When It Hits You (The It Series Book 1)

by Nicki Elson

  The heady taste of beer was fresh on his tongue, and Lyssa went after it, trying to drink him, wanting to get inebriated off of him. Hayden was right there with her, tasting, exploring. Coherent thought left Lyssa’s brain as they melted into each other. His mouth was forceful against hers, yet somehow also gentle as he took leisurely possession of her senses. The assured grip of his fingertips sliding down her back, then curving over her hip was so…so…

  She jerked away, giving Hayden a shove in the chest as she stood and unwound from the blanket, letting it drop to the ground when she backed away.

  “Look out for the fire,” he huffed, breathless.

  She stopped moving and glared at him. He watched the dancing flames, a confused haze hanging over him. The short waves of his black hair stuck out in disarray—Lyssa’s handiwork.

  “Eyes on me, Hayden,” she growled. His unfocused gaze lifted to her. “That was not okay!”

  “All right, all right, I’m sorry. Calm down.” He glanced from side to side as he seemed to regain his bearings.

  She lowered her voice. “What was that about? What the hell was that about? You tell me it’s harmless flirting, and then…and then you do that?”

  “I didn’t exactly do that all by myself.”

  “You kissed me.”

  He gripped the front of the bench, his tensed knuckles bulging. More than the firelight heated his handsome face. “And you kissed me right back.”

  “Because you tricked me.”

  “Tricked or tempted?”

  She held up her hand, pointing at him. “This is not going to happen. You aren’t going to put me in your stable of women.”

  “I don’t want to put you in my stable!”

  Her hand dropped. Of course he didn’t. Those stalls were only available to thoroughbreds like Sabine and Roni. But then why had he been making out with the yard mule? Was he teasing her? Making fun of her?

  He must’ve noticed the humiliation that pinched her features because his voice calmed. “Look, it just happened, all right? I was only trying to joke around, and it got a little out of control. End of story. Won’t happen again.”

  “You’re damn straight it won’t. Good night, Hayden.” She turned and headed toward a side door that led straight to the elevator bank so she wouldn’t have to reenter the party. Hayden didn’t try to stop her. She only wished she could mute the damn slapping of her flip-flops as she made her inelegant exit. Jamming the elevator button, she stared at its steady glow and let out a bitter laugh. Sticking exclusively to electronic “men” was definitely the way to go—no need to try to figure them out or second-guess their motives. No disappointments.

  Back in her room, she tore the umbrella from her hair and kicked off her flimsy shoes, then paced between the bed and the bathroom. She didn’t have the patience to wait for the soaker tub to fill with warm water. She needed tension release now. After rushing through washing her face and brushing her teeth, she stripped down to nothing and dove under the covers, summoning Jean-Luc.

  She ran her fingers through his thick, black waves. No! He was bald. She took a breath and recalled the Star Trek captain’s image more vividly, then got back to it. She could still taste Hayden through the toothpaste. Grunting in frustration, she flipped onto her stomach. Clearly, the lowest speed wasn’t cutting it, so she kicked Vibrizzio up to the next level. The toy vibrated wildly for a few seconds before it sputtered, fading in and out of action.

  “Come on, come on…” she coaxed, but there was nothing for her to do but listen to her little friend die a slow death. She groaned and beat her fists into the pillow, relieving an unsatisfactory amount of stress that way.

  Chapter 11

  THE NEXT MORNING, Lyssa tried really hard through the cab ride to DH headquarters, during the breakfast meeting with Shep and Gloria, and then in the limo to the airport, to pretend that nothing unusual had occurred between her and Hayden. He likewise never referenced the kiss, but something about his demeanor felt stiff.

  They passed through airport security barely speaking two words to each other. As they entered the wide corridor that would lead to their gate, Hayden stepped in front of her and pivoted so that his keen eyes peered directly into hers. “Can we stop this?” he asked.

  “Stop what?”

  “This,” he waved his hand between them, gesturing back and forth and sending the now familiar spice of his cologne wafting upward. “This coldness. I drank too much last night and overstepped my bounds. I’m sorry. Truly. You’re an awesome partner, probably the best I’ve ever had, definitely the most fun, and I don’t want that to change because I made a mistake. Can you get past it, please, and let it go?”

