When he finally found the spot he was looking for, a moan from deep in his throat vibrated through my entire core, and the knot of heat forming between my legs pulled even tighter. He sucked me into his mouth with deep, luxurious draws that very nearly sent me over the edge. I clawed at his back and arched into him, letting him know just how good at this he was. The room around me swirled in dark, sweet-smelling pleasure, and if I could have gotten a single word out, it would have been his name. I’d forgotten mine the second my legs wrapped around him.
“I can’t wait,” he growled.
Fucking finally. My hands darted out to grab the waistband of his jeans. He swallowed hard, gasping, and shook his head. “No. You first,” he said, closing his eyes. I watched his beautiful chest heave once, twice. “Please let me.”
My heart went even faster at the thought of what he was about to do to me—if I was understanding this right. No guy had ever gone down on me before. No one had ever offered, and I had never been brave enough to insist.
But I had never wanted it more badly than I did at this exactly moment. I nodded, feeling my lips separate in a sexy pout, and running my hand down between my boobs to my belly button, like I’d done this a thousand times. His thumb and forefinger flicked the fly of my jeans open in half a second, and in the blink of an eye, he’d tugged them down right along with my panties, pushing them to the floor and flicking my shoes off my feet in the same movement. He grabbed my sides, just under my boobs, and tugged me down on the bed until he could kneel on the floor and still reach me. His palms smoothed down my stomach, around my hips, and left my body for a single unbearable second while they pushed under my thighs, looped over the top of them, and held me open.
When I felt his breath on my thighs, I lost mine. Without hesitation, he licked a long, hard stroke up my center, and I lost my entire world. Electric sparks and spinning pleasure took over my body as his tongue dipped deep inside me, his teeth grazing my most sensitive skin, his lips kissing every inch and fold like I was the most delicious thing he’d ever encountered.
With every touch, noises I’d never heard myself make before floated out of my mouth, punctuated only by the hiss of my breaths, the sounds of Ryder’s lips colliding with my wet heat, and the murmurs of pleasure he made between my thighs.
When he reached up to press two strong fingers inside, dragging them along my upper wall, I sobbed with pleasure. I shouted God’s name, moaned, and panted into the still night, while my surroundings became clearer with every breath. Every touch, every smell, every sound came into pinpoint focus as the world compressed to a spinning universe of heat inside me.
He looked up at me. “Andi,” he said, his voice gruffer than I’d ever heard it before. “You’re so goddamn real. I can’t get enough of you. I can’t…”
And then his head dipped back between my legs again, his tongue circling fast around that one spot and sending jolts of lightning through my whole body. I arched against the bed like a woman possessed, and a high-pitched “Ryder” shot out of my mouth. An utter assault of pleasure overtook every cell in my body relentlessly, over and over again, only diminishing after I’d spasmed against the mattress more times than I could count. It could have been seconds or minutes. I didn’t know, and I didn’t care. It was the most all-consuming, almost-unbearable pleasure I’d ever felt.
Even as the warmth that followed the orgasm coursed through my veins, I realized something was missing. I wanted Ryder, hard, pressing into me from above, or at least to hear the crinkle of the condom packet with his breathing as shallow and anxious as mine. So when I finally opened my eyes to see him still kneeling with the saddest look I’d ever seen on his face, the reality of it hit me like a brick wall.
“Are you okay? Is this okay?” I stuttered, trying to figure out a way to put my legs back together while he was kneeling between them. “What’s wrong?”
The bob of Ryder’s Adam’s apple as he swallowed was obvious, even in the dim light. “I’m sorry, Andi. I…I just can’t. I…uh… I have some stuff in my life, okay? Stuff you wouldn’t want to know about. And you can’t be around for it.”
“Oh. Okay,” I said, scooting myself back up to sitting with trembling arms. I was naked. I had no idea what stuff he was talking about or whether he was right, but I wasn’t exactly in a position to argue. And his abruptness bothered me. A lot. “Did I…was it something I did?”
