Текст книги "The Singles"
Автор книги: Emily Snow
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Текущая страница: 21 (всего у книги 45 страниц)
I curl up in my bed and grab my iPod and earbuds from under my pillow. Out of habit, I let the sounds of Chevelle and HIM rock me to sleep.
Chapter Four
“So, how do you and Heidi know each other?” Finn asks me after he takes a swig of his drink-of-choice for the evening, Bud Light.
We’ve been out barhopping for at least an hour, and this is the first thing he’s actually said to me all night. All he’s talked about is the gym, and although Heidi claims he’s from Florida, I expect him to bring up tanning and laundry at any moment.
“You two work together?” he continues before I can answer his first question.
Across the table, Heidi’s cornflower blue eyes widen slightly. She gives a slight jerk of her head that Shiner Bock and his friend, James, don’t seem to notice.
I down a sip of my drink before asking him, “Hmm?”
Shiner Bock curls his arm around Heidi’s bare shoulders and shifts a lock of her wavy brown hair through his fingers. “Customer service rep, right?”
So, that’s what Heidi’s calling phone sex now. Smoothing my own hair back, I shake my head, and Heidi’s nervous smile—the one that, paired with her bright red lipstick and the lighting in the bar, makes her look like a hot version of The Joker—stretches across her face. “No, I’m my older brother’s personal assistant.”
Heidi instantly relaxes and bobs her head up and down in agreement. If she felt the need to lie about what she does for a living—and she’s damn proud about her voice-banging gig—then things must have gone much better with Shiner Bock than she let on this morning.
“You like it?” he asks.
I squint down at my drink. “Best job in the world.” Besides the fact that I’m almost always with the band. That’s one of the reasons Wyatt and I have never been able to move forward properly. I know what goes on behind the scenes. There’s always been too much temptation, and after Brenna, too much doubt on my end about what’s happening when I’m not around. And then, there’s the fact that I’ve had to watch Sin’s fast, tumultuous downfall over the last few years.
Yes, I love my job, and I love Your Toxic Sequel, but sometimes it’s too much, even for me.
A hand brushes up against my thigh. I flinch and turn my head a fraction to James, who’s smiling back at me. He’s good-looking enough. He has a dark tan, like Shiner Bock, with auburn hair and sea green eyes. Unlike Shiner Bock, he’s taller, standing at least a half a foot over my five-four stature. And he’s got a bad case of the feels. This is the fourth time in the last hour when James’s fingers have made contact with my body, which includes two “accidental” boob pokes and one bold-as-hell ass grope.
“You okay, Kyla?” he asks.
“I’m good.” I ignore the fact that he doesn’t know a little detail like my name.
His hand inches down toward my knee, causing me to let out a little breath of relief. “I was just asking what your brother does.”
“He’s in a band,” Heidi and I say at practically the same time. After running my tongue down over the center of my upper lip, I continue, “My brother is in a band, and I travel around with them.” Lifting my beer to my mouth, I drink a quarter of the contents in one gulp.
James’s eyes narrow skeptically. “Anyone worth listening to? Or one of those small town things?”
The derision in his voice snaps my head up. Setting my drink down on the table a little too hard, I give him a withering glare.
“Actually, I’ve found that some of my favorite bands are the ones who are small town things.” Douche bag. I’m already on edge because Wyatt hasn’t texted me, and Lucas brushed me off earlier this afternoon when I called to ask him about Sinjin, so I inhale and exhale a couple of times before I speak. “But, yeah, I think Lucas’s band is worth listening to. My brother fronts Your Toxic Sequel.”
Beneath the muted lights hanging overhead, James flushes—three different shades of red, in fact. When he moves his hand away from my knee, I scoot my chair as far away from him as the limited amount of space will allow. Across the table, Heidi glances down at her napkin, and Shiner Bock chokes on his drink and then pounds on his chest a few times.
“You’re kidding, right?” James asks.
As I move my head from side to side, he gives Heidi and his friend a look before turning his eyes back to me.
Heidi clears her throat. “She’s not.”
Because James and Shiner Bock more than likely think I’m the biggest bitch who ever existed, the next twenty minutes of conversation is a strained and incredibly awkward tribute to my brother’s band. Finally, James wanders off because he swears he sees one of their other friends.
