The Real Heat

by Aurora, Lexi

  “Interesting,” she answered as she thoughtfully sipped on her drink. He linked her arm through his and began leading her slowly deeper into the room, into the thick of the party. He glanced down at her while they walked, his head cocked to one side.

  “What? Do I have something on my face?” she asked, feeling decidedly on display.

  “No, I’m just wondering what that means,” he said slowly.

  "What what means?" she asked cautiously. Without meaning to, she felt like she had stepped over some kind of an invisible line. She wanted badly to step back in the other direction, but she didn't quite know how.

  “You said it was interesting,” he prodded gently.

  “I did. It’s just a word.”

  "It sounded a little like a euphemism," he laughed uncertainty. She stopped walking abruptly and almost fell over the tops of her too-high heels. She had no idea what she wanted to say, which was terrifying. Fortunately, or perhaps, unfortunately, they were interrupted before she had to give any answer at all.

  “What the fuck, man?! Where have you been all of my life? I’ve been waiting for you for fucking ever, you know it?”

  Wesley's body stiffened, and he tightened his grip on her arm. She glanced at him, saw the expression on his face, and felt her insides sink. He was recovering quickly, but the first expression on Wesley's face told Liza everything she needed to know. Wesley was not pleased by the addition of their newest companion.

  "Hey, Adam, good to see you, man," he greeted the guy with a warm, easy voice. It was the same voice she'd heard on his shows, each time he informed her where and what she should be eating next. It was his acting voice, and it made his real feelings almost invisible.

  "I bet it is, man!" The guy laughed, reaching out and grabbing Wesley's hand. Liza could see that the man's palm was either sweaty or covered in something else liquid and she shuddered. The movement was small, but it was enough to catch the attention of Wesley's friend. He punched Wesley jovially in the bicep and winked at him lasciviously.

  “And who is this lovely minx?” Adam asked, leaning into Wesley and smiling conspiratorially. All of the sudden Liza could see the two of them sitting at a bar together or maybe out at a club full of half-naked women. She could practically hear their gross talk and their mouths filling up with saliva. She moved a step closer to Wesley and was pitifully relieved when he removed his arm from hers and slung it protectively around her shoulders.

  "This is Liza, Adam. Liza, this is one of our show's producers," Wesley explained, looking at her level. The look said to proceed with caution, and at least some of Liza's ill feelings about the meeting subsided. If Adam was someone important on Wild Man's Mission, Wesley didn't have much of a choice as to whether or not to hold a conversation. The idea made her feel better for all of forty-five seconds, or as long as it took for Adam to start talking again.

  “You’re full of shit! Don’t sell me short just because you’ve got plans for her after the party!” he cried, putting a hand over his chest as if he had been wounded.

  “Sorry. Not just one of the producers, then. He’s one of the biggest, one of the execs,” Wesley agreed dutifully. The sick feeling in Liza’s stomach returned. The way Adam was talking about her, she might as well have been a box of tasty takeout.

  "You got that?" Adam continued, really getting into his groove now and not giving a damn whether or not he was offending, "I'm one of the boss men. If you really want to get somewhere in life, you should consider ditching that loser for me. He may be the pretty face, but I'm the one with the connections."

  "Hey, come on, man," Wesley warned softly. He didn't sound angry yet, but Liza got the feeling he could get there without too much prodding.

  “I’m just saying, I’m just saying,” Adam said with his palms up in a gesture of innocence, “besides, she’s not even your type!”

  "I think that's enough," Wesley started. Liza looked at him closely and ducked under the circle of his arm. All of a sudden, it didn't seem like such a protective place to be.

  “I don’t know, Wesley, maybe we should let the man talk,” she said nonchalantly. And God, what in the hell did she think she was doing? Playing with fire only ever got a person burned, and she had no interest in being hurt. The weary look in Wesley's eyes said that the chances of that happening were good.

