Текст книги "After We Fell"

Автор книги: Anna Todd

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Текущая страница: 26 (всего у книги 49 страниц)

chapter

seventy-seven

TESSA

By the time my plate is clear, I’m practically twitching in my seat. The moment we ordered our meals I realized that I left my phone in my car, and it’s driving me more insane than it should. No one really calls me much. However, I can’t help but think that maybe Hardin has, or at least sent me a text message. I’m trying my best to listen to Trevor while he talks about an article in the Times he read, trying not to think of Hardin and the possibility that he may have called, but I can’t help it. I’m distracted during the entire dinner and am positive that Trevor notices; he’s just too kind to call me out on it.

“Don’t you agree?” Trevor’s voice pulls me from my thoughts.

I scramble through the last few seconds of conversation, trying to remember what he could be talking about. The article was about health care . . . I think.

“Yeah, I do,” I lie. I have no clue if I agree or not, but I do wish the server would hurry and bring our check.

As if on cue, the young man places a small booklet on our table, and Trevor hastily pulls out his wallet.

“I can . . .” I begin.

But he slides several bills inside, and the server disappears back into the restaurant kitchen. “It’s on me.”

I quietly thank him and glance at the large stone clock hanging just above the door. It’s past seven; we’ve been in the restaurant for over an hour. I let out a breath of relief when Trevor says, “Well,” claps his hands, and stands.

On the way back to his place, we pass a small coffee shop, and Trevor raises his brow, a silent invitation.

“Maybe another night this week?” I offer with a smile.

“Sounds like a plan.” The corner of his mouth rises into his famous half smile, and we continue the trek to his building.

With a quick goodbye and a friendly hug, I climb into my car and immediately reach for my phone. I’m frazzled with anxiety and desperation, but I shove those feelings back into the darkness. Nine missed calls, every single one from Hardin.

I call him back immediately, only to get his voicemail. The drive from Trevor’s apartment to Kimberly’s house is long and tedious. The traffic in Seattle is terrible, bumper-to-bumper and noisy. Honking horns, small cars whipping from lane to lane—it’s pretty overwhelming, and by the time I pull into the driveway, I have a massive headache.

When I step through the front door, I see Kimberly seated on the white leather couch, a glass of wine in her hand. “How was your day?” she asks and leans over to place her drink onto the glass table in front of her.

“Good. But the traffic in this city is unreal,” I groan and plop down on the crimson chair next to the window. “My head is killing me.”

“Yeah, it is. Have some wine for your headache.” She stands up and walks across the living room.

Before I can protest, she pours the bubbling white wine into a long-stemmed glass and brings it to me. Taking a little sip, I find it’s cool and crisp, sweet on my tongue.

“Thank you,” I say with a smile and take bigger sip.

“So . . . you were with Trevor, right?” Kimberly is so nosy . . . in the sweetest way.

“Yes, we had a friendly dinner. As friends,” I say innocently.

“Maybe you could try answering again and use the word ‘friend’ a few more times,” she teases, and I can’t help but laugh.

“I’m just trying to make it clear that we’re only . . . uh . . . friends.”

Her brown eyes shine with curiosity. “Does Hardin know you were being friends with Trevor?”

“No, but I plan on telling him as soon as I speak to him. He doesn’t care for Trevor, for some reason.”

She nods. “I can’t blame him. Trevor could be a model, if he wasn’t so shy. Have you seen those blue eyes of his?” She exaggerates her words by fanning her face with her free hand, and we both giggle like schoolgirls.

“Don’t you mean green eyes, love?” Christian says as he suddenly appears in the foyer, causing me to nearly drop my glass of wine onto the hardwood floor.

Kim smiles at him. “Of course I do.”

But he just shakes his head and gives us both a sly smile. “I suppose I could be a model as well,” he comments with a wink. For my part, I’m relieved that he isn’t upset. Hardin would have flipped the table over if he caught me speaking about Trevor the way Kimberly was.

Christian sits down on the couch next to Kimberly, and she climbs into his lap. “And how’s Hardin doing? You’ve spoken to him, I assume?” he asks.

I look away. “Yes, a little. He’s good.”

“Stubborn, he is. I’m still offended that he hasn’t taken me up on my offer, given his situation.”

