Текст книги "Love Me"
Автор книги: Jillian Dodd
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Текущая страница: 18 (всего у книги 24 страниц)
Thursday, November 10th
He doesn’t know you.
4:30pm
After dance, Peyton asks me if I want to get coffee. It’s a cold and dreary day and coffee sounds really good.
Right before we get there, she says, “Whitney is meeting us.”
“Why—”
“Thanks for meeting me,” Whitney says, interrupting my question. “I thought we should go over the French weekend menu.”
She babbles on, but I’m not sure why she thinks we’re going over it. Basically, she is just telling us what she’s already picked out.
She’s just closing her laptop when Cooper wanders in and orders a coffee.
“Did you know that he comes here every day after soccer practice?”
“Uh, no,” Peyton says, as I shake my head.
“He’s interesting. Mysterious.”
“How so?” I ask.
“No Facebook page that I can find. No girlfriend that I can tell.”
“He just moved here,” I counter. “He probably doesn’t know anyone.”
“Speaking of not knowing anyone,” Whitney says, looking me directly in the eye. “It turns out that I’m Facebook friends with a guy from your old school. Such a small world. Funny thing is, though, he doesn’t know you.”
“How would you know where I used to go to school?”
“I’m sure you mentioned it.”
I shake my head. “No, I’m pretty sure I haven’t.”
“Well, I must have seen it somewhere.”
Yeah, like maybe when she broke into the dean’s office.
“Okay?”
“I just think it’s a bit odd that he didn’t know you.”
I need to sound unconcerned, so I use my Alpha girl bitch voice to reply. “What’d the guy look like?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, was he hot? Why would I bother being friends with a guy who wasn’t hot?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t really pay attention. Is that the only reason you hang out with Dawson?”
I laugh and try to change the subject. “Actually, I wanted his brother.”
Peyton tries unsuccessfully to stifle a chuckle as Whitney’s eyes get huge. “You wanted Camden? But you . . .”
“Why would I want Camden? I meant Riley,” I say innocently, but knowing full well that I struck a nerve.
Whitney sneers at Peyton, but Peyton just shrugs a shoulder.
While they stare each other down, I text Cooper because I’m freaking out.
Me: Meet me in your office in ten?
Whitney grabs my phone. “Who are you texting? We’re having a discussion here.” She looks at my phone, sees my text, and can’t disguise the mad crinkle between her eyebrows. “You’re texting him?”
“I just did, yes. I asked him earlier if we could meet to talk about a summer soccer camp.”
“Bullshit,” she counters. “He’s sitting right there. You could’ve walked over and asked him. You’re hiding something. Don’t think Peyton and I don’t know that.”
“I just didn’t want to bother him,” I state as my phone lights up in Whitney’s hand.
She squints her eyes at me. “It seems to me like you and Mr. Steele are together quite a bit.”
“You’ve had meetings with him too.”
She huffs.
I don’t bother to reply. I stand up and say, “I better get going.”
I walk over to where Cooper is sitting, lean down, and say quietly, “Let’s go.”
He gathers his stuff up.
When we get outside, I grab his elbow and pull him around the side of the building.
“What are you doing?”
“We’re hiding. And we’re not going to your office. We need to go somewhere else. Somewhere private. I have a big problem.”
He glances at his watch. “Let’s go to the Teachers’ Lounge. It’s late enough that no one will be in there.”
When we get locked into the room, he says, “What’s the big problem?”
“I need to delete all my old social media. Now that I think about it, I don’t even understand why Garrett didn’t do that in the first place.”
“He was looking for clues and proof anywhere he could. Why do you want to delete it now?”
“Whitney told me that she’s friends with someone from my old school.”
“Your old school?”
“The school that’s in my transcripts. The one I didn’t actually go to.”
He puts his fist up to his chin. “Oh. That could be a problem. How does she even know that? Why did you tell people?”
“I didn’t. But a while ago, someone broke into the school office and accessed my records. I thought at the time it was Vincent, but now I’m almost positive that it was her.”
“She’s a piece of work, that girl. She doesn’t understand the meaning of no.”
