by Ethan Asher
We might not make it to the party after all.
“MMM BOP, doo pa bop a skibby a dooo wooo MMM BOP.”
Charleigh breaks out the imaginary microphone as I settle against the doorframe. She’s oblivious to my presence, and I’m not about to interrupt her performance. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen anything like it or if I’ll ever see something like it again because I know she’s going to kill me the moment she finds out I’m behind her. It’s a shame I don’t have my phone to document it for future generations. That anthropology dissertation will sadly go unwritten now.
She takes a running leap onto the bed just as the Hanson boys end their lyrical masterpiece. Charleigh sticks the landing like an Olympic gymnast, arms outstretched above her head and all. Perfect time for a slow clap.
She lets out a blood-curdling scream as she contorts her body like a cartoon character desperately trying to avoid a mouse skittering across the floor.
“Jesus Christ,” I say, raising my arms to calm her down. “I didn’t mean to surprise you.”
I push off from the doorway and edge into the room. Almost immediately, a stuffed teddy bear connects with my face.
“Holy shit, Guy!”
I feel like I’m Neo in The Matrix, but instead of bullets, I’m dodging flying Beanie Babies and stuffed animals. I lean back just in time for a pillow to fly past me and into the hall, grazing my chest.
“What.”
Duck.
“The.”
Jump.
“Hell.”
I catch Britannia The Bear, which is fitting now that “Wannabe” by the Spice Girls in blaring. Everything about this room is a blast from the past.
“You done, Charleigh?”
She rears her arm back, readying to launch the next assault. I hold out Britannia in front of me and take the tag between two fingers. “I’ll rip it off. I heard Beanie Babies are worthless without the tags.”
“What in the world is going on up there?” Deanna calls up the stairs.
“Nothing!” Both of us reply in unison.
I meet Charleigh’s fierce gaze. She cocks her head to the side with parted lips as though to say, your move. The move I want to take doesn’t involve surrender. I want to close the gap between us, flying Beanie Babies be damned, and kiss those lips because I’ve never been more goddamn attracted to anyone before.
I love Charleigh’s fiery personality. I love her quirks. I love everything about her. I let go of the tag, and a few seconds later, the Beanie Baby hits the floor.
“Truce?”
She lowers her arm, eyes still narrowed on mine as she crosses the room. She smells like citrus, bright and sweet, the complete opposite of how she’s looking at me now. I’d be a little more uncomfortable under her glare if it weren’t for the Spice Girls telling us what they really, really want right now.
She tosses the Beanie Baby in the air. It smacks against the palm of her hand.
“Truce.”
Just before she passes me, she shoves the Beanie Baby into my gut. Her eyes draw back up to mine. “For now.”
She passes by me, but I snag her by the elbow and pull her back into me.
“Leaving so soon?”
Her lips, colored a deeper red than usual, spread into a toothless grin, and there’s nothing else I want to do more than kiss them.
“We’ve got a party to go to.”
“It’s not for a few more hours. And I’m wondering how that dress of yours will look on the floor.”
Charleigh blushes as she drags her teeth across her bottom lip. Her hand slides across my abdomen until it lands on my cock. She strokes me through my pants. “I’m sure you do,” she says. “But you’re going to have to wait until later.”
The wind is knocked out of me as she spins away and heads out of the room.
“Enjoy your tuna casserole surprise,” she says before waltzing out of the room.
She has no idea what she just started.
31
Charleigh
“I’m sure Chad’s going to propose to you, Becki. You’re…”
Yikes. This is not how I envisioned this night going. I’ve spent more time with Marissa’s friends than with Marissa. It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t for the fact that said friends have been drinking since dawn and each of their emotional states are in various stages of unstable.
Exhibit A: Becki
Age: Unknown.
Appearance: Disheveled. Her thickly applied mascara is bleeding down her face. And her cheeks are so puffy and red that it wouldn’t surprise me to hear she’d been stung by a swarm of bees a few hours ago.