  Lyssa exhaled. “It wasn’t a big deal, and yes, of course I’ll let it go.” She smiled, but it felt forced. Hayden returned her smile—and his looked strained, too.

  But on the plane, as they talked over their DH plan of attack for the upcoming weeks, they slipped into their old rhythm. By the time they landed at O’Hare, it was almost as if the kiss had never even happened. At least that’s what Lyssa told herself.

  “In spring, you’re all coming out to visit, right?” Amy said for at least the fifth time that evening.

  “Yes!” Lyssa, Trish, and JoAnne simultaneously assured her once again.

  They’d just been to see Wicked on its return to Chicago, and now they sat around a cozy table at the top level of the Italian Village restaurant. The buoyant atmosphere of a recreated Italian street, complete with strings of white lights draped from the ceiling, set the perfect scene for their official last night together before the perky blonde would leave Chicago to join her husband out west. With the sale of the honeymooners’ condo squared away and all of Amy’s job responsibilities transitioned off, there was nothing holding her back.

  “Good. By then I should know my way around the place and will be able to take you to the very best spots.”

  “So when’s the last time you saw Chuck?” Trish asked from across the table. “I’m sure you’re anxious to reacquaint yourself with his very best spots.”

  “No kidding!” Amy practically snapped her menu in half with her desperate grip. “He went out there a couple of weeks after we got back from Cabo, so it’s been almost a month! I can’t even remember the last time I went this long without getting any.”

  The girls laughed, and Trish said, “Yeah, you start to take it for granted when you’ve got a regular.”

  “Not like I would know about having a regular,” Jo said. “But a month? Even for me, that’s pretty brutal.”

  “Oh, I don’t know, I think our friend Lyssa might have something different to say about the joys of celibacy,” Trish said.

  Amy scrunched her face, turning to Lyssa, who sat to her left at the square table for four. “I’ve been meaning to ask—what did you do to Chuck’s cousin Sean? He was cranky at the family luncheon the day after the wedding. When I asked him what was wrong, all he said was that he’d had blue balls for breakfast.”

  “Ha!” Lyssa exclaimed a little too loudly. When her friends looked at her like she was the Wicked Witch of Cock Tease, she added, “It’s not my fault the boy doesn’t know how to take care of himself. My balls weren’t blue at all.”

  “No, but they might be purple…or whatever color that thing is,” Trish said.

  “The proper term would be things,” Lyssa said.

  “Oh, they’re plural now?” Trish asked.

  “Different moods call for different models.” Lyssa scanned her menu, even though she’d already decided what she was getting.

  The waiter interrupted the conversation to take their orders, but that didn’t stop Trish from digging into Lyssa as soon as he walked away. “Seriously, Lyss, when’s the last time you let an actual man touch you?”

  “Back off. I just recently made out with a guy.”

  “When?”

  “Two weeks ago.”

  “Who?”

  “None of your business.” She stuck her tongue
out at Trish, the interrogator.

  “You discuss your collection of vibrating naughties without hesitation, but when I ask about a real guy, you go silent? Something’s not right here.”

  Lyssa shrugged. “There’s not much to say about it. It wasn’t really real.”

  “What do you mean it wasn’t really real?”

  “He wasn’t…it isn’t…” She huffed. “I don’t feel like explaining right now. Besides, tonight’s supposed to be about Amy.” Returning her attention to the guest of honor, she said, “You might not have to wait all the way until spring for me to pay you a visit. There are some interesting managers in the L.A. area I might want to look into for Delicious Hayden. Maybe I can make a long weekend of it and drop down to see you.”

  “That’d be awesome! Who’s Hayden?” Amy asked.

  It struck Lyssa as an odd question, coming out of nowhere, but she answered, “My partner on the account.”

  “What’s so delicious about him?” Amy pursued.

  “Huh?”

  Trish smirked. “You said Delicious Hayden.”

  “No I didn’t.”