“Right. So what if she gets really serious about figuring out who I am? What if somehow she finds an old picture of me and pieces it together? Do you know how many pictures I have on my Facebook page? She’d love nothing more than to tell everyone that I’ve been lying to them. To embarrass me. Ruin me socially. I’m gonna call Garrett.”
“I’ll do it,” Cooper says.
He calls Garrett and fills him in on the situation in a very businesslike manner. He ends the call and then turns to me. “He’s out of town but says that he just informed the office to change your passwords back to your old ones and agrees that deleting them is a good idea at this point.”
Cooper stands up and paces while I log into Twitter. I don’t bother looking at any of it. I just hit Delete and then verify that I’m sure. I do the same for Pinterest, Instagram, Polyvore, and Tumblr.
I do pause, taking a minute to scroll through the magnificence of all the hot guy photos I collected over the years on Tumblr. RiAnne and I dubbed it the Hottie Vault.
I smile. Happy memories of parties, shopping excursions, and days spent by the pool with Vanessa and RiAnne roll through my head. I think back to all the mistakes I made with Brooklyn and realize I probably made plenty with them too. Maybe part of loving yourself is taking responsibility for your actions. Vanessa didn’t make me into a bitch. I’m pretty sure I did that all by myself.
Then I get on Facebook.
This is harder. My cover photo is of me and Brooklyn in Monaco. My profile picture our new matching tattoos.
I scroll down through my wall. No one seems to be commenting anymore or wondering where I am. The mystery of why I left is now old news.
But every week—make that every Saturday morning—there is a post from RiAnne. It simply says, I miss you.
And it touches me. Really touches me.
Maybe if I go back home someday, we’ll be friends again.
I pull up her photos, clicking through pictures of her and Vanessa. At parties. On dates. At Homecoming.
But the pictures look off. Because I’m missing from them.
Since I’m a glutton for punishment, I click on Cush’s profile.
I squint my eyes at his profile picture. It’s a photo of him and a girl dressed up for Homecoming.
I click on the photo to make it bigger because my eyes must be deceiving me.
But they aren’t.
This girl, who is pretty but sort of plain looking, mostly because she isn't even wearing mascara—to Homecoming, seriously? I mean, I’m all about fresh-faced beauty. I'm fine surfing, working out, or hanging out with no makeup on. But on a special night with a special guy that you are going to have pictures of for the rest of your life?
Come on! At least put on some mascara and some lip gloss!
You know how Vanessa wanted to make the rugby player hotter?
This girlfriend of Cush’s is like the anti-Vanessa. She's somehow made larger-than-life Cush look plain too.
His slacks and dress shirt are slightly crumpled looking. There’s no product in his hair. And his posture is off. He doesn’t look like the tall, proud, cocky Cushman that I know.
I click through some more photos.
Oh. My. God.
He’s losing his abs.
Seriously. He looks like he's already gone to college and gotten a beer belly.
What the hell has this girl done to him?
I can't stop my fingers from typing.
Me: Cush? Where the hell did your abs go?
He's not showing online, but he messages me back instantly, probably from his phone.
Brandon: Haha. Keatyn, I haven't talked to you in forever and that's the first thing you ask?
Me: I’m sorry. That was rude of me. How’s the Cushman?
Brandon: Well, first off. I’m not that guy anymore. Cushman was a conceited asshole. Everyone here calls me Brandon.
Me: Um. Okay.
Brandon: You said you were somewhere good for you. Are you learning looks and partying aren't all that important?
Me: I’d say I’m learning that life is all about balance. I have to go. It was nice talking to you, Brandon.
The Cushman is dead.
And I want to cry.
The computer chimes. Cooper stops pacing and looks over my shoulder. “Are you chatting? You’re supposed to be deleting.”
“I am. I just . . .”
RiAnne: Please say hi to me.
Me: Hi.
RiAnne: Is it really you?
Me: Yes. Thank you for messaging me every week. You are the only friend to do that. It’s so sweet.
RiAnne: Vanessa is still mad you left us, but she's with me at the coffee shop every Saturday morning when I post it.
Me: Tell me what's going on. I miss you.