Issue: Chad (need I say more?).
“…wonderful and pretty and—”
Thankfully, I don’t have to dig any deeper for more adjectives to describe this woman I’ve just met because she gets a phone call.
"It's Chad!" she squeals, tap dancing as she holds the phone in front of her. It's surprising that she's able to hold on to it.
“Are you sure—”
“Chad! Baby!” she squeals, spinning around so quickly that she nearly loses her balance and crashes to the floor. Although, given her current state of inebriation, I’m sure she wouldn’t have felt it. “I miss you!” As she disappears into one of the stalls, I breathe a sigh of relief. My work here is done. I check my phone and find a message from Guy.
Guy: Where are you?
Charleigh: OH GOD PLEASE SAVE ME
It's been nearly half an hour since I walked into the bathroom. I intended to touch up my makeup quickly, but Becki cornered me before I had the chance to leave. Another girl bursts through the door and I have an overwhelming sense of déjà vu.
Nope!
I’m not about to have a repeat therapy session, so I bow my head, ignore the tears, and rush through the door and smell the sweet smell of freedom. Unfortunately, freedom is smelling a whole lot like Axe body spray and it’s making me want to gag. The culprit of the offensive smells becomes apparent when a strange older gentleman with a scraggly beard bumps into me and tips his fedora. “M’lady.”
M’nope!
I press my lips into a hard thin line and bolt down the hallway and back to the main section of the bar.
I was a little surprised when Marissa and Jamie said they wanted to hold the party at The Lookout. There are plenty of bars to pick from in Boulder, but they were intent on keeping the party in Whispering Pine. I hadn’t been back here since the night I ran into Guy. Sebastian, back then.
Speak of the devil. Guy’s sitting in the same spot he sat in the night Emma and Sebastian met. He’s even wearing the same outfit. I like it. I might have to call off our minimal touching rule we enacted for tonight. Everyone’s drunk, so who’d even notice?
I weave in between throngs of men and women dancing to a mashup of ’90s hits. It’s more difficult than I thought. I pinball between groups of Marissa’s friends as each of them drags me to dance with them. By the time I make it to the other end of the room, I’d danced to “Macarena,” TLC’s “No Scrubs,” and a remix of Will Smith’s “Gettin’ Jiggy With It.” And I’ll have you know that no matter what Guy says, I’ve got some dance moves.
Out of breath, I slink into the same spot at the bar I sat in the last time, and the same waitress walks up to me to ask what I’d like to drink.
“Tequila and lime… And water.”
She raises that same brow, wondering if we’re going to have a repeat of that night.
“Hold the tequila and lime.”
She leaves and a few minutes later there’s a cold glass of ice water in front of me that I waste no time guzzling down. When I finally take a breath, I glance over at Guy. My stomach drops for a brief moment when I see him laughing with another woman. She’s twirling a finger into silky blonde hair as she leans into him.
I know I shouldn’t be jealous, but it’s hard not to be. Especially because the woman he’s laughing with is Tilly, Marissa’s English roommate from when she studied abroad in Lond
on. Who just so happens to be a fashion model and designer and multi-millionaire. Successful and gorgeous and the absolute last person I want Guy to be laughing with.
“Charleigh Holiday.” The voice is deep and raspy, the type of voice you’d expect to hear in a commercial for bourbon. He sounds a lot like Ryder, but his tone lacks that arrogant edge. I turn around and see a near spitting image of Ryder, but instead of the trademark black hair of the King family, there’s a shock of blonde.
“Reese?”
Reese King—Ryder’s twin brother. They’re not identical twins. Ryder used to joke that Reese was the blonde sheep of the family because he was the only one who wasn’t born with a thick head of black hair. He was always a little more subdued than the rest of the King family, spending more time with his nose in books than on his family’s ranch. But then again, subdued for the King family is gregarious in any other family.
Reese smiles and nods. “Can I sit?” He points to the chair next to me.
“Of course!”