Christian smiles into Kim’s neck and kisses her softly just beneath her ear. These two clearly have no issue with public displays of affection. I try to look away again, but I can’t.

Wait . . .

“What offer?” I ask, my surprise obvious.

“Why, the job I offered him—I told you about it, didn’t I? I wish he’d come out here. I mean, he only has, what, one semester left, and he’ll be graduating early, no?”

What?Why didn’t I know about this? This is the first I’ve heard about Hardin graduating early. But I respond, “Erm, yeah . . . I believe so.”

Christian wraps his arms around Kimberly and rocks her a little. “He’s practically a genius, that boy. If he had applied himself a little more, his GPA would be a perfect four.”

“He really is very smart . . .” I agree. And it’s true. Hardin’s mind never ceases to surprise and intrigue me. It’s one of the things that I love most about him.

“Quite the writer, too,” he says and steals a sip of Kimberly’s wine. “I don’t know why he decided to stop. I was looking forward to reading more of his work.” Christian sighs while Kimberly undoes the silver tie around his neck.

I’m overwhelmed by this information. Hardin . . . writing? I remember him briefly mentioning that he used to dabble a little in it during his freshman year of college, but he never went into detail. Every time I brought it up in conversation, he’d change the subject or pooh-pooh the idea, giving me the impression that it wasn’t very important to him.

“Yeah.” I finish off my wine and stand, pointing to the bottle. “May I?”

Kimberly nods. “Of course, have as much as you please. We have an entire cellarful,” she says with a sweet smile.

Three glasses of white wine later, my headache has evaporated and my curiosity has grown geometrically. I wait for Christian to bring up Hardin’s writing or the job offer again, but he doesn’t. He dives into a full-blown business discussion about how he has been in talks with a media group to expand Vance Publishing’s in-house film and television efforts. As interesting as it is, I want to get to my room and try to call Hardin again. When an appropriate opening presents itself, I wish them a both a good night and excuse myself to rush off to my temporary bedroom.

“Take the bottle with you!” Kimberly calls to me just as I pass the table where the half-full wine bottle rests.

I nod, thanking her, and do just that.

chapter

seventy-eight

HARDIN

I walk into the apartment, my legs still sore from kicking the hell out of that bag at the gym. Grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, I try to ignore the sleeping man on my couch. It’s for her, I remind myself. All for her. I gulp down half of the bottle, dig my phone out of my gym bag, and turn on the power. Just as I try to call her, her name pops up on my screen.

“Hello?” I answer as I pull my sweat-soaked T-shirt over my head and toss it to the floor.

“Hi” is all she says.

Her response is short. Too short. I want to talk to her. I need her to want to talk to me.

I kick at my shirt, then pick it up, knowing that if she could see me, she’d scowl at me for being such a slob. “What are you up to?”

“I went out exploring the city,” she answers calmly. “I tried to call you back, but it went to your voicemail.” The sound of her voice soothes my temper.

“I went back to that gym.” I lie back on the bed, wishing she were here with me, her head on my chest, instead of in Seattle.

“You did? That’s great!” she says, then adds, “I’m taking my shoes off.”

“Okay . . .”

She giggles. “I don’t know why I told you that.”

“Are you drunk?” I sit up, using one elbow to hold my weight.

“I’ve had some wine,” she admits. I should have caught that immediately.

“With who?”

“Kimberly, and Mr. Vance . . . Christian, I mean.”

“Oh.” I don’t know how I feel about her going out drinking in a foreign city, but I know it’s not the time to bring that up.

“He says you’re an amazing writer,” she says, accusation clear in her voice. Fuck.

“Why would he say that?” I reply. My heart pounds.

“I don’t know. Why won’t you write anymore?” Her voice is full of wine and curiosity.

“I don’t know. But I don’t want to talk about me. I want to talk about you and Seattle and why you’ve been avoiding me.”

“Well, he also said you’re graduating next semester,” she says, ignoring my words.

Christian obviously has no idea how to mind his own damned business. “Yeah, so?”

“I didn’t know that,” Tessa says. I hear her shuffling around, and she groans, clearly irritated.

“I wasn’t hiding it from you, it just didn’t come up. You have a long time before you graduate, so it doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not like I was going to go anywhere.”

