Текст книги "The Thrill of It"
Автор книги: Lauren Blakely
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Текущая страница: 16 (всего у книги 17 страниц)
Chapter Twenty-Five
Trey
“Do you trust me?”
She rolls her eyes and says “Duh. I thought we’d established that by now.”
“I know. But do you trust me to do this without watching? I want you to close your eyes or else look the other way, okay?”
“Yes.”
She sits on the stool, crosses her legs, and clasps her hands in front of her. She’s wearing a jean skirt, black combat boots, and a tank top with a cartoon cat on it. In other words – she looks like my girl and I fucking love it.
“I’m not looking, I’m not looking, I’m not looking,” she says in a sing-song voice as she pointedly stares at the framed photos that line the walls of No Regrets. Blue butterflies on upper backs, stars on hips, dragonflies on forearms. The shop is closed now, it’s nearing midnight on a Thursday, and I wanted to do this after hours when I’m not on the clock. Besides, it’s a gift to her. An early birthday gift.
I press the transfer paper on her shoulder, the drawing I made to replace the first time I marked her with a design that kept her tied to her guilt. The red ribbon that was supposed to symbolize her love of her mom. She’s moved past it now, and I want her to live a life with no regrets, and god damn it, if that’s the name of our shop, then I need to be able to deliver. I’m building her red ribbon into a new design.
An hour later, her eyes are still fixed on a point on the wall. Maybe the butterflies, or maybe the tribal ink next to it. Hard to say, because I’ve barely glanced at her. Only enough to know she’s focused, and she’s tough, and she’s gritting her teeth through the pain that’s very nearly over.
I finish the final letter, giving a script-y end to the T in the words.
Then I put down the needle, and she relaxes, her shoulders slumping forward.
“You did great,” I tell her.
“Now let’s see if you did great,” she says. “Am I allowed to look?”
“Yes. You can look.”
Harley
I can’t stop staring at my shoulder.
I trace my finger around the design, mesmerized by its beauty. By its perfect-ness. By what it means.
Trey turned my red ribbon into a heart. But it’s a badass heart, the edges of it torn and tattered. It’s like the one on the notebook Joanne gave me, only it’s not misshapen. It’s whole, and it’s complete, and it’s tough as nails with the way it’s frayed on the outside. An arrow pierces it, clear through the center from one side of the heart to the other. Then there are words in a V at the bottom–Carry My Heart.
“It’s so unbelievably perfect,” I say, and I am awestruck. “I love it so much.”
“You do?” His voice is wobbly.
I glance up at him, barely able to tear myself away from the new ink. “Are you kidding me? It’s the coolest tat ever. It’s perfect for me. And it’s from you. And it means something. Why wouldn’t I love it?”
He shrugs. “I was just hoping you would. I mean, I didn’t want you to have to hunt down some other tattoo artist to redo mine. Or worse, get laser removal.”
I cup his cheeks, stubbly against my hands. “This is never being removed. I love it and I love you.”
“Happy early birthday.”
“My birthday’s not for another month.”
“So I like getting you stuff. I’ll get you something else when you finally turn twenty. What do you think about the arrow?” He returns his focus to his work.
“I love the arrow in the heart,” I say, then consider it thoughtfully, running my finger across the art on my skin. “Is it coming or going though?”
He shakes his head. “Neither.” He reaches for my hand, links my fingers through his. “It’s staying.”
“Like you,” I say and I’m vaguely aware that my voice has turned breathy, but then so has the moment, shifting into something more, something expectant.
“Like me. And like you,” he repeats in a low, husky voice.
In one swift move, he lets go of my hand and yanks off his own shirt. There, over his heart, he now has an arrow. It matches mine, and I am overwhelmed, bursting with heat and light and unfettered happiness. My hand is drawn to his chest, and I trace the tattoo, then kiss the arrow on his chest. “I love it,” I tell him.
“It matches,” he adds playfully.
“Yeah,” I say with a laugh. “I figured that.”
Then, his hands are in my hair, and he’s pulling hard, exposing my neck, kissing me, marking me, claiming me with his mouth. I respond instantly, my hands looping around his back, tugging him close. His breath is hot on me, and there’s sweat on his neck from working, from inking me, and my skin is slick too. From the summer, from the heat, from the needle.