He sits down and I can’t help but breathe in his rich cologne. It’s a little disorienting how good he smells, but then again he could be covered in manure and it would smell better than the Axe body spray that assaulted my nose earlier.
“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Reese says.
"If I didn't work with Ryder every day, I'd probably say the same thing. Apart from the blonde hair, you're the spitting image of him."
“You mean he’s the spitting image of me, of course.”
“Of course.”
Reese smiles, his green eyes slowly appraising me. “How’s it working with Ryder anyway?”
“He’s not the whirlwind he used to be. Usually.”
And as if on cue, there’s a loud commotion behind us drawing our attention to the dance floor. The crowd parts and then rejoins, Ryder at the head as he starts reenacting the final dance from Dirty Dancing. Within a few seconds, he’s lifting his partner over his head as “The Time of My Life” blares.
“Jesus Christ,” Reese says, shaking his head. “He’s definitely settled down.”
I laugh. “Wow,” is all I can muster as everyone else in the bar whistles, shouts, and claps, egging Ryder on.
"Some things never change."
I glance over at Guy again, and his eyes are searing a hole in me. Tilly’s still chattering away, her hands wrapped around his bicep. I force the image out of my head and turn my attention back to Reese. After a few minutes of us catching up, my attention still drifting back to Guy and Tilly, the bartender places a glass of wine in front of me.
“A drink from the gentlemen,” she says, nodding in the direction of Guy. I can’t help but smile like a weirdo, giddiness bubbling in my chest. But that all but disappears when I turn and find that Guy’s not there. Tilly’s not there either.
“I have to go,” I say quickly to Reese as I push away from the bar, glass in hand. He says something in response, but it’s lost on me. I need to find Guy. I’m done with this whole pretend we’re not dating thing. It’s stupid.
I weave my way back through the crowd to the only place I could think he could be, and thank my lucky stars that he’s sitting there. It’s the same chair I sat in after he’d bought me a glass of wine. And he’s alone.
“Is this seat taken?” I ask, pointing to his lap.
He glances up at me and smiles. “Not at all. Although I’m pretty sure we’ll be in violation of rule number one—no touching. And rule number two—don’t act like we like each other.”
“Forget the rules,” I say, dropping into his lap as gracefully as possible, which is to say not at all.
Guy coughs and sputters as my wine sloshes in its glass.
I take a sip of wine. “How was your chat with Tilly?”
Guy scrunches his brow. “Who?”
“Tilly. The British woman who was so obsessed with you,” I say, affecting a terrible accent.
Guy laughs. “Tilly? I thought her name was Dilly.” He pauses for a moment, his face scrunched as the gears begin turning in his head. “Which, now that I think about it, is a strange name for a woman.” He shrugs. “I couldn’t understand half of what she was saying.”
Apparently, I was more enamored by Tilly than he was.
Guy snatches the wine glass out of my hand and takes a sip.
“I didn’t take you for a white wine drinker.”
"I'm not." Guy sets the glass down on the wood stump end table and then leans in close to me. "But I'll taste anything that your lips have touched."
I love everything about that. His warm breath tickling my neck. The raw, sensuous tone of his voice. But most of all, I love how it sends my body on edge. A surge of nerves flutters in my chest as I drink in his warm chocolate eyes and dangerous gaze. I roll my bottom lip under my teeth. "I like that. But I'd like it more if you used your lips on me."
“You sure? I bet Christiana’s hanging around the bar, waiting for something uncouth to happen between us.”
I smack Guy’s arm. He’s making fun of my paranoid thoughts about Andrea being out to get me.
“Shut up and kiss me.” I wrap my arms around his collar and tug, but he won’t budge. He brings his lips close to mine, so close that I can almost feel them.
“No,” he says.
“What?” I breathe.
“Remember that time when you rubbed my cock through my pants before leaving me high and dry?”
I gulp. Oh dear. “That doesn’t sound like something I’d do.”
“Maybe it was Emma.”
“Possibly. She’s a wild one.”
“And so is Sebastian.”