RiAnne: I miss you too. Vanessa is dating the rugby player. They were Homecoming prince and princess this year.
Me: That's cool.
RiAnne: And guess what? I was nominated!
Me: That's a big honor, Ri.
RiAnne: Thanks. Where are you?
Me: I can't tell you. Random question, but I saw some pictures of V and Bam and there was a guy there. That hot older guy I talked to at the hotel. Do you hang out with him?
RiAnne: We see him at the club sometimes. I think he's a creeper. But V thinks he's hot. She's gone to his house and stuff. Like for the whole weekend. You know.
I want to throw up.
RiAnne: But not lately. She's actually pretty into rugby. Like she's gone to all his games. And she hasn't cheated on him in three weeks, which is a record. Apparently, he’s great in the sack.
Me: I’m glad she's happy. What about you?
RiAnne: Same. So many guys to kiss, so little time. Lately I have been kissing on Alex Littleton.
Me: Ri!! He is hot!!!
RiAnne: I know, right? I'm all that. We’ve been working out together and I've lost 6 1/2 pounds.
Me: Is he a good kisser?
RiAnne: The. Best.
Me: I have to go. I'm deleting my profile.
RiAnne: No! You can't.
Me: I have to. There is a girl here who hates me and I don't want her to know about my old life.
RiAnne: Keatyn, you of anyone ought to be able to handle a mean girl.
Me: Yeah, I know. And I promise, if I ever get back home, I’ll call you.
RiAnne: Pinkie swear?
I get tears in my eyes as I type.
Me: Yeah, Ri. I do.
RiAnne: You know, if you would’ve stood up to Vanessa, like to her face, she would’ve respected you for it.
Me: That’s good advice. You taking it yourself?
RiAnne: Yeah. And I’m much happier. (That, and I’m skinnier than her.)
I don’t reply. I wipe a tear from my eye. Then I do it.
Delete, delete. Yes, I'm sure.
“Done,” I say to Cooper.
“Tonight after curfew, meet me in the small gym. We’ll get to work.”
Friday, November 11th
Shoe porn.
3:15pm
After soccer practice, Cooper herds me into his office and shuts the door.
I’m tired from being up late last night learning an assailant’s attack zones. Muscles I didn’t even know existed are sore.
“You need to lay off on the workouts. I’m so sore from last night. Thank goodness I don’t have dance or a game tonight.”
“Tonight is what I want to talk to you about. Going to New York is not a good idea.”
“I’m going.”
“Then I’m going with you.”
“No, you’re not.”
“Where are you staying?”
“I’ll be at my loft, Cooper. No one from my old life—not even my family—knows about it. A few people from school have been there but other than that, only Garrett and the guy that handles my money know where it is. I’m safe there.”
“What if someone sees you in the street? Or worse, in front of your loft, and thinks you look like Abby and calls him? He already did auditions there.”
“That’s why New York City is safe. Everyone is too busy to notice me. And I really don’t look that much like her in passing. It’s only the combination of my voice and gestures when people seem to notice. So I won’t talk to anyone. I’ll wear sunglasses.”
“You should be more afraid. How can you not be scared after Vancouver?”
“I am scared, but I can’t let it rule my life. I know we had a close call. I’m grateful that you planned ahead and he couldn’t trace our flights. I know you got out the guns and we all kind of freaked out, but he wasn’t going to forcefully take me in front of all those people.”
“All what people? Me and two pilots? That’s nothing. In Miami, he would have lied his way out of the club. Said you were drunk or sick. He could have drugged you. He could flash a fake badge like I did and say you were a fugitive. No one would think twice. He’s a brilliant liar. Hell, he’s lying to the whole country right now.”
“I gave up everything I love to keep my family and friends safe. Garrett told me I may never get to go back.” I start to cry. “That I have to start a new life. I’m trying so hard to do that.”
He pulls me into a hug, just as Whitney bursts through the door.
I jump and pull out of Cooper’s hug.
“What’s wrong?” Whitney snaps.
Cooper takes control, herding her out of the room and saying harshly, “Don’t ever barge into my office like that again. Do you understand me?”