And I want to have hot, sweaty sex in his tattoo parlor.
I have become more forward, more outspoken in the last few weeks with him. So I unbutton his jeans, sliding them down to his knees, along with his boxers.
“I want you on the chair.”
“Gladly,” he says and he takes a seat, and in seconds he’s grabbed a condom from his wallet and handed it to me. It’s become our thing; I love to put them on him, and he loves it when I do. In an instant, he’s hiked up my skirt, pulled my panties to the side and is inside me.
I groan as he fills me. “Trey,” I say, letting his name slide off my tongue in a sexy purr, because I love the way his name sounds when he’s deep in me. As if I’m owning his name when we’re together like this. When I take him all the way in.
“So I guess this means it turns you on when I ink you,” he says, in a hungry voice as he rolls his hips upwards.
I inhale sharply. I can feel him so deep inside me, and I’m still not sure I’m used to his size. But then I don’t know if it’s something you get used to, or something you just thank the heavens for, then lean your head back, let your hair fall down, and imagine you’re on a wild motorcycle ride after midnight as he drives into you with abandon. And that’s what he does, fucking hard and fast. Soon, I am panting and moaning, greedy for more of this heat, this love, this life.
“Yes, it turns me on when you ink me,” I say, finally managing to answer in between my erratic breaths. “But then, everything you do turns me on.”
“Good. Because I want to do everything with you,” he says. “And right now, I want you to ride me hard, Harley. I want you to fuck me with everything you’ve got.”
I take over the reins, my hands gripping his shoulders. I ride him, up and down, until my thighs are quaking, and even then I keep going, watching as his face contorts in pleasure, and he tells me over and over how much he fucking loves me, and fucking loves fucking me, and fucking loves everything. His coarseness and his love send me spinning, and my body is consumed with wildfire, and the whole damn forest is burning down, taking everything in is wake.
I shout his name, louder than I’ve ever been, and then he’s doing the same, and we’re both savage and sweaty and hot and horny and we collapse into each other’s arms. He tosses the condom into the trashcan next to us, then wraps his arms around me again.
I don’t let go for a long time, and he makes no move to pull apart. The longer we stay like this, the more I know that there is a difference between love and addiction, and this here with him – this is some kind of love, and some kind of good.
My thoughts drift off, roaming these last few weeks, these last several months. How my life isn’t black and white, but it’s not gray either. It’s bursting with colors, and sometimes they are shades of black as I grapple with the darkness and the fear that still lives inside me, and other days it’s purple or blue when I’m happy and sad at the same time. Some days everything is orange and fiery and I am alive and burning like the sun.
I am learning to live with all these colors, all these pieces of me. I am beginning to stop swatting away the girl I was. Because I can let go of who I used to be, but I don’t have to hate her, nor do I have to be ashamed of who I was. She served a purpose. Layla freed me from my mom. Besides, had I not been Layla I might never have met Trey.
I trace my fingers over the trees on his ribs, the reminders of his brothers.
“Do you miss them?”
“Yes,” he says into my hair, as he gently rubs his hand up and down my naked back. “But then I have to believe there was a meaning behind it all. And look, if they hadn’t died, I might never have become fucked up, and if I wasn’t fucked up, I might not have met you.”
I pull back to look at him. “You’re crazy and I love your crazy, because I was thinking the same thing. Well, about me.”
“If we weren’t addicted we might never have met.”
“So maybe there’s a purpose to everything, even the shitty stuff in life,” I say. “Even Miranda.” Then, in a low worried voice. “I haven’t heard from her in a while.”
“But you’re not supposed to, right? I mean, it’s over?”
“Yeah, it’s over. But the book will come out, and what if someone recognizes themselves in it?”
Because some days it’s hard to believe our debts are really paid off. Are scores ever truly settled? Can we ever stop looking over our shoulders? I wonder if I’ll always sleep with one eye open, always watch my back to see who’s going to try to trip me up next. God knows, there are so many more people who could surface, who could emerge like a mirage in the desert made real, and demand something from me. More blood, more words, more ink.
