is it possible you can look this good with jet lag?”

  I huff a laugh. “I’m hitting a wall. I’m here for the intravenous caffeine drip.”

  “I’d like to hit your wall.” She closes her eyes and cringes. “That came out wrong.”

  My name is called, breaking the tension. “My lunch is ready.”

  “Do you want to sit with me?” She gestures to the now empty seat.

  “Do you want me to?”

  Her smile is small, nervous. She nods once.

  “I’ll be right back.” I take the empty coffee cup and plate across from her to the counter and grab my lunch, returning to the table, which Amie has cleared of papers.

  I shrug out of my jacket and pull my chair in close. “You look good.”

  She laughs and looks away, eyes dropping briefly before rising to meet mine again. “Thanks. So do you.”

  “How’ve you been?” I don’t like how awkward this is. It was never like this in Bora Bora, but then that was different I guess. We were isolated. Just us and endless hours of exploration without reality to dampen it. Without weeks of separation and another life to get in the way.

  “Good. Okay. Coming home was hard.” She fidgets with her coffee cup, opens her mouth like she wants to say something else, but no words come out. She sighs and closes her eyes. “Dealing with all of this has been . . . challenging.”

  “Is Armstrong being a jerk?”

  “Isn’t he always?”

  “If you need anything . . .” I let it hang there, because really, what can I offer her?

  “Pierce deals with his lawyer so I don’t have to speak to him directly. I just can’t believe I didn’t see how awful he can be. Or I didn’t want to. He just needs to sign the papers. Anyway, I have this new job, and I like it.”

  “Norman seems pretty happy about working with you.”

  She crosses her arms over her chest. “He’s married.”

  “Doesn’t mean he’s not interested.”

  “He can be interested all he wants, I’m not interested in making my life any messier than it already is.”

  I should keep my mouth shut and leave it alone, but I can’t. “Is that why I haven’t heard from you?”

  Her eyes, which have been focused on her coffee cup, lift to meet mine. I’m not sure how to read the emotion in them, but she seems surprised by the question. “I thought that’s what you wanted. What we agreed was best.”

  “To not hear from you at all? Amie, we’re going to see each other on occasion. It’s unavoidable. You can still talk to me. I can still be a friend.”

  Her fingers shake against the cup. “Can you?”

  The answer to that question is I don’t know. Probably not is more accurate. But seeing her, being here with her, makes me want to see more of her. “Be your friend? I can be whatever you want.” I reach across the table and stroke the back of her hand. Even the benign contact meant to soothe sends fire through my veins. All that electric lust shuts down every rational part of my brain. The parts that knows I should walk away, but can’t. Her eyes drift closed and her breath leaves her on a soft whimper. “Tell me what you want, Amie.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  She meets my gaze with an imploring one of her own. “I’m still married, even if it’s only on paper. If anyone found out about us, it would make this so mu
ch worse.”

  “That’s okay. No one has to know.”

  “Is that really okay for you?”

  “It is if you want it to be.” I shouldn’t be pushing her, but I don’t want to leave behind what happened in Bora Bora. It’s not fair of me. She’s right to say it’s not a good idea. The wedding was two months ago, and she’s only been home for a few weeks. Not nearly enough time to get over what’s happened. They’re still sorting things out with lawyers. She’s still technically married and trying to get her feet back under her, and here I am, pulling the rug out by offering her things I shouldn’t.

  “I can’t get you out of my head,” she says softly, eyes brimming with conflicted emotion.

  I don’t know what the message is that she’s trying to convey. Keep pushing? Don’t push? “Do you want me out of your head?”

  Her teeth press into her lip. She doesn’t nod.

  “So then stop trying.”

  “I should really get back to work.” The waver in her voice is telling. She wants to leave but she can’t. And I’m enough of an asshole to make it even harder to walk away from me.

  “How far is work?”

  “A couple of blocks.”

  “I’ll have my car come get us.” I pick up my phone and fire off a message.