  “Yeah, hun, ya did.” Trish’s lips curled.

  “Is he the guy you made out with?” Amy bounced in her seat. “Oh! I want to meet him. Bring him with you!”

  “Are you seriously dating your partner?” JoAnne asked, scrunching her face as if she’d eaten something foul.

  “No! I’m not dating anyone. It was just a slip of the tongue.”

  “Which gets us back to Amy’s question,” Trish said. “Is he the one who slipped you the tongue? You were away on business two weeks ago. I take it you’re seeing him in a less asshole-ish light these days, hm?”

  Lyssa kept what she hoped was an excellent poker face as she answered without really answering. “Hayden and I have become friends. He’s a good guy who made a bad first impression on me. But I’m sorry to disappoint you—friendship is as far as it goes.” Trish raised a suspicious eyebrow, so she added, “If you could see what he looks like, you wouldn’t doubt me. He’s so outta my league, we’re not even playing the same sport.”

  “I doubt it,” Trish said.

  “Exactly how far out of your league?” Jo asked.

  “He’s professional soccer in Europe, and I’m intramural badminton in the States.”

  Trish rolled her eyes. “You’re not badminton. But even if you were, so what? Nothing wrong with aiming high.”

  Lyssa shook her head. “No. That’s a lesson I learned a long time ago. It was even backed up in the sociology class I took in college—the matching hypothesis or something like that. Relationships work better when you date within your own sport. It’s easier.”

  “And no matter what he looks like, shagging a coworker is a bad idea. Trust me,” JoJo added.

  “Bring him anyway, when you come to visit.” Amy smiled and raised her glass of pale pinot grigio. It was light and pretty, like the woman holding it. “Let’s toast to that—all of you coming to visit.”

  They clinked glasses of assorted reds and whites, and the conversation moved on, but Lyssa’s love life didn’t stay off the table for long. As her second bite of rich, garlicky eggplant melted on her tongue, she looked across the table to see JoJo’s eyes pop wide open. She stared at something past Amy. Milliseconds later, Trish exclaimed, “Ow!” and glared sideways at Jo, who gave her head a quick nod toward whatever she was looking at.

  Lyssa turned to see what JoAnne was staring at but was distracted when Amy spun nearly all the way around in her chair and shouted, “Oh my God!” Just as quickly, she pivoted back around, her mouth gaping.

  Now afraid to see what it was, Lyssa kept her gaze locked on Amy. “What?”

  “You didn’t see him?” Amy asked.

  “Who?”

  JoJo leaned across the table and hissed in a whisper that was somehow louder than her normal voice, “Keith! And he’s with another girl.”

  “My Keith?” Lyssa asked.

  “Not anymore,” Jo said.

  “Yup, that’s him, all right.” Trish’s eyes narrowed as she peered past Amy.

  “Did he see us?” Lyssa asked.

  “No,” Trish said, still looking over her friend’s shoulder. “Oh wait…yeah.” She lifted her fingers and waggled them in a wave while she gave a polite smile.

  “Shit,” Lyssa muttered. “Should I turn around and wave, too?” She tried to move her lips as little as possible, though she had no idea what good the ventriloquist act would do.

  “Um, yeah, probably.”

  Lyssa turned, putting on a faux-surprised expression, and gave a quick wave, careful to keep from examining her ex-boyfriend’s date.

  She returned to her meal and tried to forget he was there—though that was made difficult by Trish making covert observations of Keith’s date: “Sort of pretty, nothing special.” After the foursome finished eating and paid their bill, there was no way out except to walk directly past Keith’s table for two.

  “Hey,” Lyssa said casually, intending to keep walking, but he stood and gave her a wooden half-hug.

  “I’ve been meaning to get in touch,” he said. “Been busy.”

  “Oh, well, yeah, I understand. Me, too.” Her eyes wandered to his date, and she nodded a greeting. The woman was much as Trish had described her. Lyssa realized her curiosity wasn’t because she viewed this other person as competition. Rather, in being the type of woman Lyssa’s ex was attracted to, she was a mirror. Nothing special, Lyssa repeated in her head.

