When she starts to really pick up speed and my hands grope at her perfect ass, I close my eyes and swallow the words that are fighting to get out of my mouth.
I love you too, Ads.
Never stopped.
Her walls clench around me.
Never want to stop.
Addison
Lisa: WTF, Addy! Where are u?
Me: W/rush. What’s wrong?
Lisa: I’ve been trying 2 reach you!
Me: Sry! Phone off.
Lisa: It’s OK. Just worried abt u.
Me: I’m fine. Sore & fine:)
Lisa: Gross.
Me: Heh heh.
Lisa: When I didn’t hear from u I got freaked, went 2 that tattoo parlor.
Me: ?!?!?
Lisa: I tried 2 find out where rush lives, but that asshole vincent wouldn’t give it up.
Me: Oh, hon, I’m sorry. I told u I’d prob B out all night.
Lisa: He was a real dick 2 me. Said some things…
Me: What did he say?
Lisa: When r u coming bk 2 the hotel? I really need 2 talk 2 u.
Me: WTF did he say, Lis???
Lisa: Just come, ok?
Me: K. I’ll b there in 1 hr.
I look up. Rush is staring at me, all gorgeous and heavy-lidded and tousled hair, and wearing only his ink and a pair of black sweats that hang appetizingly on his hips. We’re sitting on top of his sleek wood table outside on his massive deck. The sun is shining and a killer breeze is rolling off the desert. There’s a bunch of food laid out between us: bagels and cream cheese and fruit. And right before I got Lisa’s text, Rush was mentioning something about spreading that cream cheese on my stomach instead of his bagel.
I inhale deeply. I wish—really, really wish—I could pretend I didn’t pick up my phone to check messages, stay in Rush & Addy Land all day. But my friend needs me, and we’re supposed be driving back to L.A. in a few hours.
Rush lifts one eyebrow at me and my skin heats up instantly. The guy’s just walking, talking, breathing sex.
“Your friend okay?” he asks.
I pick a grape from the bunch and roll it between my fingers. “I don’t know. Something’s wrong. She went to Wicked Ink last night.”
“Why?” His brows draw together.
Jesus, even a confused frown on him is hot. Everything he does, every look, every word, I just melt. How the hell am I going to leave here, leave him, and go back to my life?
My vanilla life.
“She’s worried about me,” I say.
“She think I abducted you?”
His green eyes flash with equal parts heat and amusement. I die. Or sigh. Or both.
“Something like that.” I pop the grape in my mouth, and when the juice bursts inside me, all I can think about is us, Rush and me and what we have together. What’s happened between us in the past twenty-four hours. How we’ve fallen back into it, into each other. And it’s like no time has passed. We joke and touch and tease so damn easy.
But does he see it? Or was this a kickass twenty-four hour reunion/sex marathon, and it’s over now, and we both go back to our lives? Because he hasn’t said anything. Not one word about me leaving or not wanting me to leave.
“She had a run-in with Vincent,” I say. “Trying to get your address out of him.”
He teases a couple of grapes from their stem. The thing relents way easily. I know the feeling, my purple friend.
“I’m guessing that didn’t go over well. Everyone at Wicked knows not to give out my personal information.”
“Is he a bad guy, Vincent?” I ask.
Rush shakes his head. “No. Just a horny guy.”
“Like you?” I smile.
He snorts. “Oh, baby, that dude is way worse than me. I’m into one woman beneath me, on top of me, on her hands and knees in front of me.”
Every cell in my body reacts to the words, and the suggestive look he gives me while saying it. Cream freaking cheese, I want to cry out. What were you going to do with the cream cheese, dammit?!?
But Lisa’s my friend, my bestie, my beeyotch, and I will always have her back. Especially when she needs me.
“He wouldn’t act stupid, would he?” I ask. “Force something?”