Heidi shoots me a sympathetic look and mouths, Sorry. I respond by giving her an apologetic smile. It’s not her fault that I’m in a bad mood. The last thing I want to do is ruin her final evening in New Orleans by being a buzzkill.
When I push my chair back, she bites the corner of her bottom lip, frowning, as she starts to get up too, but I shake my head. “I’ve got to take care of a few things in the room, but I’ll be back.” Of course, I have no intention of returning, and I’m sure she already realizes that.
“Text me if you need me, okay?” she says, which actually means, Come drink with us if Wyatt lets you down again.
“I will.” I force a smile as I pluck my thin skull-print jacket off the back of the chair and slide it on over my black lace halter top. “Nice to meet you, Shi...Finn. Tell James I had fun.” Wherever the hell he is.
As I leave the building, I’m able to tell James good-bye myself. He’s at the bar, leaning over a shot glass and making conversation with a skinny girl who has purple-and-green spray-in color blended into her blonde hair. My eyes connect with his, and he smiles sheepishly. I raise my hand to wave, and he lifts up his chin in return.
“Better you grope her ass than mine,” I grumble.
Stepping out onto Canal Street in the French Quarter to walk back to my hotel, I pull my jacket tightly around me. It’s unusually cold tonight, and I wish I would have brought along my coat instead. I walk faster as I dodge the crowd, hoping that I’ll warm myself quickly.
Though I really want to, I fight the urge to stop and check my phone to see if Wyatt called. I know he hasn’t, and looking at a screen that shows nothing but the background image of me with Cal and Sinjin making duck faces and holding up metal horns in a bathroom will just turn me into a frustrated pile of whiny-ass. Plus, it’s cold as hell, and I want to get back to my hotel room sooner rather than later.
My head is down, and I’m contemplating a long bath as I dip into the front entrance of The Veranda ten minutes later. I’m not aware that someone has been calling my name until that person grabs my wrist as I skulk through the middle of the lobby.
“You’re fucking deaf, Wolfe,” a male voice says from behind me.
I spin around so fast that my pumps make a squeaking noise on the glossy floor. I pause for a moment, taking in Cal’s lanky but toned body and disheveled shoulder-length jet-black hair, before I launch myself into his arms. He’s initially surprised, but then he wraps me up in his arms as I bury my face into the front of his shirt.
“You do realize that I could’ve maced you, right?” I demand. “What the hell are you doing here?”
He pulls away from me, smirking, his dark eyes amused. “Flew in, so I can head out with McCrae tomorrow morning.”
Somehow, sleep and making sure my brother made it to Atlanta in one piece completely shoved that little detail out of my head. Wyatt and Cal are going on the road together...to play bar shows. “I’m sure that’ll be fun.”
Cal winks at me. “Fuck yeah, it will. Shitty food and grimy hotel rooms.” We both know that he and Wyatt are more than capable of paying for any hotel they want while they’re on the road, so it’s my turn to look skeptical. “And before I forget and you blast me, sorry about the Foursquare thing.”
“Yeah, about that...” I pull away from him and nod my head toward the elevators. He follows alongside me. “I’d actually forgotten, but thanks for reminding me that I need to kick your ass.”
“I had to tell him, Kylie. He loves—”
“Don’t,” I say, my voice suddenly deep and all sorts of screwed up. “Please don’t, okay?” I don’t need Cal telling me how much Wyatt loves me because it will only be an assumption.
Wyatt has not once actually said the words to me himself. The closest he’s ever come was almost four years ago after our millionth break from each other. We lasted approximately five weeks without having any contact. Finally, he showed up at my parents’ house in Atlanta while we were celebrating Lucas’s twenty-fifth birthday. Wyatt and I sat outside, alone together, on the front porch swing with a foot of space between us.
“I fucked up, huh?” he asks me, referring to the cause of our latest fallout.
This time, he confronted me again about cutting, something I haven’t done in years, and it wouldn’t have been so bad if he gave me a chance to speak during his rant. But he simply went on and on, reminding me of my ex, until the only thing I wanted was to get away from him and the pressure. So, rather than try to defend myself, I did just that.