  "Please, don't let the guy's sweet talking fool you. You've got a banging body, dear, but not the kind he usually goes for. He's more into the super skinny, heroin chic chicks. He likes to be able to see their hip bones, if you know what I'm saying," Adam said, laughing too big and drawing more and more attention.

  "I do," she replied and smiled. She felt like she was having an out of body experience, and not the good kind. Wesley's face was parchment white, and he was looking at Adam like he would gladly kill him right on the spot. Liza saw this and knew that she was going to cry. It was the most ridiculous thing in the world, to cry over the drunken admissions of this asshole. For starters, he was operating under the influence of a serious ulterior motive. For another thing, nothing he was revealing came as a surprise. Whether a person was actively into pursuing the tabloids or not, the gossip wormed its way in. She'd seen the pictures of Wesley out on the town, and she had a rough idea of the man's type. Suffice it to say, it wasn't her. She bit down on the inside of her cheek and reminded herself that she knew these things and had no right to feelings about them one way or another. It didn't work. Her tears were coming and she couldn't, under pain of death absolutely couldn't, let them fall in the middle of this room.

  “You know what?” she said brightly, “I think I’m going to take a trip to the ladies’ room.”

  "Good! Gives us a chance to watch you walk away, am I right?" Adam roared, elbowing Wesley in the side. Wesley didn't appear to notice. His eyes were glued to Liza's face as if letting them wander for even a moment would cause him to lose her forever.

  "Glad it works well for everybody," she said nonsensically, already walking away. She had no idea where the bathrooms were, the bar being so far out of her normal league it wasn't even funny. Luckily for her, it didn't matter. She had no intention of finding the bathroom, any more than she did of staying at the party. All at once, she was sure she stuck out like a sore thumb. She was a Wal-Mart sundress in a sea of couture. She was nowhere near heroin chic and never would be. By the time she was back at the front door, she was almost sure she was going to be sick. She needed to call an Uber. She wanted to call Melony. Most of all, she wanted to sink into the concrete and vanish from view.

  “Woah! Hold on, Liza, please.”

  Liza took two more steps forward, trying to make her escape in a car she hadn’t yet called. Wesley caught her easily and held her arms tightly. She didn’t want to look at him. She was sure that the pity she would see in his face would deal her the kind of humiliation from which a girl just didn’t recover.

  "I'm sorry, I'm not feeling quite myself all of a sudden," she said, careful to speak slowly and sound as calm as she could manage, "I'm going to have to leave."

  “Please don’t,” he begged, trying to turn her around. She made her body rigid and stood her ground.

  “I know it’s not convenient,” she pressed on, “I’m sorry about that. Please dock my pay. I won’t feel right about it if you don’t.”

  "I don't want to talk about money right now, goddammit, I want to talk about what just happened in there," he insisted. Incredibly, he sounded almost angry now. It was the surprise of hearing that emotion from him that finally made her turn. When Wesley saw her face, he didn't look too sure that he was pleased by the development. If her face looked half as fiery as it felt, she didn't blame him a bit.

  "This may come as some shock to you, but I actually don't want to talk about it. I don't want to talk about it at all," she answered through gritted teeth. He looked stung, but she didn't care. She reasoned with herself that there would be plenty of time to care later, once she had calmed down and was as far away from this vapid place a
s possible. For now, it felt good to spit words into the perfect man's face. It felt like the only weapon she had left in her meager arsenal.

  "I get it, I do, but I think we need to," he pressed, trying to take her in his arms. She sidestepped him easily and took a step back. She had no idea where she was in relation to the curb, and it would be just her luck to fall and break an ankle or something. Breaking something would be bad, but she couldn't let him touch her. When he touched her, she seemed to lose all sense.

  "We don't, actually. I came here because you asked me to because, at the moment, it's my job. Maybe I should have known better. These aren't my kind of people, and I'm not theirs. I don't belong, Wesley."

  “Why?” he scoffed, “Because of Adam?”

  “I wouldn’t say he helped,” she agreed, crossing her arms in front of her.