  “I can walk that distance faster than a car can drive it.”

  “I know.”

  “Lex.” Her breathing is shallow, quick.

  “He’s around the corner, he’ll be here in less than two minutes.”

  She hesitates for a second, then gathers her things, hands trembling as she shoves file folders in her bag. I help her into her coat, fingers grazing the back of her neck. She makes a soft noise and leans into the touch, and then we’re out the door, stepping into the cold New York afternoon. The car doesn’t even come to a full stop in front of the café before I wrench the door open, motioning for Amie to get in.

  “Where’s your office?” I ask as she slides across the seat to make room for me.

  She murmurs the address and I bark it to the driver, hitting the button for privacy.

  The divider isn’t even fully closed before I’m on her, lips crashing together, teeth clashing. She grabs the back of my neck and moans into my mouth. I mirror the sound, hands roaming her curves through her clothes.

  Mouths still connected, she yanks down the zipper on her skirt and shimmies out of it. She’s wearing thigh highs and pale lace panties. “Don’t want to go back to work a wrinkled mess.” She straddles me, fighting with the buttons on my suit jacket because her hands are shaking so much.

  I cover them with one of mine. “Are you sure you want to do this?” What the fuck?

  “Why ask now?” she snaps.

  “I don’t want you to regret me again.”

  “I didn’t regret you in the first place.” She gets to work on my belt, freeing the clasp, and popping the button on my pants, pulling down the zipper. Her soft, warm hand wraps around my cock and we both groan. “I can’t wait to feel you in me again. Why do you have to be so good at fucking me?” She’s almost angry, a lamented sound falls from her lips as she strokes me. “Get a condom.”

  “Yes, ma’am.” I lift my hips and dig around for my wallet.

  She snatches it from me, flipping it open. She pauses for a second, her gaze suddenly hard as she retrieves the foil square. “Have you fucked anyone else?”

  I shake my head.

  “Good.” She tears the wrapper.

  “You?”

  “No.”

  I cup her through her panties and she arches into the touch. When I try to get under the lace and satin, she pushes my hand out of the way. “You don’t want my fingers first?”

  “I just want you.”

  “You sure? You’re gonna be sore.” I know this because we’d done it before in Bora Bora and it slowed us down for about twenty-four hours. In the days after she left, I kept going back to that night in particular, thinking about how I would’ve done things differently so I could’ve had more of her.

  “Good. I want to feel you into next week.” She uses the head of my cock to push her panties to the side and drops down without any warning.

  Her mouth falls open, her shocked gasp a good indicator that some prep would’ve been a better idea. But Christ, does it ever feel good to be inside her again. She grabs my chin, her nails digging into my jaw, lips brushing over mine. “This. You. I can’t.” She bites my bottom lip, fingertip sliding over the tender flesh after she releases it from her teeth.

  “You can’t what?”

  “Stop. I can’t stop. I don’t want to stop.” Her tongue is in my mouth, hips circling hard, keeping me deep. “Fuck me. Please.”

  I grab her hips and lift her, thrusting up as I drop her back down, sheathing myself in her. Her moan is loud, pained even.

  I stop, uncertain how to read the tension in her body. This is different than what I know of her. This isn’t like Bora Bora. “Amie.”

  She pulls back, eyes blazing, but her words are a plea. “We don’t have a lot of time. Fuck me.”

  She lifts until only the head is still inside. I hold her hips, pulling her onto me as she drops. “Like that?”

  “Harder.”

  I do it again.

  “Faster.”

  And again.

  “More.”

  I want this to last. I want it to go on for hours. I want to take her back to my place and get her naked, keep her that way until tomorrow morning. I want coffee and breakfast, I want to watch her get dressed, I want to kiss her as she walks out my door, but all we have are two blocks.

  She rides me hard, meeting each thrust, slamming down on me until her mouth falls open and she buries her face against my chest. I can feel her teeth through my suit. The tremor that runs through her body is violent, fabric muffling the sound of her orgasm.