“Then we’ll deal with it then. Together. Trust me, there is nothing, not a thing on this fucking planet, that we cannot get through. I promise you,” he says, and he taps my arrow. “Staying.”
“Staying,” I repeat.
The arrow is staying.
Now I know. Now I get it. I understand. This is love. It’s not a game. It’s not a razor’s edge. It’s not a transaction.
The poets are right. The dreamers are right. The lovers are right. This isn’t nothing. This is everything.
* * *
Four weeks later…
Joanne knits another row on a hot pink pair of socks as she begins the meeting. We go round and do the introductions at the girls-only meeting. Chloe, Ainsley, a new gal named Katrina.
They say their hellos and we say hi back. Then it’s my turn.
“I’m Harley, and I’m a sex and love addict,” I say and Joanne beams at me. It’s been a few weeks now since I started using my real name here. It still feels weird and clunky after having the mask of Layla for so many months.
“Hi Harley,” the other gals say to me.
Then we talk and we share, and look, I’m not going to say I am sunshine and unicorns and the girl who overshares. I am still mostly a closed book, and I don’t know that healing means being open about everything.
Sometimes, I just practice the words in my head. I like the way they sound as I rewrite my story.
I’m Harley, I’m a sex and love addict. I’m in recovery. I was a virgin, I was a call girl, I was my mother’s daughter. Now I am a friend, I am a girlfriend, I am trying. I am twenty, and I don’t care how many guys I’ve kissed. There is only one guy I am kissing and will kiss. Now and always.
And that has to count for something.
When the meeting ends, I chat with Joanne for a few minutes, then say goodbye, because it’s my birthday and I’m having cake and watching a movie with Trey, Kristen and Jordan.
I rush up the steps and out onto the street, heading to my apartment. For a brief moment, my stomach cramps as if I’ve run too far and I have a stitch in my side. It reminds me of field hockey practice when we’d do laps.
But the feeling fades quickly, and I’m grateful for its exit because it’s time for cake when I unlock the door to my apartment.
Kristen’s in the kitchen lining up twenty pink and yellow birthday candles in a circle on the chocolate cake. “Can’t promise it’ll be any good. I’m not really known for my mad kitchen skills,” Kristen says with a shrug.
“I bet it’s fabulous,” I say and squeeze her arm.
Trey and Jordan join us in the kitchen as Kristen lights the candles and they all start singing. I don’t even pretend to act humble, or like it’s no big deal. It is a big deal. I’m celebrating my birthday the way I want – with my friends, and my boyfriend, with a cake that’s not made by my mom, and my life is finally starting to feel like my own. Moment by moment. Like I belong to myself.
So I sing along, and the four us are loud as loud can be.
“Now make a wish,” Kristen says, gesturing to the candles.
Leaning close, I gather my breath, and blow the flames out at once. I wish for more moments like this.
“What did you wish for?” Trey asks as he reaches for my hand, laces his fingers through mine. I love that we hold hands, that we held hands as friends, and now as more.
“I can’t tell you, or it won’t come true.”
He sticks out his tongue at me as Kristen serves the cake on small plates for each of us.
“Mmm. Delicious,” Jordan declares after a bite.
Kristen rolls her eyes. “You’re just saying that to score points.”
“No. This really is good cake,” Trey says after he takes a forkful.
“Now you’re just backing up your buddy,” she says.
“Kristen, you are going to have to accept that you actually made a delicious cake in a tiny New York kitchen,” I tell her after I finish another bite.
Soon, she and Jordan have moved to the living room to pick out a movie on the laptop, while Trey and I wash off the plates. As I rinse the final one, he loops his arms around my waist, rests his chin on my shoulder, and sneaks in a kiss on my neck.
“Mmm. Is that my birthday present?”
He tugs me against him, my back to his front. “I have many presents for you,” he says in a sexy, suggestive voice.
I shut off the faucet and turn around in his arms. “Being with you, like this, is all I want.”
“But I still want to give you more presents,” he says playfully.
I brush my lips against his. “I will gladly accept. But this is already the best birthday ever,” I say, because it is. Because I am living in the moment. In the present. Making the most of it. Taking every day one day at a time.