“But she barged in your office just the other day. Why was that okay?”
“She’s on my soccer team.”
“And I’m in your health class.”
“Make an appointment.” The force that he says it with makes me glad he’s on my side.
Whitney nods obediently and says politely. “I’m sorry, Mr. Steele, I hoped to talk to you about the French Weekend.”
“As you can see, I’m busy. If you don’t stop randomly dropping by without an appointment, I’ll withdraw my help on the project. We clear?”
“Uh, yes, sir.” She turns and walks quickly away.
“And if I open this door and catch you eavesdropping, you’ll be finding yourself in detention.”
He sits on the corner of his desk. “Continuing. You’ve been there how many times before?”
“Just twice. Once with Dawson and once with my friends.”
“And one of those times Vincent was there?”
“Yes. But he was following my mom, not me. And Garrett told me to trust my gut. My gut tells me I’m safe there. For now. Like I am at school.”
“For now,” he adds somberly.
“The loft is where Garrett told me to go if Vincent ever found out I’m here.”
Cooper nods. “I’m just trying to think ahead. Of what could go wrong.”
“What do you think could go wrong?”
“A million things. But, realistically, he’d have to know you were here to know you went there. So then it becomes the possibility that he sees you somewhere there. That’s probably not going to happen randomly. So he’d have someone looking for you. Like he did in Vancouver. Like I’m pretty sure he had on the beach. He’d go to the places he’d expect you to go. Clubs. Shopping. Favorite restaurant. Could he know any of those things about you?”
“I never told him.”
“On Facebook maybe?”
“No. I never posted anything about New York. The only thing could be . . .”
“Could be what?”
“Shoe porn, maybe.”
“What the hell is shoe porn?”
“It’s when you post a photo of a hot shoe on social media. Shoes that other girls will drool over. Kind of like you would over a hot guy.”
Cooper laughs and shakes his head. “Shoe porn. Now I’ve heard everything. So, I’d go to shoe stores, flash a photo of you, give them my card, tell them it’s a hundred bucks if they call me.”
“Would you do that in New York?”
He thinks for a second. “New York. Miami. Near the rehab in Utah. And probably Vancouver. Upscale stores. Shoe department.”
“So I can’t go shoe shopping?”
“No shoe shopping.”
“I can’t . . .”
“Do you want to go by yourself? I like New York. I could come stay with you and Aiden. That’d be cozy.”
“Fine. No shoe shopping.”
“Do you promise? I’m serious. Do you promise?”
I close my eyes and nod. “Yeah. I promise.”
For a rainy day.
8pm
Aiden walks in my loft and says, “Wow. The ceiling is amazing.”
I tell him about the history of the building. Its former life as a small concert hall.
“What about all the furniture?”
“A designer chose all the pieces. I did some design boards that mixed pieces of furniture with colors, clothes, and shoes I love and somehow he extrapolated that to furniture and accessories.”
“I want to see it all,” he says, grabbing my hand and leading me around like he owns the place. I think about Dawson. How he barely got me in the door before attacking me. Part of me was hoping the loft would have the same effect on Aiden.
But part of me is glad it hasn’t.
When he lets go of my hand to examine a funky hand-blown glass piece, I notice how perfect Aiden looks in here. Almost like the designer picked him out too. He's wearing jeans that are fashionably ripped and frayed at the seams. A Band of Outsiders jersey hoodie that skims across his muscles. A casual blazer.
Having Aiden here makes my loft feel more like a home.
It’s weird. When I think of home, I think of Malibu. Of my family.
I’ve tried to write new scripts. Ones where I go home. Ones where I don’t get to go home. Ones where Dawson and I live in the Hamptons. Ones where Aiden and I live in Napa and watch the sunset together. Ones where Brooklyn tells me he wished on the moon the night of prom and where we stay up to watch the sunrise together.
But when it comes time to write it down—to actually script it—I can’t do it. Instead, I keep writing what happens every day in my journal.
I figure if Vincent gets me, maybe someone will find it and use it for a Lifetime movie.
I’m brought back to reality when Aiden says, “I think I'll take this one,” in one of the guest rooms. He walks out of the room then returns with his leather duffle and backpack and sets them on the bed.
