I snorted. “You mean I’m not normal.”
Quinn shrugged. He didn’t have many friends last year, but Emilie had mentioned he’d been making changes in all areas of his life, not just when it came to her. His sympathy for Cole almost made me reconsider, but then I remembered Chaney’s mussed appearance on the porch a couple of weeks ago. Guys who deserved referrals didn’t send girls walking home alone after midnight.
“If he’s half the dick you used to be, then maybe his karma’s just coming back to bite him in the ass. You got off easy, if you ask me.”
“I’m a lucky bastard, Ruby. I think we’ve established that, but I can promise you I won’t ever forget it.” He held out a hand and Emilie slid her fingers between his.
She bent to pick up her overnight bag but he waved her off, shouldering it easily. They left me alone with my thoughts—mostly the nagging doubt over how things were going with Liam, and the guilt over what my brainchild might be doing to Cole Stuart’s reputation, neither of which made any sense at all.
Chapter Six
We were about two weeks from opening night now, and West Side Story had started to take shape. Maria felt less foreign to me every time I stepped into her skin, even though the innocent immigrant girl who believed in love at first sight would always be a bit of a mystery to me. But when I looked at New York City, at America, through her eyes, I believed in possibilities.
The play had never been a favorite of mine; Romeo and Juliet had a special place in my heart and this had always felt like a cheap rip-off, with none of the beautiful angst or desperate measures. Maria hadn’t even had the guts to kill herself at the end. Juliet for the win.
Liam and I were the last two to leave after rehearsal, having drawn the short straw and charged with sweeping the dust and costume droppings off the stage. It was late, I was tired, but as we were walking down the dark hallway toward the back door, Liam dropped his bag and pinned me against the wall. He kissed me like our ship was going down, until my knees shook and I couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think about anything but putting an end to my drought.
“Come home with me,” he whispered against my ear, nibbling a little.
I nodded, unable to find the words, and followed him out to his car.
His apartment was empty, thank God, when we stumbled through the front door, locked at the lips and stripping clothes as we went. My stretchy pink cotton dress went easily, and Liam stepped out of his shorts and pulled off his shirt before I could go for them.
We fell into his bed in our underwear, on top of the messy covers and sheets that probably hadn’t been washed in way too long. His lips were hot on mine, searching and prying, a little too slobbery in his excitement, but nothing terrible.
His hand fumbled with my bra for a few minutes before I took pity on him and unsnapped it, trying to ignore the way he pawed it loose and then went for my breasts like he was dying of thirst. Not in a good way. Instead, I focused on the way his hand wandered lower, cupping my ass and tilting my hips against his. His fingers tugged my drawers loose and I helped, using a foot to push them the rest of the way off, then doing the same for him.
Liam’s fingers slid around my thighs and teased, dipping gently inside me before withdrawing, slipping everywhere but the spot that ached for his touch. It had been so long that even his not-so-gentle tongue scraping my boobs couldn’t distract me from the heat pouring between my legs. I forgot about trying to be cool, rocking against his teasing fingers, whimpering until he went for it, shoving them deep.
It wasn’t enough, and I certainly hoped that the outline of what I’d felt in his pants a couple of weeks ago lived up to my expectations. I was about to shatter from sheer need.
“Jesus, you are so wet, you little vixen. I knew this would be worth it.”
His words barely made sense in my stupor. Worth what? It wasn’t like a few weeks was a long time to wait, and before that he hadn’t exactly seemed interested. Liam took his fingers away, frustrating me further until I saw them fumbling with a condom wrapper.
I took it from him and handled it faster than he probably could have, then yanked him down on top of me, kissing him hard in an attempt to convey my pressing desire without actually having to beg him to do me like this was an audition for cheesy internet porn.
He either got the message or suffered a similar eagerness, because he buried himself in one movement a split second later. It felt so freaking good that I yelled something incoherent and shifted my hips, encouraging him to move.
“You like that? I like the way you said my name, baby.”