Then we kiss, one of those sweet, lingering kisses that makes you feel as if you’re floating.
“C’mon. Opening credits starting,” Kristen says, calling out to us.
We head to the living room, and start the movie, all curled up on the couch, like puppies in a litter, Kristen and Jordan tangled together, and Trey and I wrapped up in each other.
But after a half hour, my stomach starts to churn again.
“Excuse me,” I say and head to the bathroom. As soon as I shut the door, I feel the cake rising back up, so I cover my mouth with my hand, then quickly realize that won’t do the trick. I bend over the toilet and say goodbye to my birthday cake.
I cough a few times, flush the toilet, then wash my hands. I reach for my toothbrush, squirt on some toothpaste and brush my teeth to get rid of the yucky taste. I watch myself in the mirror, the repetitive motion lulling away the strange twists in my stomach.
Then it hits me.
Like a bigass wave you didn’t see coming. It slams me to the shore, and I drop my toothbrush into the sink. As it clatters, a speckle of toothpaste ricochets into my eye. It stings momentarily, and I rub it away quickly.
I kneel and open the cupboard below the sink, rummaging for something Kristen once needed several months ago.
My heart is speeding and smashing against the walls of my chest. No way, no way, no way.
But as I count backwards, I’m certain it’s been more than four weeks, and I don’t know how this could have happened. We were safe. Every time. But then, condoms can break. Is it my fault since I always put them on him? Did I slip and nick one with my fingernail? No. I’m just freaking out. I’m being ridiculous like Kristen was when she bought this test. Hers was negative, as I predicted it would be.
She flashed the stick before me, cheering up and down over one pink line.
I reach for the other stick, the one she didn’t need since hers was negative.
I read the instructions, and it’s not morning, it’s night. But hell if I care. I need to know. I need to settle my paranoid heart.
I sit down on the toilet, pee on the stick, and wait all those interminable minutes for an answer.
Trey told me nothing on the planet could come between us, but if anything could, this would be it, right? Nothing would scare him more than this. Nothing in the entire universe.
I close my eyes, lean my head against the wall and pray.
When I open my eyes and hold up the stick, I am seasick, my future is out of focus, and even though my world has gone blurry I can see clearly two pink lines.
I have no idea how the father of the baby is going to take this news.
To be continued….
Stay tuned for book 2 in the No Regrets series, EVERY SECOND WITH YOU, releasing in early 2014. And for more of Harley and Trey and the full story of the night they met, check out the prequel novella, THE START OF US, releasing in early December 2013.
Check out my other contemporary romance novels!
Caught Up In Us, a New York Times and USA Today Bestseller! (Kat and Bryan’s romance!)
Pretending He’s Mine, a Barnes & Noble and iBooks Bestseller! (Reeve & Sutton’s romance)
Trophy Husband, a New York Times and USA Today Bestseller! (Chris & McKenna’s romance)
Playing With Her Heart, a USA Today Bestseller! (Davis and Jill’s romance)
Far Too Tempting, an Amazon romance bestseller! (Matthew and Jane’s romance)
Acknowledgements
Nobody tells you that the acknowledgements is the most terrifying part of writing a novel. I am praying I don’t leave anyone out because I have so very many people to thank. But my first thank you as always, forever and ever, goes to my amazing readers. I have said it before, and I will never grow tired of saying it – I love you all. You are the reason I write. I love hearing from you, I love your notes, emails, tweets, posts, reviews and sweet comments. They fill my heart with so much happiness, and you make me want to write more. You are passionate and vocal and I adore you all. Thank you.
Next in line is the inimitable Monica Murphy. She is my cheerleader, my pimp, my friend, my sounding board, my shoulder to lean on and, most of all, she is the reason this book exists. The idea was on the back burner for many years until she told me I had to write The Thrill of It. So, really, she made me do it. And I love her for it!
My publicist and friend Kelly at Inkslinger PR didn’t balk when I told her I wanted to write a call girl/love & sex addiction book next. She was ready in seconds to strategize, and she has been terrific, nimble and passionate at every step of the journey.