“No,” he said emphatically, looking into my eyes. Then he looked down on the floor and picked up my jeans, setting them gently on the bed while I stood up, re-hooking my bra. “No. I just can’t right now. Can I walk you home?”
I seriously did not understand what was happening. A guy had gone down on me and suddenly didn’t want to have sex with me? I stared down at his shorts as he crossed to the other side of the bed and retrieved my shirt. That massive hard-on was definitely making him walk uncomfortably across the room.
“I guess…um…okay.” I fished my underwear out of my jeans, quickly tugged them back on, and then pulled my jeans up. Then I stepped into my flats, which were mercifully in the exact same position they’d dropped from my feet.
“I’m sorry,” he murmured as he checked me over to make sure I was fully clothed. He walked—or, rather, limped—over to the door, and pulled knob open. “I’ll make sure you get in there safe, okay?”
“Okay,” I said, my head down, my body still reeling from the most incredible orgasm of my life. I didn’t understand what had just happened or why it had ended, but I was damn sure disappointed that it had.
The air was cool, and the breeze had slowed since we were on the Strip. Wordlessly, I pulled the key out of my pocket and pushed the door open. Ryder was a silent ghost behind me. As soon as I stepped one foot over the threshold and turned to say goodbye to him, he’d already gone back to his own door.
I plopped down on my bed, stunned and miserable. The moldy smell of the covers was distinctly worse after I’d just spent ten minutes writhing in Ryder’s bed. At some point, I got up to wash my face and brush my teeth, and then I collapsed back on the bed, only kicking off my shoes before I drifted off into a deep sleep.
Chapter 13
I woke up that morning with my head in a vise, my back with a pinched nerve, and my teeth fuzzy as my bedroom slippers back in Philly. Before I even opened my eyes, the events of the last night hit me. Ryder and me, drinking on the Strip. Steamy kisses on a Parisian patio. Ryder’s tongue between my legs.
Ryder stopping cold turkey even though he obviously wanted me as badly as I wanted him.
Apparently, not a single goddamn thing in my life was going to be normal.
I sighed and stepped into the shower. The water coursing over my boobs and between my thighs sent flashback after flashback of last night. He’d looked at my naked body like he’d wanted to worship me and gone down on me with exactly the same sentiment. So why did he blueball himself and kick me out immediately after?
I glared at the moldy caulking in the corner of the tiny stand-up shower. I had to remember why I was here in Las Vegas. I had to focus. I was only upset because I was fucking around like a stupid tourist girl on the Strip and not concentrating on how I could best help Mom. How I could keep up with everything back in Philly and keep up with everything here at the same time?
I twisted the water out of my hair and thanked God that Nevada was dry enough that it should dry straight on its own without frizzing at all. This was going to be one hell of a stay in Vegas.
After three days of exhausting shifts at the Starr and sitting by Mom’s bedside in the ICU, the doctors finally thought she was well enough to move to a more stable floor. I hadn’t seen Ryder once, but I’d barely cared—Mom being more stable was pretty much the best news I could have hoped for. Maybe her memories would follow the progress of her body, and I could be out of this whole crazy, alternate universe soon. That night, I slept well since the first time Ryder
and I went out on the Strip.
The next morning, the sun woke me up. As I stumbled around making gross instant coffee in the microwave, the phone chirped that it was 8:30. The alarm that had once reminded me to get up for class was now my reminder that hospital visiting hours started soon. A sigh blew out of my mouth as I pulled on another plain t-shirt and a pair of dark skinny jeans, dialed the number for the cab services, and traipsed down the stairs to wait.
I sighed as I entered the warm, sun-filled foyer of the hospital. Now that Mom had been moved to a more permanent room—she’d been fighting a series of minor infections that made her temperature spike up and down—it really was a pleasant place to visit. A short elevator ride later, I was knocking on the door to her room, ducking my head to the side of the curtain that blocked it off. “Mamá? It’s me.”