Oh, Jesus. He was a baby guy. There hadn’t been any early warning signs. My vagina would have dried and snapped shut if it wasn’t otherwise occupied at the moment.
Forget it, Ruby. You can work it out later. Just enjoy the moment.
Focusing on the blessed relief from celibacy helped. But as soon as Liam’s admittedly decent penis found a home, he forgot about the rest of me. While my abused boobs welcomed the respite, a kiss or…something would have been nice. I did my best to stay engaged, moving against him and gasping when he managed to accidentally hit a good spot. He finished a few minutes later, straining against me and groaning into my neck.
Liam remembered I had a face and a mouth and a bunch of other body parts a few minutes later, pulling back and dropping a dry kiss on my lips before disappearing into the bathroom.
The open windows let the sticky Florida heat into the room, bathing my not-as-sweaty-as-it-should-have-been skin with a pleasant breeze. I shoved away my disappointment. First times were usually awkward, and it wasn’t like he’d sent me packing, or couldn’t get it up, or quit in the middle to go grab a burrito. We just needed to work out a few kinks. Or try some new ones.
The faucet shut off and Liam stepped back into the bedroom, his lower half covered by a clean pair of basketball shorts. It charmed me, his unexpected modesty, and the warm towel he brought me further eased my frustration.
Liam climbed back in bed, tugging me against his chest after I’d cleaned up a little, and I rested my chin against his chest. His arm wrapped around my back, fingertips trailing soft circles on my bare skin. I’d finally had sex with the guy I’d been lusting after for three-plus months, and my body felt, if not satisfied, less abandoned.
Things could definitely be worse.
“That was okay, huh, baby?”
Okay, they could be better, too.
“Hey, Liam?”
“Hmm?” His eyes were closed but he wasn’t sleeping. The warm night and the peace that came with easing the tension between us tempted me to do the same.
“Can I tell you something without pissing you off?”
He opened one eye. “When have I ever seemed like a pissed-off kind of guy to you?”
“Fair enough. You can’t call me baby. I fucking hate it.”
He chuckled, fingertips kneading my back. “Noted.”
“Awesome.”
Silence reigned for a few minutes, long enough for my insecurities to creep in. Had it been as mediocre for him as it had for me? Now that I had the kind of guy I’d been looking for in my grasp—someone who understood my career choice, a guy who didn’t come from money and knew there was more to life than working for your parents, and one I would never be in danger of falling for—I suddenly felt afraid that he didn’t like me.
Girl moments were the fucking pits.
“Have you ever been to South Africa, my pretty little rich girl?”
“No. Why?”
“I got a call earlier from my agent. I landed a decent part in the new Bruckheimer film, and we’re shooting there over Christmas.”
I sat up, grinning. “That’s great! How come you didn’t say something before?”
“I was distracted by the fact that I hadn’t gotten you into bed yet,” he joked, reaching up to tug on my tangled hair. “Seriously, I don’t know. I didn’t want to brag or anything.”
The way Liam added that last part bugged me, sprinkl
ed some water on the seed of doubt in my gut that I’d been trying to ignore. It sounded exactly like he wanted to brag. “Sharing news isn’t bragging. I think it’s great.”
“I know, but…community theatre and snobby Whitman kind of pales, don’t you think?”
Anger sputtered to life on the back of my tongue. Liam had hidden this part of him until now, the guy who apparently lorded success over others, and it made me wonder what else I’d missed. Maybe it should have drawn me to him, the kindred desire to make our own way, but instead it brought up an unfamiliar urge to defend my lifestyle and my choices.
“Whitman has its advantages, Liam, and not everyone wants the next Bruckheimer film.”
“You don’t?”
I snuggled closer, urging my temper to cool and my tightened muscles to relax, and considered. Maybe it was stupid to not want to be the next Megan Fox, but I didn’t. I loved acting, not strutting around red carpets and posing for pictures—or finding myself in candid, unauthorized photos in the supermarket checkout line, for that matter. “No. I mean, I’m not saying I wouldn’t take the right role, but being a big star isn’t my end goal.”