“Hang on,” she says into the phone. What the hell is she doing? How much wine has she drunk?

After listening to her mumble incomprehensibly and futz around, I finally ask, “What are you doing?”

“What? Oh, my hair was caught in my shirt buttons. Sorry, I was listening, I promise.”

“Why were you grilling your boss about me, anyway?”

“He brought you up. You know, since he offered you a job a couple of times and you refused, you were a topic,” she says with emphasis.

“Old news.” I don’t exactly remember mentioning the offer, but I wasn’t purposely keeping it from her. “My intentions concerning Seattle have always been clear.”

“You can say that again,” she says, and I can practically see her rolling her eyes . . . again.

I change the subject. “You didn’t answer when I called you. I called so many times.”

“I know, I left my phone in the car at Trevor’s . . .” She stops midsentence.

I stand from the bed and pace across the room. I fucking knew it.

“He was only showing me around as friends, that’s it.” She’s quick to defend herself.

“You didn’t answer my calls because you were with fucking Trevor?” I growl, my pulse quickening with each beat of the silence that meets my question.

Then she snaps: “Don’t you fight with me over Trevor, he’s only a friend, and you’re the one who isn’t here. You don’t choose my friends, do you understand?”

“Tessa . . .” I warn.

“Hardin Allen Scott!” she exclaims, and bursts into laughter.

“Why are you laughing?” I ask, but I can’t help the smile that takes over my face. Fuck, I’m pathetic.

“I . . . don’t know!”

The sound of her laughter resonates through my ears and travels straight down to my heart, warming my chest.

“You should put the wine down,” I tease, wishing I could see her roll her eyes in response to my scolding her.

“Make me,” she challenges, her voice thick and playful.

“If I was there, I would—you can be damned sure of that.”

“What else would you do if you were here?” she asks me.

I drop back onto my bed. Is she taking this where I think she is? I never know with her, especially when she’s been drinking.

“Theresa Lynn Young—are you trying to have phone sex with me?” I taunt her.

Immediately she coughs violently—choking on a gulp of wine, I assume. “What! No! I . . . I was just asking!” she squeals.

“Sure, you can deny it now,” I joke, laughing at her horrified tone.

“Unless . . . is that something you want to do?” she whispers.

“You’re serious?” The thought alone makes my cock twitch.

“Maybe . . . I don’t know. Are you mad about Trevor?” The tone of her voice is much more intoxicating to me than any amount of wine I could consume.

Hell yes I’m irritated that she was with him, but that’s not what I want to discuss right now. I hear her gulp loudly, followed by the soft clink of a glass. “I don’t give a shit about fucking Trevor right now,” I lie. Then I command, “Don’t chug the wine.” I know her too well. “You’ll get sick.”

I hear a couple of loud gulps come through the phone. “You can’t boss me around long distance.” She’s chugging the wine again, to build up her nerve, I’m sure.

“I can boss you around from any distance, baby.” I grin, running my fingers over my lips.

“Can I tell you something?” she asks quietly.

“Please do.”

“I was thinking about you today, and when you came to my office that first time . . .”

“You were thinking about me fucking you when you were with him?” I ask her, praying she says yes.

“At the time, I was waiting for him.”

“Tell me more about it, tell me what you were thinking,” I press.

This is so fucking confusing. Every time I’m talking to her I feel as if we aren’t “taking a break,” that everything is the same as it’s always been. The only difference at the moment is that I can’t physically see her, or touch her. Fuck, I want to touch her, run my tongue across her smooth skin . . .

“I was thinking about how . . .” she starts, but then takes another drink.

“Don’t be embarrassed.” I coax her to continue.

“That I liked it, and it made me want to do it again.”

“With who?” I ask, just to hear her say it.

“You, only you.”

“Good,” I say with a smooth grin. “You’re still mine, even though you’re making me give you space; you’re still only for me—you know that, don’t you?” I ask her in the most gentle way I possibly can.

“I know,” she says. My chest swells, and I welcome the flood of relief that comes along with her words. “Are you mine?” she asks in a voice filled with much more confidence than it had moments ago.

“Yes, always.”

I don’t have a choice. I haven’t since the day I met you, I want to add, but I stay quiet, nervously awaiting her response.