  She looked back at Keith, who’d now resumed his seat. They locked eyes for a brief moment, and he flicked his irises in a half roll, acknowledging the awkwardness of the situation only to Lyssa. She smiled inwardly at the private communication. Keith had always thought she was special. That was probably what she missed most about the relationship.

  The day before Thanksgiving, Lyssa made the road trip down to her sister Jessica’s house in southern Illinois where she’d also meet up with her mom and dad. Her brother Doug was spending the holiday with his wife’s family in Ohio, much to Penny Bates’s irritation.

  “Baby sister!” Jess cooed, pulling Lyssa into a big hug upon her arrival.

  Lyssa returned the hug, inhaling her sister’s powdery scent and enjoying what she was sure would be the first and last blissful moment of the visit…though if she were in a mood to analyze, she’d note that “baby sister” was an early slam. Lyssa was only three years younger, yet Jessica liked to emphasize how very behind she was in the “normal” progression of life. Jess was married and already had three children—four if you counted her husband Sam’s son from the marriage she’d wrecked—while none of Lyssa’s accomplishments seemed to rate as anything at all without the almighty ring on her finger.

  “How’s the big bad city treating you,” Jessica asked, holding her hand to her sister’s face, running a thumb over her cheek. “Yikes, all those exhaust fumes are hell on the pores, I see.”

  “The city’s great, Jess. Too bad you never got a chance to live there.”

  “Well, some of us move on with our lives and don’t stay stuck in party-party mode forever.”

  “True. And some of us feel the need to experience life before bending to the will of an arcane society.”

  “Alyssa Marie!” Penny Bates appeared out of nowhere.

  “Sorry, Mom,” Lyssa said. “Was just joking. You know that, right, Jess?”

  “Of course. All we ever get from you is goofing off,” the elder sister answered.

  Well, not everyone can have a giant stick shoved up her ass at such a young age, Lyssa refrained from saying through her now-strained smile.

  She had the Thanksgiving routine down to a fine science: arrive late Wednesday evening, allowing no more than an hour or so for visiting before turning in for the night, then follow Jessica’s and Penny’s strict instructions the next morning throughout meal prep. Eat, clear the dishes, and help clean the kitchen, making no mention of the rampant sexism perpetuated by the
women cleaning while the men lounged and watched football—she’d learned two years earlier that saying something would only have her mother hinting that if Lyssa were a lesbian, she should come out and say it. Instead, she listened to Penny and Jessica discuss the moistness of the turkey and the activities of their various committees. Never once did either of them ask Lyssa about her job or anything else.

  At some point during the day, Lyssa made sure to give a plausible excuse for having to leave Friday morning. She’d be spending four straight days with her mom and sister at Christmas and needed to store tolerance for that visit. After dishes were dried and put away, she escaped to the upstairs bedrooms to play games with the kids. This year, it was a twisted version of Candy Land.

  “Here, Auntie Lyss. You’re the toilet,” said Lyssa’s four-year-old niece, Gabby.

  “Toilet!” Lyssa mock growled, reaching out to tickle Gabby’s tummy. The girl fell to the floor as she erupted in giggles. A plastic dollhouse toilet sat next to a miniature rubber dinosaur on the game board. “Why can’t I be the T. rex?”

  Gabby pushed herself up to sit, shaking her head. “Ben is the T. rex.”

  Lyssa narrowed teasing eyes at her. “What are you?”

  “Barbie’s head.” She produced the unfortunate blonde’s bodiless noggin with gnarled hair sticking out at all angles.

  “The toilet suddenly doesn’t look like such a bad deal. Where’s Benny?”

  “Taking a dump.”

  Lyssa laughed, though she knew Jessica would give her the hairy eyeball if she were there. Sarah, the toddling two-year-old, came over from the corner of the room and handed Lyssa a torn page from a Disney Princess coloring book. Two swishes of red slashed across Jasmine. “Pretty.” Lyssa settled on the floor next to the game and pulled her youngest niece onto her lap. Benjamin entered the room. He was seven years old, tall for his age, and had a quiet, often serious demeanor, like his dad.