“It figures. You can act in little plays and show your tits in art movies for the rest of your life and still have money. But guys like me…acting either ends in splashy success or giving blowjobs in a dirty bathroom in exchange for a bit part on a soap opera.”
“That’s a vivid word picture. Perhaps you should consider writing.” I tried hard to make it a joke, but he would have to be daft to miss the bite in my tone.
Liam turned his head, dark eyes studying me seriously. A hint of an apology softened the knot at the back of my neck. “I didn’t mean anything, Ruby. I like you. You’re a lot of fun, and you’re talented and sexy as fuck. But we come from different planets. You understand, right?”
It made sense. It did. I knew better than anyone how hard it was to truly step across the line between poor and rich, and that even with the money to back it up, there was a certain strata of society that would always reject new blood. Liam didn’t understand that all the fame and money in the world wouldn’t change where he started. The knowledge that one day he would, and that it would be a bad day, made me toss an arm over his chest and squeeze.
So we needed a little work in bed. Liam and I were two peas in a pod. Two people who would never quite fit into the world they inhabited, or in Liam’s case, wanted to inhabit. I had no doubt the guy in my arms would make it one day. Maybe not A-list, but he was more than good enough to work in Hollywood for a steady paycheck, no blowjobs necessary.
No matter what I’d told Cole, there was no need to overanalyze this particular relationship. If we could work out the sex, it would be fun while it lasted. When I finally fell asleep to the sound of light snores, it might have been with a smile.
***
Liam dropped me in the theatre parking lot the next morning, Sunday, and sped off after promising to call me later that day. A weak splatter of raindrops dotted the concrete and asphalt, dressed the metal poles and my dusty red Acura in polka dots, and a rumble of thunder promised more to come. I jabbed the unlock button on my key fob.
Nothing happened.
I unlocked the door using the key and crawled inside, sorry my wet clothes would soak the tan leather seats. My father had instilled in me a freakish addiction to keeping a clean car. The guys at the local carwash and I were on a first-name basis.
The car didn’t start when I turned the key; the radio didn’t come on and neither did my windshield wipers. A glance at the dome light revealed the problem and yesterday came rushing back; I’d dropped my lip gloss and had turned the light on to find it before rehearsal. Son of a bitch.
As though on cue, the sky let loose with a torrent of fat raindrops and my phone, dead from a night with no charger, mocked me with its blank face. There was nothing close to the theatre except a church across the street, and even though I certainly wasn’t dressed for Mass, it seemed to be my only option. No one would be in at the theatre until tomorrow morning and the last thing I needed was a bunch of panicked sorority girls calling in a missing persons report.
Stupid Liam. It was common courtesy to wait until a girl started her car or locked the front door of the house behind her before leaving…wasn’t it? I was pretty sure I hadn’t imagined that one, and we’d had plenty of sorority meetings that revolved around proper etiquette.
Except he’d reminded me last night that he hadn’t been raised the way I had. That was exactly what I’d wanted—a guy who didn’t realize that my money wasn’t as good as everyone else’s at Whitman. Liam just needed a little more training, was all.
Not that it would help me at the moment.
I got out of the car, soaked to the bone within seconds, and splashed to the edge of the parking lot. My mother would be so disappointed that I didn’t keep an umbrella in my car the way she’d always lectured, but in this kind of torrential downpour, it wouldn’t have been much help.
Cars splashed past on the main road at intervals too perfectly timed for me to make a dash for shelter. Bells rang, muted by the sound of rain and the occasional clap of thunder, and the gray stone Catholic church across the street looked like a desert mirage, and just as impossible to reach. A car swerved toward me, a black Lincoln, and showered my legs with an extra waterfall.
When the back door flew open, I was ready to let someone have it for nearly running me over, but the sight of Cole Stuart stopped me cold.