“Can he come out to play?”
Almost instantly I'm thrown over Guy's shoulder, caveman style, and we're on the move. "Guy, what the hell?"
"I can't wait any longer, Charleigh," Guy says, maneuvering through the crowd of drunk people who don't seem to notice the one-hundred-and-twenty-pound woman being dragged out of the bar by a caveman. A devilishly handsome caveman, but a caveman nonetheless.
We pass by Marissa and Jamie dancing. Marissa spots me and breaks away from him and shoots me a what-in-the-everliving-hell-is-going-on? look. I raise my hands—I don’t know—but then smile and flash her a thumbs-up because, to be honest, I like everything about what's happening.
And even more, I like where it’s heading.
32
Guy
As I lie on Charleigh’s bed, stroking her hair as she lightly snores, I’m coming up short for a time in my life when I’ve been more content than right now. I’m hesitant to say it, but I feel that everything is perfect.
Of course, things aren’t perfect. If given enough time, anyone could make a mile-long list of everything that’s not perfect in their life. Finding what’s wrong in your life is always much easier than focusing on the good. But right now, I’m focusing on the single best thing in my life: Charleigh.
Charleigh laughs softly, still fast asleep, and then a few seconds later she sleep talks about pancakes. I’ve learned the hard way that she’s a very active sleeper. Hands in my face. Knees to the groin. Elbows to the ribcage. She’s never once woken up in the same position she fell asleep in, and after seeing some of the odd positions she’s found herself in the morning, I’m surprised that I haven’t found her on the floor yet.
The best part about her sleeping habits, though, is her sleep talking. I’ve had brief conversations with her while she’s been fast asleep. They’ve been very illuminating to her psyche.
“Do you want pancakes, Charleigh?”
“Mhmm,” she moans as she grabs her pillow tighter. “Rainbow bear that’s not—” She rolls over, letting go of the pillow as one arm dangles off the bed.
The moonlight cuts through a break in the curtains, covering her naked torso with a dreamy glow that makes her pale skin appear ethereal. Maybe I’m partial, but I don’t think there’s anything more beautiful in this world than Charleigh. I drag my fingertips delicately down her sternum and then p
ull the sheets over her.
I kiss her good night and fall asleep content, knowing that in the morning I’ll wake up to the most beautiful woman in the world. Although the elbows to the ribcage throughout the night weren’t exactly welcomed, Charleigh’s smiling face when she finally wakes up makes up for it.
“Hi,” she whispers.
I thread my fingers through her hair, brushing it off her face.
“Hi, gorgeous.”
Her face lights up, and I press my lips against her forehead. She wraps her arms around my neck and drags me down onto her. My cock, already hard, presses against her thigh as we make out.
“Keep this up,” I say in between breaths, “and I’ll make sure you never leave this bed.”
Charleigh laughs, letting her head fall against the pillow, her hair fanning out around her head. I could look at her for hours. Her eyes. Her lips. Her smile. The freckles that spread across the bridge of her nose like dappled paint.
“That’s the plan,” she says, a mischievous smile spreading across her lips.
I kiss her smile and pull my face back just enough to see it reach her eyes before kissing her again, deeply this time. After a few moments, I draw back from her slowly enough that I feel slight resistance before our lips finally part.
“We’ll starve,” I whisper into her lips.
Charleigh presses her teeth against her bottom lip. “Delivery.”
I lower my head, kissing her in a meandering line from her collarbone to the soft skin next to her ear. “I don’t think they’ll deliver to a bedroom.”
“Maybe a couple of Washingtons would change their mind.”
I pull back and watch as she rubs her thumb against her middle and forefinger as though she’s doling out some cash, and I laugh. “Washingtons? Not even a Lincoln or Hamilton?”
She shakes her head. “Nope. It’s more than generous if you ask me.” A few seconds later, her stomach grumbles. “Speaking of food… I could really go for some—”
“Pancakes?” I interject.
She looks at me like I’m some sort of wizard.