“Good,” Tessa says with authority. “Now, tell me what you would do if you were here, and don’t leave out any details.”

chapter

seventy-nine

TESSA

My thoughts are slightly hazy, and my head feels full and heavy, but in the best way. I’m grinning from ear to ear, intoxicated from the wine and Hardin’s thick voice. I love this playful side of Hardin, and if he wants to play, I’ll play.

“Oh no,” he says with that cool tone of his. “You tell me what you’d want me to do first.”

I take a pull straight from the bottle. “I already did,” I say.

“Chug some more wine; you only seem to tell me what you want when you’ve been drinking.”

“Fine.” I run my index finger along the cool wooden bed frame. “I want you to bend me over this bed here . . . and take me the way you did on that desk.” Instead of embarrassment, I only feel the warm flush of heat trailing up my neck to my cheeks.

Hardin curses under his breath; I know that he didn’t actually expect me to answer more graphically. “Then?” he asks quietly.

“Well . . .” I start, pausing to take another long swig to gain confidence. Hardin and I have never done this before. He’s sent me a few racy text messages, but this . . . this is different.

“Just say it, don’t be shy now.”

“You would hold me by the hips, the way you always do, and I’d cling to the sheets to try and keep myself stable. Your fingers would dig into me, leaving marks in their wake . . .” I clench my thighs together when I hear his breathing hitch through the line.

“Touch yourself,” he says, and I quickly look around the room, momentarily forgetting that no one can hear our private conversation.

“What? No,” I harshly whisper, cupping the phone.

“Yes.”

“I’m not doing that . . . here. They’ll hear me.” If I were talking to anyone other than Hardin in this way, I’d be completely horrified, wine or not.

“No, they won’t. Do it. You want to, I can tell.”

How can he?

Do I want to?

“Just lie back on the bed, close your eyes, spread your legs, and I’ll tell you what to do,” he says smoothly. As silken as his words are, they come through as a full-on command.

“But I—”

“Do it.” The authority in his voice makes me squirm while my mind and my hormones battle it out. I can’t deny that the idea of Hardin coaxing me through this over the phone, naming the dirty things he would do to me, raises the temperature of the room at least ten degrees.

“Okay, now that you’ve submitted,” he begins without my actually having said anything, “tell me when you are down to only your panties.”

Oh . . . But I quietly pad over to the door and turn the lock between my fingers. Kimberly and Christian’s room, as well as Smith’s, is on the upper level of the house, but as far as I know, they could still be on the first floor with me. I listen closely for movement, and when I hear a door shut above me, I feel better.

I hurry and grab the wine bottle, finishing it off. The heat inside of me has turned from a small flicker to a blazing inferno, and I try not to overthink the fact that I’m stepping out of my pants and climbing onto the bed, wearing only a thin cotton shirt and panties.

“Still with me?” Hardin asks, an evil smirk surely on his face.

“Yes, I’m . . . I’m preparing.” I can’t believe I’m really doing this.

“Stop overthinking it. You’ll thank me after.”

“Stop knowing everything that I’m thinking,” I tease, hoping that he’s right.

“You remember what I showed you, right?”

I nod, forgetting that he can’t see me.

“I’ll take nervous silence as a yes. Good. So, just press your fingers where you did last time . . .”

chapter

eighty

HARDIN

I hear Tessa gasp, and I know she’s followed my instructions. I can picture it perfectly, her lying on the bed, legs spread open. Holy fuck.

“God, I wish I was there right now, to watch you,” I groan, trying to ignore the blood rushing straight to my dick.

“You like that, don’t you—to watch me?” she gasps through the line.

“Yeah, fuck yeah, I do. And you like to be watched, I can tell.”

“I do, just like the way you like it when I pull your hair.”

Reflexively, my hand goes between my legs. Images of her writhing underneath my tongue, her fingers tugging my hair as she moans my name, fill my mind, and I press my palm against myself. Only Tessa can make me this hard this quickly.

Her moans are quiet, too quiet. She needs more encouragement.

“Faster, Tess, move your fingers in a circle, faster. Imagine I’m there, it’s me, and my fingers are circling you, making you feel so fucking good, making you come,” I say, keeping my voice down in case my annoying houseguest happens to be in the hall.