Chapter Seven
He was dressed for Mass, in black pants and a shirt and tie, wearing them every bit as effortlessly as Quinn had in my room last week. The driver got out, hustling around with a giant umbrella, but Cole waved him away.
Rain soaked through his white button-up and the T-shirt underneath, molding the material to every single muscle rippling across his swimmer’s chest. It made me hyper-aware of my own light pink dress and I looked down, heat filling my cheeks at the sight of my obvious soaked chill.
“What are you doing out here?” Cole yelled over another clap of thunder.
I shook my head, water flying off my face and hair, then pointed to my car. “My battery’s dead and so is my phone. I was going to walk over to the church and call someone.”
“Get in.”
“No, it’s okay. I’m fine.”
I didn’t want to get in that car with him. His green eyes were a little too attentive, and the sight of him gave me a little too much of a thrill, but that wasn’t the root trouble. Brushing off Cole still seemed easy right now, and I liked my life black and white.
“Ruby, yer talking mince. I’m not going to do anything except help you get home.”
I paused another moment, trying to decipher what exactly he’d just said and whether I should be offended, then a massive, jagged bolt of lightning changed my mind. I scurried into the backseat of the Town Car and took the towel the driver handed through the partition, using it to cover my chest instead of dry off.
Cole leaned in and reached out his hand. “Give me your keys.”
“What? Why?”
“So we can start your car.”
“I’m not a moron, Cole. I know how to start a car, and mine—”
“Are you always this stubborn in the napper?” He stared at me, squinting through the water running in rivers out of his thick blond hair and down his face. “Sorry. Are you always this hardheaded?”
His accent went straight to my head. My napper, apparently. Not to mention my teeth were chattering from the cold and water coated every inch of me. I just wanted to go home.
My keys fell into his outstretched palm and he slammed the door, then went around and said something to the driver. The Town Car followed Cole as he hustled back across the parking lot to my car and pulled up so that the front ends almost touched.
“Mr. Stuart said to tell you there’s a blanket in the cubby across from you, if you’re chilled, Miss.”
“Thank you.”
He got out, huddl
ed under the useless umbrella, and popped the hood. Cole had done the same, meaning they planned to jump start my poor, dead Acura. It made me wonder how a boy with his own driver learned to jump start cars.
The blanket warmed me a little, stopping my shakes and chatters, and when Cole slid into the backseat a few minutes later, I felt better enough to feel ashamed of my snappishness with him.
He shook his head, water droplets flying off him in every direction. “Man, that storm came out of nowhere!”
“Florida autumns,” I supplied lamely. Were we really talking about the weather?
I kept my eyes averted as best as I could, but the way his wet clothes clung to his thick chest was like a magnet to my eyeballs. Heat that had nothing to do with the blanket swelled under my skin.
“Your car started, but we’re going to wait a few minutes to give it some extra juice to make sure it’ll start tomorrow when you need to go to class.” I nodded. “How’d you manage this predicament, anyway?”
“My boyfriend dropped me off at my car but I couldn’t catch him once I realized it was dead.” It was a bit of a fudge. I couldn’t have caught Liam before a fart caught the wind.
“Ah.” Cole’s eyes darkened to the color of ripe limes, his lips pursed in disapproval.
“He didn’t know my car wouldn’t start.”
“How could he?”
“He couldn’t. But you had a look like he’d done something wrong.”
A lengthy pause expanded the growing tension in the back of the Lincoln. Finally, Cole shrugged, avoiding my gaze. “Where I come from, only a real twally doesn’t make sure his girl gets home safe.”
“You realize I have no idea what that means.”
“That’s why I chose it.”
It clearly wasn’t a nice thing. This was exactly what I hated about Whitman guys. They thought they knew everything, were above everyone else just because they’d been born with silver spoons in their mouths—and Lambda Phi’s like Cole Stuart were the worst.
Heat Up the Fall: New Adult Boxed Set (6 Book Bundle) Page 69