  I keep pumping, chasing my release, the feel of her clenching around me pushes me closer to the edge. And then I’m coming, blindingly hard, my rhythm falters, erratic and strained until I still. Amie nuzzles into my neck, breath evening out. I wrap my arms around her, holding her against me, feeling the chasm growing between us even though we’re still connected physically. I’m suddenly exhausted. All this waiting and all I get are five frantic minutes in the back of a car.

  We come to a stop and the intercom buzzes. “We’ve arrived, sir.”

  I hold her tighter. Our stolen time is about to disappear, and there’s nothing I can do to keep her.

  Amie braces on my shoulders and lifts off. She can’t look at me as she adjusts her panties and shimmies back into her skirt, tucking in her blouse and shrugging into her coat almost as quickly as she took it off in the first place. Her hair falls forward, covering her face, palms smoothing down her thighs, nails pressing against her knees. I settle a hand on her back and she shivers.

  “Amie.”

  “I’m sorry.”

  “For what?”

  She shakes her head. “Thank you for the ride.” Her breath hitches, her laugh sounds like a sob. “That was . . . I have to go. I need to go.” She grabs her bag and opens the door.

  She’s gone before I can say anything else. And really, what can I say? I’m not supposed to have her beyond this even if I want her.

  And I do.

  I can still taste her. I can still smell her. I can still feel her even though she’s gone. Again.

  Nineteen: New News

  Amie

  Life returns to normal in the month that follows car sex with Lex. Well, as normal as it can be with an estranged husband who still refuses to sign the goddamn annulment papers because he’s an egomaniac. Aside from that one small, annoying glitch, I’m managing fine.

  Okay. That’s not 100 percent accurate. My job is good, great even. We’ve started a new series of tutorials that are similar to the ones I made with my mom a few years ago. Not only are they getting great traction for Williams Media, but I’ve also been put in charge of a fundraising event. I’m
less than two months in and they’re already talking about giving me a raise and a promotion.

  Aside from Ruby, yoga is my best friend, as is Pilates, spin class, and the new self-defense course I’m taking. The post-wedding fiasco rumors are no longer high priority in the pretentious gossip sphere, everyone seems to have moved on to the newest scandal. Pierce is now combing through the prenup I signed to see if we can’t find a way to force Armstrong to stop stalling.

  Lex continues to stay on my mind. I dream about him, think about him, fantasize about him, and occasionally I stalk his social media profiles and then cry. But I haven’t messaged him and he hasn’t messaged me. I can’t blame him, considering the way I acted the last time I saw him, or the way I bolted after I rode him like my personal sex toy. I’ve wanted to reach out, but it’s not a good idea since I don’t want to give Armstrong any more ammunition against me, or a reason for new rumors. I need to put Armstrong in my past before I dive into anything else and I can’t ask Lex to be part of that. He doesn’t deserve to be dragged into my crazy.

  Beyond that I still haven’t told my best friend that I slept with him. It’s an issue. A big one. I’ve declined three dinners with the Mills family over the past several weeks because I’m afraid Lex might be there. If I see him, I worry the same thing that happened in his car will happen again because I don’t have the willpower necessary to say no.

  It’s girls’ night in, since Bane is out with his brothers watching sports, or playing sports, or doing something sporty, because that’s how Bane is. I hate how excited I am over the prospect of being separated from Lex by mere degrees. I also hate that I hope they find a reason to stop by here, even though it’s unlikely.

  Ruby pours us both a glass of wine. She’s jittery tonight. Francesca, their illegal pet ferret, is curled up in my lap. She’s adorable, even if she’s a little stinky, and she makes my eyes itchy if I don’t take an antihistamine before I come over. Instead of sitting in the armchair, Ruby drops down on the other end of the couch.

  “Are you okay?”

  She’s seriously edgy. She keeps wringing her hands and then sitting on them.

  “I have to tell you something,” she blurts.

 

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