“Hell, no.” Rush gives me a serious look. “The guy’s a total slut, for sure, but he’s not a pusher.” He pops the grapes in his mouth one by one, and I’ve never felt so jealous of fruit in my life. “I don’t know what went down, but if she went nuts wanting my address, he might’ve told her to take a hike in bright colors, if you know what I’m saying.”
I do. And Lisa, though fun and outgoing, a real free-spirit, has a hard time with conflict. She’s never told me everything about her home life, but from what I gathered her parents were going at each other 24/7.
My eyes travel over the tattoos on Rush’s arms and chest. Just the thought of not being able to touch him again makes me sick to my stomach.
My eyes lift to meet his. “She needs me,” I tell him. “And I’ve got school in the morning. And a paper due.” I laugh, but it comes out as more of a choke. “Haven’t even started it.”
His eyes instantly lose their light, and my heart starts bleeding. “Okay.”
“Give me a ride?”
“Course. But first…” He drops down from the table, then helps me.
Before I can say a word, he takes my hands and leads me inside the house. I wonder what he’s up to, hope stupidly that it involves his arms around me and his lips crushing against mine, but then he leads me into the bathroom and in front of the mirror.
He looks at me, brows raised. “Ready?”
His art. On me.
I can’t believe I’ve gone all morning without thinking about it. Remembering it. I’m suddenly nervous, clammy. Damn, I’ve been wanting to see the design Rush inked into me so badly, but now…I don’t know. I’m scared of what it is and what it means. Or worse, doesn’t mean. Maybe it’s some thickly-lined tribal marking or a Hawaiian pin-up girl.
I’m wearing one of Rush’s shirts, black and button down, and hits mid-thigh. And as I stand there in the middle of his gorgeous white and gray bathroom, I work buttons off with trembling hands for the second time in twenty-four hours.
After I’m done, I let him draw it off me. Wearing only a pair of his boxers, my nerves battering me, I look away from his hot, hungry eyes and glance over my shoulder. The moment my eyes connect with the stunning blast of color and form between my shoulder blades, I gasp, then cover my mouth with my hand. Eyes wide, I move around, seeing the piece from all different angles.
I turn to face him, slightly stunned by his choice. “It’s a compass.”
He nods, his leaf-green eyes a little wary.
I chew my lower lip. My heart is so close to the edge I’m almost afraid to ask. But I have to. Especially now, with all that’s happened between us. “To find my way back home?”
His eyes close and he inhales deep. When he opens them again, he looks calmer, more in control—more like Rush. He shrugs. “You said you were lost, Ads. This’ll help you find your way.”
Not to me. Not find your way back to me.
Pain sears my insides, grief too, but I’m not going to let him know it. Nothing was promised here. It was only forgiven, and isn’t that why I came? Isn’t that what I really want?
The lie in that forced belief protects me, keeps me from bursting into tears, flinging myself into his arms and begging to stay. Or shit, begging him to ask me to stay. Because in truth, what I really want is him.
My eyes lift to his, but they don’t stay long. “I should get dressed. Get back to the hotel. To my friend.”
To reality.
Rush
I take the long way to her hotel. I know it’s a completely fucked up way of keeping her close to me for as long as possible, but I don’t give a shit. Everything inside of me is raging at the idea of letting her go. And the outside’s not far behind. My skin is hardcore addicted to her. Like even now,
with her arms wrapped around my waist, it’s just not fucking tight enough.
Jesus.
As we hit the Strip, I take my turns easy instead of how I like them, fast and as close to upside down as possible without getting my skin peeled off by the asphalt. Because we’re close. Too close. I don’t know what we’re doing here, what I’m doing, but I don’t want to push her. If I push her and she fucking kicks me to the curb again, I’m done for. As in, major therapy and lots of colorful pills.
When we pull into the hotel’s driveway, I don’t stop in front of the sliding glass doors. Those bozos who check bags and shuttle tourists around aren’t going to witness our farewells. Shit, I don’t want anyone to see it, especially me. Instead I park down a ways, in the shadows of the building.