  “Look, I like the guy, but that doesn’t mean he knows what he’s talking about. He can be a dick, especially when he breaks into the scotch,” Wesley shot back.

  "But he was right about your type. We both know that, just like we both know that what happened at the charity thing was a fluke. A fluke that never should have happened and now I'm going home," she finished, turning back towards the street and looking around desperately for a cab. Of course, there wasn't one anywhere in sight. There never was when you really, truly needed one.

  “What are you doing, Liza?” Wesley asked, his voice drained.

  “I’m going. I told you, I don’t feel up to this anymore,” she called over her shoulder.

  “If you think you’re taking a cab, you’re insane. It was bad enough that you wouldn’t let me pick you up. I’m not letting you get away with it twice in one evening.”

  She turned to look at him again, doing her best to ignore the party people she could still see milling around behind him. Now it was his turn to cross his arms. His eyes were blazing, and his forehead was creased with a ‘give me what I want’ line that almost made her laugh in spite of everything. She kept the laughter inside, but she was too tired to argue with him anymore. A small voice in the back of her head suggested that maybe she wasn't too tired; that maybe she just wanted to be closer to him for a little while longer. The part of her brain that had made the decision to take Wesley up on his crazy proposition told the small voice to shut the hell up and mutely followed Wesley to the valet. She even allowed him to take her hand and help her into his low car door. He drove something wildly fancy, the name of which she could only have guessed at. She wasn't a car person, but she didn't need to be to know that the leather bucket seat she was sitting in was part of an insanely expensive car. It was just another piece of a life she was pretending to lead but would never have for herself. It was a miserable thought, and she folded her hands tightly in her lap and tried not to think about anything more upsetting than the weather. She and Wesley spoke not one word to each other. Their separate seats might as well have been different universes. It stung like hell but it was for the best, and she reminded herself of the fact over and over again, like a dreary new mantra. It wasn't until Wesley stopped the car on the empty side street next to her building that Liza looked at him again. She started when she found him looking directly at her, his eyes appearing painfully deep in the moonlight seeping through the windows of the cars.

  “Wesley-” she started, her hand moving to the door’s handle.

  “Can I tell you something?” he interrupted, his voice thick. She’d heard him sound this way before and would never be able to forget where. It was the same way he had sounded right before dragging her off the charity ball dance floor and giving her the most intense orgasm of her mostly careful life.

  “I don’t know,” she said, suddenly restless and far too hot, “I guess so. You don’t have to, though, okay? There’s really no need.”

  “But there is,” he corrected, “because you’re driving me fucking crazy.”

  “Um, excuse me? I’m driving you crazy?” she asked incredulously.

  “That’s right. It’s why it’s so stupid, you believing that crap Adam said.”

  “I told you, I don’t want to talk about that,” she insisted, leaning towards the car door again.

  "Fine, then we won't talk. I don't want to talk, either," he growled. All at once, there wasn't enough air in the car. The windows were steaming up like the two of them were in a romantic movie, and Liza couldn't stop staring into Wesley's eyes. When he reached for her hand, she didn't do anything in protest. He placed it on his thigh and led it gently up, his eyes boring into her all the while. When her fingertips found his stiff cock, she gasped. That little voice was back again, warning her to get out of the car while there was still time but it didn't stand a chance. The explorer in her was in charge now, the rest of her be damned.

  “Do you feel that?” he asked huskily, his breathing already picking up speed, “That’s because of you. I told you, Adam doesn’t know what he’s talking about.”

  "And I told you I don't want to talk about him anymore," she countered quickly. It was absolutely true, but her reason for wanting to stay away from the topic had shifted. She didn't want to fight, and she didn't want to think about whether or not she was making another massive mistake. Just in case there was any lingering question, she traversed the invisible barrier separating their seats and kissed him. His taste, which she had only experienced once, already felt familiar. She wouldn't say it felt like home, mostly because the very idea of it was too ridiculous to live, but it felt close to that. He groped for her greedily, pulling her closer and running his hands under her skin-tight dress.