I ran like a coward.
I ran like I would never have to face him again.
I take a deep breath, focusing my gaze on the bright orange and yellow tulips in my mom’s garden. “Yeah, you did. You screwed up, and I want to hate you for it, but I can’t.” I tremble violently while I sink my nails into my palms, hoping to control myself enough to finish speaking to him. “Just because I wear long sleeves or refuse to show you my wrists doesn’t mean I’m cutting, Wyatt. Because I’m not. I’m not saying that I don’t have moments when I feel like the world is crashing down on me, that I’m nothing but—”
As the words catch painfully in the back of my throat, he reaches out, raveling his long fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck.
“You’re everything. At least to me. You always have been, and that’s why I said what I did. I never want you to hurt, you got me, Kylie?”
His blue eyes are hard and honest, stripping me down to my soul, and I nod. He dips his gaze down to my shoulder, and since I know what’s coming next, I answer before he has a chance to ask.
“Twelve.” But I don’t tell him that the newest one is there because of me. I let myself down by being a coward and refusing to face him.
“Fuck,” he says between clenched teeth. “I’m sorry, Ky. I’m so goddamn sorry.”
“I’m sorry Kylie.” Cal’s voice reaches into the vivid memory, dragging me away from it. “I hate to see you hurting,” he adds.
I nod stiffly. “It’s fine.”
Cal stops with me at the elevator door. He doesn’t come inside, but he gives my hand a tiny pump as I shuffle in. “I’m going to grab something to eat before the fucker comes back with the rental car. You coming?”
So, that’s where Wyatt went instead of keeping his word to me—to pick up a rental car, so he can go play a few shows with a band he doesn’t even know. God, I know I shouldn’t be bothered over learning that, but I am. I can’t help it. Stepping aside so that an over-glitzed woman on wobbly heels can come into the elevator, I shake my head, my movements stiff. “I’ve got to do laundry before Heidi and I pack up to go back to L.A., tomorrow night.”
Cal snorts. “You’re officially the lamest person I know.”
As the doors close, I flip him off. Laughing, he shakes his head and returns the gesture.
“Should’ve gone with him,” Glitzy says. She’s balancing herself in the corner, squeezing her knees together like she has to pee. Releasing a massive hiccup, she adds, “He was hot and looks like that guitarist from that one band.” She bites her lip and scrunches her face, seemingly trying to remember the name of the band.
Thankfully, the elevator shudders to a stop on the second floor before she can venture a guess.
“Thanks for the advice,” I say as I speed walk off into the hallway.
My room is an inferno when I step inside. My plan to sink myself into a scalding bath flies out the window, so I throw my license and credit cards inside the nightstand drawer and grab my iPod from its spot under my pillow. I drop my change purse inside my laundry bag and leave the room, and this time, I take the stairs to the dungeon-like basement where the laundry room is located.
I’m the only person in the laundry room, and it’s probably because everyone else in this city had the good sense to go out tonight. I slide in my earbuds, turn on a random playlist, and since I have access to all the machines, I sort my clothes into three piles—whites, darks, and my delicates—instead of the two loads I planned on.
While the washer runs, I wait patiently without looking at my phone, but as I load the dryers, I can’t help but finally check. Still nothing from Wyatt or Lucas. I have too much pride to contact Wyatt, so my brother is the lucky recipient of my text message.
12:43 a.m.: Call me about Sin tomorrow, okay? Love you, Lucas.
Since it’s 1:43 in Atlanta right now, I don’t expect him to reply. I lay my phone facedown on one of the machines and crank the volume on my iPod even higher. As I insert quarters into the gleaming white Whirlpool dryers, I can’t resist singing along to Weezer. “...my love is a life taker.”
The next line of “Say It Ain’t So” is cut off because I notice a new scent in the small laundry room. It’s clean and masculine, and as I breathe it in, the only image that comes to mind is the top of Wyatt’s head visible between my legs.
“I didn’t Foursquare where I was this time,” I say softly.