I step off the bike, then help her. I think my hands are shaking, which they’ve never done—ever. But this girl, she just fucking tears me up. I watch as she pulls off my helmet and holds it out to me. Her long hair is mussed, her cheeks are pale, and those eyes—fuck me—those mismatched eyes that belong to me, well, at least the one, bore into mine. And this time, I let her. I let her look. I let her take a good, long gander inside my ribs to my newly repaired and fully-functioning heart.
What do you see, Ads? I want to ask her. Grab her by the shoulders and force her to tell me. Tell me she wants nothing else but me. But shit, that’s not fair. Twenty-four hours can’t demolish a whole life. She has friends and school. Shit, she’s graduating in a few weeks.
“Addison…”
Her eyes prick with tears and she shakes her head. Really fast, really manic. Her hands are balled into fists and she looks like she’s about to lose it. And frankly I’m not far behind.
“Call me?” she rasps out.
“Sure,” I return, my gut rolling, eating itself alive because I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I can hear her voice and not go insane. Wouldn’t it better to block her ass out, leave it here on the stained Vegas concrete and go back to real life?
She starts to walk away, but I grab her wrist and haul her back against me. She melts into me like chocolate, and I breathe in the scent of her hair. For several moments, we cling together like scared monkeys, then I release her. Our eyes connect one last time before I turn away and straddle my bike. I don’t look up as I drop my brain bucket on my head and kick start the engine. Don’t look back as I haul ass away from the curb.
Addison
“You sure about this?”
Lisa’s sitting in the passenger side of my car with the door open, grilling me for the millionth time. She’s super wary now. Of Rush, of anyone who works in that Den of Sin, as she calls it. She refuses to give me exact details of what went down when she went there last night, but I get the feeling it’s not what I thought it was. Not Vincent hitting on her hard. She did say he was a giant asshole, and had insulted her. But the thing that concerned me most was the look on her face when she said it. Like she was questioning herself, unsure of herself. And that so isn’t Lisa.
“I’m positive,” I tell her. “See you in a few days?”
She nods and gets out of the car, tosses her bag over her shoulder. I bought her a plane ticket home, back to L.A. so I’m going to need my car.
She shuts the door, but sticks her head through the open window. “Call me tonight.”
“I will. Promise.”
“Even if you’re happily being held against your will.”
“Swears.” I grin.
“You’re not missing graduation.”
“Oh, come on,” I say, all serious now. “Never. I’ll be there. You and me, side by side in our ugly gold gowns.”
She snorts. “Seriously, why did they have to pick that color?”
“Right?” I say, laughing.
She looks at me and shrugs reluctantly. “Tell Rush I said hi, okay? Then tell Vincent I said he’s an asshole, and doesn’t know anything about anything.”
I drop my chin and say pointedly, “You’re going to tell me what was said there at some point, right?”
She smiles softly and readjusts her bag. “Love you, Addy.”
“Bye, Beeyotch,” I say affectionately.
“Bye, Whore,” she returns, then blows me a kiss before she heads into the terminal.
The second she’s gone, my heart starts pounding away, bass drum-style. I pull away from the curb, and set my course for the coming sunset and the Red Rocks. I don’t know what I’m walking into. I don’t know what he’ll say or do, but I just don’t care at this point. I love the guy. Like to the moon and beyond kind of love, and I’m going to tell him so. I’m going to tell him that we belong together. Good, bad, amazing, scary, shit to work out—we’re destined.
It takes me a good thirty minutes to get to Wicked Ink, but when I pull into the parking lot and slip between a few motorcycles and a Mercedes, my heart feels close to exploding. I know what I’m doing is the right thing, the only thing, but I’m scared. I know Rush still has feelings for me. I saw it in his eyes from the second he looked up at me in the convention center. But that doesn’t mean he wants me back, wants anything more than what we had in the past twenty-four hours.
But I have to find out.
My entire body trembles as I walk through the front doors. Unlike last night, the place is littered with customers. The owners of the vehicles outside are seated and standing in the waiting area, and some of them glance my way as I head for the recep desk.