“Oh my,” she pants and moans again.

“My tongue, too, baby, swirling against your skin, my sinful lips pressed against you, sucking, biting, teasing.” I slide my gym shorts down and begin to stroke myself gently. I close my eyes and focus on her soft pants, pleas, and moans.

“Do what I’m doing—touch yourself,” she whispers, and I’m gifted with the image of her back arching off the mattress as she pleasures herself.

“Already am,” I mutter, and she whimpers. Fuck, I want to see her.

“Talk to me, again,” Tessa begs. I fucking love the way her innocence disappears in these moments . . . she always loves to hear such filthy things.

“I want to fuck you. No—I want to lay you back on the bed, and make love to you, hard and fast, so powerfully that you’re screaming my name as I thrust deeper and deeper—”

“I’m . . .” she moans low in her throat. And her breath catches.

“Come on, baby, let go. I want to hear you.” I stop speaking when I hear her come, soft whimpers and whines as she bites into the pillow, or the mattress. I have no fucking clue, but the image sends me over the edge, and I spill into my boxers with a strangled groan of her name.

Our matched breathing is the only sound on the line for seconds or minutes, I can’t keep track.

“That was . . .” she begins, panting and out of breath.

I open my eyes and rest my elbows on the desk in front of me. My chest moves up and down as I try to catch my own breath. “Yeah.”

“I need a moment.” She giggles. A slow smile tugs at the corners of my mouth, and then she adds, “And here I thought we had done close to everything.”

“Oh, there are plenty of other things I want to do to you. However, alas, we have to be in the same city to do them.”

“Come here, then,” she says quickly.

I put the phone on speaker and examine my hand, front and back. “You said you didn’t want me there. We need space, remember?”

“I know,” she says a little sadly. “We do need space . . . and this seems to be working for us. Don’t you think?”

“No,” I lie. But I know she’s right: I’ve been trying to be better for her, and I’m afraid that if she’s quick to forgive me again, I’ll slip and lose the motivation. If we . . . when we find our way back to each other, I want it to be different, for her. I want it to be permanent so I can show her that the pattern—the “endless cycle,” as she calls it—will end.

“I do miss you, so much,” she says. I know she loves me, but each time I’m given a sliver of reassurance, it’s like a weight’s been lifted from my chest.

“I miss you, too.” More than anything.

“Don’t say ‘too.’ It sounds like you’re just agreeing with me,” she says sarcastically, and my small smile grows, overtaking my entire being.

“You can’t use my ideas; way to be original,” I playfully scold her and she laughs.

“Can, too,” she childishly fires back. If she were here, I’d be greeted with her tongue sticking out at me in mock defiance.

“God, you’re feisty tonight.” I roll off the bed; I need a shower.

“That I am.”

“And incredibly daring. Who knew I could convince you to get yourself off over the phone?” I chuckle and walk into the hallway.

“Hardin!” she squeals in horror, like I knew she would. “And by the way, you should know by now that you can get me to do just about anything.”

“If only that were true . . .” I murmur. If it was, she would be here now.

In the hallway, the floor is cold on my bare feet, and I wince. But when I hear a voice start to speak, I drop my phone to the ground.

“Sorry, man,” Richard says close to me. “It was getting a little warm in here earlier, so I—”

He stops when he sees me scramble to pick up my phone, but it’s too late.

“Who was that?” I hear Tessa exclaim through the speaker on my phone. The drowsy, relaxed girl she’d been so recently is gone, and she’s on high alert. “Hardin, who was that?” she asks more forcefully.

Fuck. I mouth a quick “way to fucking go” to her father and grab the phone, removing it from speaker and hurrying to the bathroom. “It’s—” I begin.

“Was that my father?”

I want to lie to her, but that would be fucking stupid, and I’m trying not to be so damn stupid anymore. “Yeah, it was,” I say, and wait for her to scream into the receiver.

“Why is he there?” she questions.

“I . . . well . . .”

“Are you letting him stay with you?” She releases me from the panic of having to find the right words to say in order to explain this fucked-up situation.

“Something like that.”

“I’m confused.”

“So am I,” I admit.

“For how long? And why didn’t you tell me?”