“Andrea,” Mom’s voice called out. It still wavered a bit, but when I pushed through the curtain, her face reassured me that she was feeling stronger. A nurse stood over her, and I caught a glimpse of what she was doing—checking Mom’s stitches and staples. I winced at the dark red lines slicing angrily across her abdomen. They hadn’t told me too many details of the surgery, mostly because it had turned out well and her recovery was going as smoothly as could be expected.
I knew that fresh scars were ugly—I worked with surgical patients all the time in my child life position—but they’d never been unbearable to look at before. I swallowed back the tightness that suddenly seized my throat and took the opportunity to size up the new room.
Mom’s brothers and sister, who lived in San Diego and Playa Vista, had sent flowers and cards, but I knew their arrangement was nurse-directed. She always liked things to be in meticulous, logical order; things like flowers would either be arranged by height, with the tallest in the middle, or by color, in order of the rainbow. These were spread out pretty randomly, but they looked nice anyway. They just weren’t Mom.
My gaze flicked to the corner, where Mike was sitting, bent over a crossword puzzle. He looked up and I smiled.
“How are you today?” I asked. I knew how different “how are you today” was compared to “how are you.” My heart twisted. This man had essentially lost his wife, and he was still here, patiently keeping her company.
That was the kind of person I’d always wanted for myself—someone I could quietly sit with, happy, no matter the situation.
“Andi, this is Mike.”
“Yes, Mamá, I know,” I said, settling in a chair beside her and cradling her hand in mine.
“He tells me we used to do crossword puzzles together in the mornings, but I can’t remember where.”
I looked up quizzically at Mike. “Later,” he mouthed.
Guilt seized my chest when I realized I hadn’t kept up to date on the plans for what to tell Mom about her own life and when. Most of my time at her side had been spent watching her sleep, and sometimes dozing off myself. If I didn’t know what she knew, how could I help her? Carol had told me that Dr. Ernest had been here, but she hadn’t told me anything new about the plans. I also hadn’t asked.
But Mom’s face was so calm and peaceful, relative to how I’d seen her my first day here and heard about her a few days back, that I forced myself to push it back. Just another day of forcing yourself to put your head down and not feel anything, Andi. Great.
Okay, this pesky voice had to stop. I had shit to get done.
“Yes,” I said, smiling down at her. “You used to race sometimes.”
Mom threw her head back and laughed, just like she used to when I made her try on a prom dress meant for a sixteen-year-old or when she’d mismeasured butter for cookies and they turned out disastrous. The right reaction, the wrong event.
“I raced?” she asked, and I nodded, smiling. “I was fast at this? I’m slow as molasses now.” The corners of her eyes glistened, and her chin shook the tiniest bit before she blinked hard and looked at me again. She gave me one deep nod. “Your hair always did dry shiny and straight. Just beautiful.”
I almost told her that that had all ended when I moved to Philly and humidity had been introduced to my follicles, but I caught myself. Did she know I’d moved to Philly? Once again, I hated myself for having no clue.
I glanced down at my phone again. How had I already been here for twenty minutes? “Mamá, I have to make a call, okay?”
I called in to the Shooting Starr and got none other than Gladys on the phone. “This is the last time I’m checking the schedule for you,” she croaked. I remembered what Cara had said—this lady must really like me for some reason. At least someone does, I thought, my thoughts drifting to Ryder. How he’d given me the kind of pleasure I never even knew was possible that night and then just deposited me back to my house?
I still couldn’t believe it.
Gladys’ words knocked me out of self-pity mode. “You’re on from 1 to 11 today.”
“Is a ten-hour shift normal?”
“Be grateful. Mr. Starr must really like you. He’s got you in here for the beginning of the dinner crowd. Don’t blow it.”
“Oh, yes. Of course. Thank you, Gladys,” I chirped in as sweet of a voice as possible.
She clicked the phone off without a word, and I smiled to myself. Maybe I would learn how to get along at the Starr.