When Wyatt presses his tall body up against my backside, my muscles weaken. He gently removes my earbuds, and his lip ring teases my skin as he growls into my ear, “I’ve never seen someone’s hips move like that to that song.” He’s always disliked that song because the lyrics are about addiction and heartbreak, and they hit a little too close to home, reminding him of his parents. He doesn’t mention this though as he places my iPod beside my phone. He brushes his fingertips down my chest, skimming over my breasts, until they finally stop at the closure on my jeans. “And no, you didn’t have to Foursquare yourself this time.”
No, I guess not when we have a mutual friend who’s bound and determined to see us together. Cal and I are going to have a serious heart-to-heart about his inability to keep his mouth shut.
“Did you get your car?” I breathe, turning to face him.
He nods and returns his hands to the button on my pants. I step backward, and he follows until I bump into the dryer.
“And I’ve got a pocket full of...”
His voice trails off as I run my palms over his back pockets, and foil crunches in the left one.
“I thought you forgot about me,” I admit.
He crushes my body to his and shakes his head. “Never, Kylie.”
I reach up and touch the sides of his face, threading my fingers into his wheat-colored hair.
“And besides, I called and messaged you many, many times.”
My lips quirk up skeptically. I ease away from him and flip over my phone to see if I have any missed calls. There are none from Wyatt. “Did you dial the wrong number?”
“Unless the wrong number has your voice on the answering machine, beautiful.” He plucks his phone from his back pocket and scrolls through a list of names. When he reaches mine, he recites the number. “That’s right, isn’t it?”
“That’s my home number, babe. I use it, like, once a year.” I pull his phone from his grip and examine the entry he’s made for me. A soft, almost nervous laugh bubbles from the back of my throat as I realize he has my numbers saved backwards—my cell phone is listed as my home number and vice versa. As I correct both numbers, letting him know about the mix-up in the process, the irritation I’ve felt the majority of the night drifts away.
Wyatt kept his word, and he came down here to find me.
He sought me out for our last night together.
Realizing this sends both pleasure and pain throbbing through my chest. My body threatens to crumble, but I hold on to the dryer behind me for support.
“I can be upstairs in fifteen minutes, and then we can...” I stop speaking for a moment, my eyebrows pulling together, as he leans far over to lock the laundry room door. “What are you doing?”
I gasp when he jerks me to him, finally undoing the pesky top button of my jeans with his other hand at the same time. In one rough motion, he drags the denim along with my panties down my hips.
Oh. My. God.
His hands spread across my ass frantically, and the initial slap he gives my backside sends a delicious sting across my skin. Bending his head slightly, he plunges his tongue into my mouth. I kiss him back just as greedily, meeting the slightest movement of his mouth with my own. As I taste Guinness on him, I remember the night of my twenty-first birthday when we downed too many Black Velvet drinks at the Halloween Rock Ball where YTS was playing. We’d had sex, hard and frantic, in the dressing room’s bathroom before they went back on stage to play.
“You taste so good,” I murmur.
As he glides his finger between my legs, a look of satisfaction takes over his face. I fumble with the button on his jeans just as he flicks his tongue across his fingertip, savoring my flavor.
“Not as good as you taste,” he growls. “Bend over, Ky.”
He doesn’t wait for me to comply. He simply turns me around, so I’m facing the dryer. I grasp the sides and lean over it, shuddering at how the warmth from the machine spreads through my chest, at how the vibration sends more heat spiraling to the pit of my stomach.
Wyatt draws away from me only for a moment, but when he returns, I feel him, hard and long, against my bare ass. “You know this isn’t it for us tonight,” he says, cupping my sex.
When I mutter, “It better not be,” he chuckles into my ear and glides his cock between my slick folds. He slides himself against me, back and forth, testing my wetness, before thrusting into me.
A sigh escapes my lips, and I grip the corners of the dryer tighter. I rock my hips back and forth, meeting his deep thrusts. He presses his lips to my bluebird tattoo and groans.
“Fuck, Kylie, you feel so good. So right.”
Reaching around me, he squeezes my clit softly, and I gasp.
“Don’t stop. God, don’t stop.”
Because I need this from him. I need everything he can give me tonight, so I can move on and not want more.
“Harder?” He rubs my center in quick circular motions.
Strands of my dark hair cling to my damp forehead as I nod. “Please.”