  “You know we’re in public, right?” she asked, grinning while she kissed him passionately.

  "We're not in public, we're on an empty street, and everyone else is out partying."

  "You don't want to come up to my apartment?" she offered. It was the right thing to ask, and so she asked it, but she realized as soon as the question was out that she wanted him to say no. The risk of their sexual encounter in the powder room had gotten under her skin. She wanted more, and she wanted Wesley to know it. Just in case he didn't, she went for his zipper and pulled the length of him out of his pants.

  "I don't think I can make it to your apartment," he laughed shakily. She grinned and kissed him again, her fingers exploring the tip of his shaft and then closing around him gently. A low humming sound came from the back of his throat, and she smiled against his lips. When she took his bottom lip into her mouth and nibbled, the humming got louder. Her hand sped up, and her legs grew slick with want. Her hips rocked unconsciously, leading her where her mind left off.

  “Get on top of me,” he gasped, tugging her dress up desperately, “please, Liza, I want to feel you.”

  She yanked the dress the rest of the way up, slipping one leg limberly over his lap. This time there was no thong to slip to the side. There was nothing between Wesley and her at all. He slid into her and gasped as she let out a loud moan. She bucked her hips wildly, all of the tension of the evening pouring out of her as she rode him with violent abandon. It might have lasted for twenty minutes, and it might have lasted for five. When they came, they came together, collapsing against each other and panting like they'd just run a marathon. It was only when it was done that the fears started to seep back in, and by that time, Liza was too tired to care.

  Chapter Eight

  Liza Morris

  Liza spent the next couple of weeks feeling listless and decidedly out of sorts. Because neither of these feelings was normal for her, she did them both badly. Each day came with the kind of let down that followed a major holiday or a fantastic trip everyone had been especially looking forward to. Every time she closed her eyes she was immediately back in Wesley's car. She was sitting beside him on leather that probably cost more than her entire car and trying to convince herself there was no real attraction between the two of them. Then she blinked and she was on top of him, her body full of righteous pleasure too good for her to believe it was real. Then her eyes opened, and she was back i
n her stupid apartment. None of the things that typically gave her pleasure did anything for her at all. She was on edge all of the time, quick to anger at the littlest thing. Fortunately, her current job meant that she didn't have to spend all of her days around other people. As such, her coffee table and blender took the brunt of her bad mood, and they weren't telling anyone anytime soon. The only person with any idea of how off she was currently feeling was Melony, and she didn't know the half of it. That was good, as far as Liza was concerned. It was how she wanted things to stay, which was why she was so completely dreading the girls’ night Melony had talked her into. She was so much dreading it, in fact, that she seriously considered pretending not to be home when her doorbell finally rang. For a couple of seconds, she sat stock still on the couch, her eyes wide and unblinking.

  “Like she’s a T-Rex or something,” she muttered to herself and dragged herself off the couch. Melony could be worse than a T-Rex when she wanted to be. For one thing, she could still see you when you weren’t moving.

  “Hey!” Melony called loudly from the other side of the door, almost like she could read Liza’s mind, “cut the shit, Liza, and let me in! This hermit routine is starting to feel like a bunch of bullshit, let me tell you.”

  “I’m coming,” Liza mumbled, shuffling her feet slowly across her carpeted floor, “just stop shouting, will you? I have a headache.”

  "That's what I'm here for!" Mel crowed. Liza winced and braced herself with her hand on the lock. She had no idea in which universe shouting made headaches better. Probably only in Melony's, which was a place in which all rules were negotiable. She would have given anything to be allowed to rest her forehead on the cool door frame for even a couple of moments more, but she didn't dare chance it; Melony's impatience was legendary. Any minute now she was going to start hollering again, and it would catch the attention of Liza's neighbors. Liza had a feeling that if she got a noise violation, it might be the final straw. She shuddered, sighed, and took the chain off the lock.