Just as I was about to step back in the room to grab my stuff and say goodbye, the door clicked open, and Mike rolled out. “Andi,” he said. “I’m so sorry I didn’t ask them to tell you about your mom’s life information progress on the phone. I know it’s been three days, but we keep crossing schedules.”
“It’s okay,” I said, watching his eyebrows pull together. “It is, really,” I reassured him. “You probably weren’t even here when I called. I know you’re recovering too.”
“I’ve been around most days,” he said, scratching at his five-o’clock shadow. “But every once in a while she would get agitated. And when you called, it was right after one of those times, so I just had the van take me home.” Of course he’d taken the van—he’d lost his car and, at least temporarily, the use of his leg in the crash. We’d all lost a lot of things in this crash.
“No problem,” I said, sighing. “I would have been here, but I was caught up with the new job. Turns out three days is just enough to catch on to the finer skills of cocktail waitressing.”
“Aw, Andrea. I’m sure sorry I can’t help you more, it’s just that…”
I held up my hand to interrupt him. “I know, and I appreciate it. But I’m a grownup now. I can take care of myself.” The cold truth of it—being responsible for myself, for making sure all my provisions were taken care of—hit me hard, forming a thick ball in my throat. I’d always had to pay for my own stuff, but sailing through Drexel on scholarship buoyed by advice and comfort from Mom and my easy little coffee shop job was much different from Vegas. I had no safety net anymore. Now it was just me, walking a tightrope, with nothing to catch me if I fell. I swallowed that truth down and said, “So what are the treatment changes I missed?”
“Dr. Ernest thinks that she has such deep memory loss that exposing her to too many of the individual elements of her life will overwhelm her.”
“Like they did a few nights back.”
“Exactly,” he said. “So we have to break it down. Things may seem like no big deal to us, but to her, each memory is made up of ten things she’s never heard before. So today’s bit of news is that she played crossword puzzles with me. Hopefully she’ll pick it up again, and it’ll help strengthen those neurons and make new memories.”
“New ones?” I asked.
“Dr. Ernest told us it’s more likely than not that she’ll never get her old ones back,” Mike choked. “She would have to recover every memory she’s lost. The brain is incredible but not that incredible.”
“I think you’re right because she remembers me but not anything about my lif
e now.”
“And she doesn’t remember me at all. Especially not that she fell in love with me. She has to do it all over again. I just hope she will.” A tear spilled out of Mike’s eye, and I felt so bad that I actually clasped my hand over his.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay. Even if she doesn’t remember, I do. I remember how much she loves you. And she only met you a year and a half ago. You haven’t had time to get weird or cranky yet, right?” I teased. That made him smile a little bit. “It’s going to be great. It’ll just take time.”
Even though I said it, I didn’t want it to be true. I didn’t want it to take the rest of the semester for Mom to get better. I wanted to be back in classes next week, just like Dr. Sullivan had assumed I’d be. I knew I hadn’t challenged her because I secretly hoped her prediction that I’d be back soon was prophetic. I said a silent prayer that, somehow, next week Mom’s brain would snap out of it as I followed Mike back into the room.
I bent down by Mom’s bedside to grab my bag.
“Going so soon? Do you have a lot of homework? Meeting with Carson?”
I racked my brain for who Carson could possibly be. Homework…high school…ah, my chemistry tutor. I hadn’t been able to sketch those molecular compounds for shit and had needed someone to help me through. Which only reminded me of the twice-weekly bio labs I was missing back in Philly.
“No, Mamá,” I said, smiling. “I ended up passing that class.”
“Oh,” she said. “That’s good. I know you’ve been upset over it.”
“You do?” I hadn’t even thought that had been on her radar. She’d been working so hard to pay for stupid extras I wanted, like prom, and saving up a little bit of cash to help pay for college that I hadn’t thought she noticed academic stuff. I’d handled all the tutoring arrangements for myself.
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