“Back again, beautiful?”
Standing behind the desk, checking out an appointment book, is Mr. Asshole himself, Vincent. He’s wearing black jeans and a distressed gray t-shirt with a picture of a snake coming out of a skull’s mouth, the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders. He’s tall and lean, both ears and one eyebrow pierced, and he’s nearly completely tatted up. I’ll admit it. The guy’s intimidating, and gorgeous. Nothing compared to Rush, of course. But, then again, no one and nothing compares to Rush.
I shrug lightly. “I think I might be addicted.”
He grins, wide and wicked. “That’s how it is with ink. You can’t have just one.”
I lean on the counter. “Kind of like women?”
His black as night eyes widen. “Who you been talkin’ to, little girl?”
I shrug casually, some of my nerves dissipating in the back and forth we have going here. “Heard you met my friend last night.”
He nods. “Cute. A little uptight, but cute.”
I bristle at the assumption that my best friend is anything but 100% awesome. “She was worried about me. I think you were a jerkoff to her.”
“Nope. Just asked her out.”
That couldn’t be the whole story. “Well, she’s not your type.”
“Sweetness, if a girl’s got tits and a warm pussy, she’s my type.”
My mouth drops open.
He laughs. “You looking for Rush?”
“Yes.” Good god, this guy. Now I’ve got to know what went down. Tonight, I’m going to force it out of Lisa.
He points behind me with one of his tattooed fingers. e“Right behind you, dollface.”
I whirl on the spot, and just like that I forget anyone else exists. I saw him only a few hours ago, but it’s like I haven’t seen him in years. Again. My gaze rakes over his face, swooning over it, memorizing it, in case this doesn’t go well. He’s wearing dark blue denim and a white tank top that shows off his tongue-tracing ink to perfection. I swallow the saliva that has quickly pooled in my mouth and force a smile. “Hey.”
“Hey.” He looks on edge, maybe confused as to why I’m there. Maybe disappointed that I’m there at all.
I chew my lip. My heart is slamming against my ribs so hard I think I’m bruised. I feel eyes on me, feel their judgment, too.
“You don’t have an appointments, Ads,” he says, his tone calm. Not cool. But calm. “And I’m pretty booked up.”
Oh my god, what am I doing? He doesn’t want this. Doesn’t want me. And yet, I forge ahead because I refuse—REFUSE
—to fucking have another regret where he’s concerned. “This will just take a sec.”
He nods, knocks his chin in the direction of his room. “Come on in—”
I never let him finish. I’m too keyed up, and this is it. My moment. To be accepted or to go down in flames.
“I love you,” I burst out.
The entire room goes silent. Rush’s face darkens. His eyes, too.
“Ads…”
“No,” I continue, sounding nuts even to my own ears. God knows what I must look like. “No, that’s not right. I’m fucking crazy about you!”
“Damn, brother,” Vincent mutters behind us.
Rush turns and snarls at him, “Shut up.” Then reaches for me. “Come on. Let’s do this in private, Ads.”
I draw back. “No.” I shake my head at him. “Five years ago, I insulted you in front of a room full of people. Today, everyone’s going to hear how fucking amazing you are.”
He looks a little stunned, but I press on, my stomach churning. “I’ve always been crazy about you. You’re it for me. Everything. My heart, my guts. My family, my best friend. You’re the hottest lover in existence. And you make me feel special, like I matter, like I’m the only one in the world for you.” I look at Vincent and flip him off. “That was for you, asshat.”
Everyone hoots, and Vincent grabs his chest and groans, “Oh hot damn, I think I love her.”
“No you don’t,” Rush snarls again. “And shut up.”
I stare at him. Eyes locked. I don’t care about anything else. “I want to do this, Rush. Me and you. Do you want to do this?”
“What about school, L.A., your paper?” His body, his sexy, inked-up body is so tense, so on edge. “Isn’t that thing due tomorrow?”
Wicked Firsts Page 34