“I’m sorry . . . it’s only been like two days.”

The next thing I hear is the sound of water running in a tub, so she must be feeling okay to start that up. But still she asks, “Why did he come there in the first place?”

I can’t bring myself to tell her the whole truth, not right now. “He doesn’t have anywhere else to go, I guess.” I start the shower myself as she sighs.

“Okay . . .”

“Are you mad?” I ask.

“No, I’m not mad. I’m confused . . .” she says, her voice full of wonder. “I can’t believe you’re actually allowing him to stay at your apartment.”

“Neither can I.”

The small bathroom fills with a thick cloud of steam, and I wipe the mirror with my palm. I look like a fucking ghost, a shell, really. Under my eyes, dark rings have already appeared from my lack of sleep. The only thing that gives me life is Tess’s voice coming through the line.

“It means a lot to me, Hardin,” she finally says.

“It does?” This is going much, much better than I expected.

“Yes, of course it does.”

I feel giddy all of the sudden, like a puppy that’s been rewarded with a treat from its owner . . . and surprisingly, I’m perfectly fucking okay with that.

“Good.” I don’t know what else to say to her. I feel slightly guilty for not telling her about her father’s . . . habits, but this isn’t the time, and over the phone isn’t the way.

“Wait . . . so my father was there when you were . . . you know?” she whispers, and a small roar sounds on the other line. She must have turned on the fan in the bathroom to drown out her voice.

“Well, he wasn’t in the room; I’m not into that type of thing,” I tease, to lighten the mood, and she responds with a giggle.

“You probably are,” she jokes.

“Nope, that’s one of the very few things I’m not into, believe it or not,” I say with a smile. “I will never share you, baby. Not even with your father.”

I can’t help but laugh as she makes a sound of disgust.

“You’re sick!”

“Sure am,” I fire back, and she giggles. The wine has made her adventurous and heightened her sense of humor. Me? Well, I have no damn excuse for this ridiculous grin on my face.

“I need to take a shower; I’m standing here with come all over me.” I step put of my boxers.

“Me, too,” she says. “Not the part about being covered with . . . you know, but I’m pretty messy and in need of a shower, too.”

“Okay . . . so I guess we should get off . . .”

“We did already.” She laughs, proud of her terrible attempt at a joke.

“Ha ha,” I tease. But then I rush out my “Have a good night, Tessa.”

“You, too,” she says, lingering on the line, and I end the call before she can.

Hot water cascades down my body. I still haven’t fully recovered from her touching herself while we were on the phone. It’s not only a huge fucking turn-on; it’s . . . more than that. It shows that she still trusts me, she still trusts me enough to expose herself to me. Lost in my thoughts, I push the hard bar of soap across my tattooed skin. It’s hard to imagine that only two weeks ago, we stood in this shower together . . .

“I think this one is my favorite.” She touched a tattoo and peered up at me through wet lashes.

“Why is that? I hate that one.” I glanced down at her small fingers trailing over the large flower etched near my elbow.

“I don’t know; it’s sort of beautiful the way you have a flower surrounded by all of this darkness.” Her finger moved over the haunting design of a withered skull just below.

“I never thought of it that way.” I pressed my thumb under her chin to bring her eyes to mine. “You always see the light in me . . . How is that possible when there isn’t any?”

“There’s plenty. And you’ll see it, too. Someday.” She smiled and stood on her toes to press her lips against the corner of my mouth. Water rushed between our lips, and she smiled again before pulling away.

“I hope you’re right,” I whispered into the stream of water, so quietly that she didn’t hear me.

The memory haunts me, replaying as I try to wash it away. It’s not that I don’t want to remember her, because I do. Tessa is my every thought—she always is. It’s only the memories and times when she gave me too much praise, when she tried to convince me that I’m better than I really am, that drive me mad.

I wish I could see myself the way she sees me. I wish I could believe her when she says that I’m good for her. But how can that be true when I’m so fucked up?

It means a lot to me, Hardin, she said only minutes ago.

Maybe if I keep doing what I’m doing now and stay away from shit that could get me in trouble, I can continue to do things that mean a lot to her. I can make her happy instead of miserable, and maybe, just maybe, I could see some of the light in myself that she claims to see.

Maybe there is hope for us after all.