Is it bad that when he told me that he wanted to use the feather on me here that I assumed that we were going to sleep together? And that I have a purse full of condoms?
Aiden takes my hand in his and continues to explore, now landing in the kitchen. “Love the teal island. And the stainless steel appliances mixed with the rustic painted furniture.” He pulls me into his arms and kisses the tip of my nose. “Did I tell you I'm a pretty good cook?”
I want to say I'm not surprised; you're good at everything, but I say, “Does that mean you’re gonna cook for me tonight?”
He opens the fridge and looks inside. “You're prepared.”
“Yeah, I wasn't sure what you'd want to do, so I ordered in a bunch of food.”
He grabs an apple, takes a big bite out of it, and shuts the door. “Let's see everything else, then we’ll decide.”
“This was another big selling point,” I say, leading him out the door off the kitchen. “Outdoor space is hard to find, so this made up for the fact that it isn't on Park Avenue.”
“My sister told me about the hot tub. Love the outdoor space. Show me your room.”
My room.
My bed.
I lead him into the bedroom, where he lets go of my hand to check it out. First, he peeks in the bathroom. "So you've never taken a bath in here?"
“No, not yet.”
“We’ll add that to the list.”
“The list?”
“Yeah, of the things we’re going to do this weekend. This your closet?” he asks, interrupting my thoughts of him lying naked on my furry rug.
I nod as he opens the door. He steps in and then turns and grins at me. “This has to be your favorite room in the house.”
“Why do you think that?”
“It just feels different. Has a different vibe.”
“I had it decorated exactly like my closet at home.”
Aiden is listening but he's also poking through the closet. Looking at the shoes I bought last time I was here but didn’t take back to school. Some basics I ordered online just in case I ever have to leave everything at school and run. He glances at the book of Keats’ poetry that’s lying on the table next to my chaise, not knowing that the four-leaf clover he gave me is safely pressed inside.
“You don't have any pictures of your family,” he states.
“I haven't had the chance to add many personal touches yet.” I open a drawer and pull out a small silver frame. “This is me holding my little sister when she was born.”
He takes the frame out of my hand and studies it. “She's tiny and adorable. You look young.”
“It was three years ago. Thanks for encouraging me to go to her party. I’m so glad I didn’t miss it.”
He flashes me a beaming smile, hands me back the photo, then makes a beeline for the long burgundy dress I bought when we went shopping for Homecoming. “What's this for?”
“Oh, I don't know. I found it when we were shopping for court dresses. I'm saving it.”
“You do that, don't you?”
“Do what?”
“Buy clothes in the hopes that you'll have somewhere perfect to wear them. Like the dress you were saving for Paris.”
“Yeah, I guess I do.”
“You're hopeful. Optimistic. I like that about you. What about these?” He points to a shoebox as he pops off the lid. “Why are these in their box and not displayed on the shelves with the others?”
He pulls out the shoes I was wearing when Vincent tried to kidnap me. A lump forms in my throat and I can't reply.
"Oh. This one’s broken,” he says. “What happened?”
I’m trying to think up a lie when a note falls off the shoe.
Aiden picks it up and reads it aloud. “I thought you needed to be reunited with footwear that is the real you. -G. Who's G?”
“Garrett. My um, uncle. You met him at Homecoming.”
“Why does he think a broken shoe is the real you?”
Seeing Aiden holding my shoe makes me long for the white knight. For the prince who kills the dark man. The prince who saves me.
“I was kinda nervous when I came to Eastbrooke. You know, wondering if I'd fit in.”
“So he sent you broken shoes?”
Fuck. Why does Aiden have to ask so many questions? Dawson never thought twice about the shoes or my closet.
“They are my favorite shoes ever,” I answer honestly, as I take the shoe out of his hand and put it back in the box. “I wore them at my 17th birthday party. But then I got, um, drunk and fell and broke the heel and I just . . .”
I can't do it. I can’t stand here and lie to Aiden’s face.
Lying to him hurts me.
Literally, physically hurts me.