With his free hand, he clutches my hip and slams into me. I just know that I am going to scream. I’m going to scream, and the hotel staff will rush down here to find us screwing like rabbits over their brand new Whirlpool dryer. Then, I’ll be banned from The Veranda for life.
For this, though, it’s worth it.
As the moan builds in my throat, he lets go of my hip and slides his finger into my mouth. When I bite down on it, hard, he releases a low noise. “Come for me,” he orders roughly.
I shake my head. “Not yet, not until—”
“Come for me,” he repeats. “You’ve got me all night. You’ve got me for as long as you want. I want to hear you come.”
I’m still moving my head furiously from side to side even as the orgasm rips through me. I tighten up around him, clenching his cock inside me, until a moment later when he trembles. We don’t make a sound or a movement for what seems like hours.
At last, I feel his lips part between my shoulder blades. It takes a second, but I finally make out what he’s saying.
“That’s my fucking girl.”
Breathing heavily, I turn around, so we’re face-to-face. He touches his lips to my forehead, then to my lips, and finally, to the tip of my nose. “Thanks,” I murmur. I place my palms flat against his chest, not to push him away, but so I can feel the unsteady drumming of his heart. “I mean it. Thanks.”
Keeping his blue eyes on my face, he slips my jeans back up and grins when I shift uncomfortably. “I meant what I said, Kylie. You’ve got me for the rest of the night. I don’t want there to be any—” He’s cut off by the doorknob jiggling.
I mutter a curse and scramble to button my pants and adjust my halter-top as he pulls up his jeans.
“Kylie?” Heidi’s muffled voice filters in from the other side of the door. “Please tell me you’re in there. I lost my key to the room, and it’s booked under your name, so they won’t give me a replacement.”
Relieved, I sag against Wyatt’s chest, and he strokes his hand down my spine. This slight motion brings me close to unraveling, even closer to spinning out of control. Gripping a handful of his t-shirt, I clear my throat before answering Heidi. “Yeah, let me grab my stuff. I’ll be upstairs in a few, okay?”
“Why’s the door locked?”
Wyatt grins, but I place my finger over his mouth and give him a warning glare. He retaliates by squeezing my breast.
“It locks when it shuts. I’ve got an armful of laundry, so I’ll be up there in five, okay?”
She mumbles something inaudible and then calls out, “Whatever, see you in a few.”
I count to a hundred before I yell out her name. When she doesn’t answer, I look up into Wyatt’s eyes. “You like to make your presence known, don’t you?” My voice is teasing, but the look on his face is serious. The pit of my stomach coils. I don’t want seriousness from him—not tonight.
“Where you’re concerned, Ky, yeah, I do.”
I touch the base of my throat, massaging the area carefully, and watch him as he heads to the door. “You’ll be in your room?”
He glances over his shoulder. “I’ll be there.”
“Cal’s not going to show up, is he?” I ask as he steps out into the hallway.
Wyatt scratches a hand through his blond hair and cocks his head to the side, grinning. “Not if he doesn’t want his fucking fingers broken.”
“Well aren’t you Mr. Effing Possessive.”
As he closes the laundry room door, he rakes his deep blue eyes over me, sending another flash of desire speeding through my body. “Damn right I am, Bluebird.”
Finally alone, I smile to myself as I stuff my laundry, which is still slightly wet, into the bag before I take the elevator back to my room. Heidi’s standing outside of our door with her arms crossed over her chest, scowling.
I stop in my tracks. “You okay?”
“That asshole Finn bailed on me, but I’m alright.” She stretches her arms out over her head and yawns theatrically. “I just want my bed.” As I dig in my back pocket for the key card, she tilts her head to the side. “You look way too happy for having just done laundry.”
I bite my lip to suppress a grin as I unlock our door. I’m contemplating whether or not I should tell her, but then I flip on the light switch.
And my heart sinks.
Every inch of our room has been rummaged through. There are clothes, both Heidi’s and mine, thrown all over the place, and all the dresser drawers have been pulled out.
“What are you—” Heidi begins, sliding past me to get inside. Like me, she stops in her tracks. She sums up exactly how I’m suddenly feeling in the single word she says next. “Shit.”