A massive thank you to Sawyer Bennett for beta reading and to my amazing wonderful Zoe for her keen eye and vital feedback. Kim Bias was my line of defense, thoughtfully providing important input for my final edits, and jumping in whenever I needed her.
And then there is my friend Hetty. Without Hetty, I would not have this beautiful cover that I love. Like a treasure hunter, she found the photo on her own when I simply told her the concept for the story. A cover is a team project, and I am lucky to have the immensely talented Sarah Hansen in my corner. She knocked this one out of the park with her gorgeous design and her skill at tracking down the photographer. Credit for the beautiful cover photo goes to Anthony Langlois at Glimpse Photography. I am so glad to be in business with you, Anthony. You are an artist and a gentleman, and your models are my characters. No questions asked.
Big thanks as well to my indie besties—Violet Duke, Lexi Ryan, Kendall Ryan, Sawyer Bennett, Monica Murphy and Melody Grace. Thank you to Christina Lee for the amazing blurb. Tara Simone is a fabulous brainstorm partner, friend and business advisor. (Her book Vacationista is hilarious!)
I have come to rely on the friendship and support of a core group of passionate readers – Hetty, Kim, Cara and Kristy – you are my fab four. Kim, thank you so much for all that you do to keep the ship running smoothly.
Becky, your encouragement during the writing kept me motivated. Helen at All Booked Out rocks the graphics. Much love to these ladies.
Then there are the bloggers who are the foundation of the indie world. I love you all. A huge thanks to Totally Booked for sharing the first chapter, to My Fictional Book Boyfriend & Book Whore for the teaser opportunity, to Rock Stars of Romance for the early support, and to Heather from The REAL Housewives of Romance Book Blog, Hetty at BestSellers & BestStellars, and Helen at All Booked Out for the amazing teaser pics. But that’s only the beginning! Thank you to Book Whores Obsession, Reviews by Tammy and Kim, Kristy at Book Addict Mumma, Two Crazy Girls with a Passion for Books, Shh…Mom’s Reading, Romance Addict, Little Black Book Blog, Flirty and Dirty Book Blog, Britt Blabs Books, HEA Shelf Blogger, Angie’s Dreamy Reads, Becky at Reality Bites! Let’s Get Lost, Kelly at KellyVision, The Book Enthusiast, True Story Book Blog, Chapter Break, LoveNBooks, Just Booked and many more. Special shout-outs to Laura at Bookish Treasures, Tracey K., my lovely Retta Rusaw, Karen – The Danish Bookaholic, Stacey at Reading Rainblog, Lexi at Book Reviews by Lexi, Sandra Shipman, Yvette at Nose Stuck in a Book, Tanya at After the Final Chapters, Shey Houston at Guilty Pleasures Book Reviews, Jennifer Reyes from Jen’s Book Reviews, Tanya The Book Obsessed Momma, Wendy at The Geekery Book Review, Kat and Ava from Book Nerds Anonymous, Jaime Britten Collins from For The Love of Books by Jaime, Julie Solorio with Love Between the Sheets, the absolutely fantastic and amazing Bette Hansen, Kim Brown at Chapter Break, MJ Fryer, Betsy Gehring from Book Drunk Blog, my fave girl Kenna N, the awesome Carolyn Isherwood, Jennifer from Jennifer’s Reading and Jennifer’s Taking a Break, Jassie, the amazing Dianne of Oops I Read A Book Again, Sue F, Melissa, Diane from Naughty Book Eden, Chelsea at Starbucks & Books Obsession, Teresa Gomez from Sinful Reviews, Jessica at Lovin’ Los Libros, Jennifer, Tabatha at Insightful Minds Reviews, Louisse from The Soul Sisters, Marianna at A Lust for Reading, Kelly at Smut Book Junkie Book Reviews, Amy at Schmexy Girl Book Blog and Lauren Turkel.
Finally, thank you to my friends and family. My husband and children are so wonderful and their love and support keep me going. That, and the cookies, chocolate and green tea they bring me. So much love to these amazing people.
Last but not least are my dogs. They are with me for nearly every word and I love them.
And I suppose, in some strange way, I need to thank Harley and Trey. This might be the cheesiest, corniest thing I’ve ever said, but I’m so glad they trusted me with their story.