“Anyway, you haven't seen the upstairs yet. Come on.” I tear out of my closet, praying he will follow me and forget about the shoes.
He does.
We climb the stairs. Since it’s dark, the stars are glowing. And they are everywhere. I think the designer went a little overboard, but they’re amazing. I love them.
Aiden pulls me onto the chaise with him. “Look at that,” he says, pointing. “There's a moon over there in the corner.”
“I never told them to put up a moon.”
“It probably came in the packet. One came in mine.”
“Why didn't you put it up?”
“I figured it'd get lost in all the stars.” He leans me back and kisses me.
Another perfect kiss.
I run my hands through the back of his hair and kiss the side of his face.
He stops kissing me and pulls me up off the couch. “You need to go change.”
“Like into something more comfortable?” Oh, yippee-freaking-yay!
“No, like into that dress you were saving.”
“Why?”
“It's a surprise. Meet me in the kitchen in five minutes.”
“Ten. If I'm gonna wear that dress, I need to touch up my makeup.”
He nods in agreement and heads down the stairs.
I run in my bedroom, touch up my makeup, throw my hair back into a messy bun, slide on the dress, add some strappy heels, and head back out to the kitchen just in time to watch Aiden popping a bottle of champagne.
He hands me a flute and clinks my glass. “Here’s to not waiting for a rainy day.”
“You look nice,” I say, knowing it’s an understatement as I take in his black suit and black shirt. I've never seen him wearing all black. It makes him look a little dangerous. Especially with the naughty gleam in his eyes.
He grabs my hand, leads me to the door, and says, “Our car’s here.”
We go outside and get into a big black limo.
“Where are we going?”
He pulls me into his arms. “You’ll see.”
Soon, the car pulls up to the Empire State Building. I smile. “Are we going to the top?”
“We are.”
He pushes me into the corner of the elevator and gives me a kiss. A kiss that I can feel all the way to the tips of my Louboutin-encased toes. A kiss that has way more tongue than is appropriate for a crowded elevator.
“That's because you look beautiful,” he whispers in my ear.
I slide my hands inside his jacket, feeling like I just stole a cookie.
Aiden holds my hand tightly as the elevator dings and we file out.
I love how small my hand feels in his. And the possessiveness and control I feel in his firm grip.
He leads me to an empty spot at the railing, where he stands directly behind me, whispering in my ear and pointing out lights I should look at.
But I’m focused on our hands.
It's hard to feel where my hand ends and his begins.
They are interlaced. Entwined.
My ruffled dress is blowing in the wind and I feel like I belong on a movie set.
Aiden squeezes my hand. “I think the guy next to us is getting ready to propose. I’m gonna record it.”
He grabs his phone out of his pocket and presses record. He holds me tight, keeps his mouth next to my ear, and gives me a play-by-play in his deep, sexy voice.
His breath tickles my ear. “He's so nervous. Look how he keeps smoothing out his jacket. I bet the ring’s in his pocket there. Oh. Look. He's grabbing both of her hands.”
“Shhh. I want to hear what he says.”
“Lisa, my butterfly,” the man says in a strong, confident voice. He may have been nervous before, but the strength in his voice tells me that whatever else he’s about to say, he means. Deeply. “You’ve made the world as I used to know it uninhabitable. I’m not the same man you met a year ago today. You've turned my life upside down and turned this cynic into a lovesick fool. With you, the sun shines brighter, food tastes better, and I'll never be able to go back to my old world. I need you to marry me. Save me. Have my babies. Grow old with me.”
He takes her hand and gets down on one knee. Even though Aiden and I totally knew this was coming, she seems utterly shocked by it. Her eyes are big and teary and you can tell her heart has stopped beating. She’s holding her breath as he says, “Lisa Monterrey, will you marry me?”
Lisa cries instead of replies.
“Uh oh,” Aiden whispers. “Is she gonna say no?”
I shake my head, because it’s so obvious to me that she's going to say yes. She’s just overcome with emotion.
“Butterfly?” he says tentatively.
Lisa she throws her arms around him and sobs, “Yes. Yes. A million times, yes.”
“He forgot the ring,” Aiden whispers.
They kiss and then he pulls a ring box out of the jacket pocket he kept smoothing down earlier.
Inside is a glittering emerald-cut diamond. “It's beautiful,” she and I both whisper at the same time.
It’s a magical moment. I’ve seen people get engaged in the movies. But this is different. Their love feels so raw. So imperfectly perfect.
He slips it on her finger and they kiss.
I can't help it. I clap.
Lisa shows me the ring and hugs both Aiden and me.
“Congratulations,” I tell her.
Aiden says, “I could tell he was going to propose, so I recorded it for you. If you want it.”
“Really?” Lisa says, falling in love with Aiden in an instant. “Ohmigawd, I love you.” She lays a big kiss in his cheek. “I can't even remember what he said.”
“He said you are his world,” I whisper.
“That was amazing!” Aiden says as we’re getting back into the limo.
“I know! It was so romantic. Actually, that kiss in the elevator was pretty romantic too.”
He leans over and presses his lips into mine. Gentle at first, like always, then that slow buildup to when he slides his tongue in my mouth. How he likes to tease me with it. How I try to catch it so I can suck on it but how he always catches mine instead. How good it feels as his hands grip my bare shoulders. How I can’t believe we got dressed up just to go to the top of the Empire State Building.
“What’s next?” I ask.
He kisses me again in reply.
And then again and again.
“What do you want to do?”
I don’t answer, just stand up, stick my head out of the sunroof, and scream, “Whoooooooo!”
Aiden joins me immediately. He laughs and screams with me. Then he turns toward me and places both his hands on my waist. I stop moving and gaze into his eyes. It’s one of those moments where time feels like it stands still. The city is rushing by, the crowds are moving busily down the streets, the taxis are honking, but it feels like it’s just us.
It’s a beautiful, perfect moment.
“Let’s go dancing.”
“Dancing? Really?! That sounds fun! Where to?”
“I don’t really know any good clubs, do you?”
“Hmm. Let me make a quick call.”
I sit back in the limo and call Damian. “Hey, big favor. Do you think you could get me on the VIP list at Feel in New York City?”
“How many?”
“Just two.”
“Ooohhh.”
“Shut up.”
“I’ll have our manager call. He can get in anywhere. VIP. Two for Douglas.”
I cough. “Uh, Monroe.”
“Oh, shit. My bad. Monroe.”
“Excellent. Thank you.”
I pull Aiden back in the car with me. “Why don’t you tell the driver to take us to Feel?”
“Feel?”
“Yeah, it’s a new club. I haven’t been, but I’ve heard it’s crazy.”
He pulls me on top of him and slides his tongue up the side of my neck. “Crazy sounds good.”
I respond by running my hands inside his suit jacket, from his hips up his tight torso, and to the top of his chest. Then I wrap an arm around his neck and run my fingers through his hair.
He lets out a little growl. “My hands are going to be all over you in the club. Feeling every bit of you.”
“Why do you think I picked that club?” I reply with a smirk.
We pull up in the limo, are escorted past the long entrance line, and allowed direct access to the lush VIP area. Complete with deep purple couches and a bird’s-eye view of the dancing going on below. You can feel the beat of the music, but the area is insulated so you can talk.
Aiden checks his jacket.
“Do you have a T-shirt on under your dress shirt?”
He nods. “Yeah.”
I move close to him and slowly unbutton his shirt.
“That’s pretty forward of you,” he says, his grin blazing.
“You’ll be way too hot in it. I’m being thoughtful.”
“You think I’m hot, huh?”
“Actually, yes. And I want to see those arm muscles when you’re dancing.”
He hands his shirt to the coat check girl, who is also admiring Aiden in his t-shirt. I put my hands on top of his shoulders, then slowly slide them down his arms, feeling every curve of muscle. He puts his forehead against mine and says, “Boots, I hope you’re planning to do that all night.”
I turn away from him and head toward the stairs to the dance floor. Looking back over my shoulder, I smirk and say, “Come find out.”
He catches up to me quickly and pulls me onto the dance floor, where he wraps his arm around my waist and moves his leg between mine.
