Текст книги "Lies Unspoken "

Автор книги: Lisa DeJong

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Текущая страница: 7 (всего у книги 19 страниц)

MY ALARM SOUNDS JUST AFTER five, really early for a girl who stayed up past her bedtime trying to counsel a damaged man with the feel of her body.

After rolling out of bed, I quickly shower and dress. Not wanting to mess with my hair, I tie it up again, and attempt to hide my tired eyes with a thick layer of make-up. One last look in the full-length mirror, and I’m satisfied.

I didn’t hear a peep from Blake after I went back to my room. I’d heard him turn the lamp off, and the sound of his bed shifting shortly after crawling into my own. I tossed and turned, thinking about him. I want to know what set him off last night . . . what thoughts were running through his mind as he buried himself inside me over and over.

As I make my way to the kitchen, I notice the ache that still lingers between my legs. It’s going to remain there all day, reminding me of who I may or may not get to come home to tonight. That’s the thing about us—nothing is certain.

Searching the fridge, I find Blake’s beloved eggs. I’ve never been much of a cook so this should be interesting. Usually, when I’m in the kitchen with him, we’re bickering about something so I don’t know how he likes them exactly.

I crack two eggs and let them sizzle in the pan while I place some bread in the toaster. Blake emerges from his room just as they pop up.

“What’s going on in here?” he asks, wiping the sleep from his eyes.

“I owe you breakfast.” Looking down at the eggs, I add, “How do you like your eggs?”

He smiles. “Over-easy.”

He comes to stand beside me, which just makes me nervous. I flip. He narrows his eyes on the pan. “Does this meet your standards so far?” I ask, hating the silence.

“It’ll do,” he muses.

“Good, because this is what you’re getting.”

I pull the toast out and set it on the plate, trying to remember what he puts on it. Opening the fridge, I spot two kinds of jelly and a big container of butter. Shit.

“Strawberry jelly,” he says, reaching over me to grab the milk.

“Thanks.”

He laughs. “All you have to do is ask.”

While I occupy myself, putting his plate together, he sits down at the table with a newspaper. This feels too much like a relationship and not so much like me making good on a bet.

When everything is done, I put the plate in front of him. He looks up at me, eyes widening. “Breakfast is served,” I say, sauntering away from him.

“You’re going to make someone a nice wife some day,” he teases. I almost was someone’s wife, I think to myself as I walk back to the kitchen. I hate being reminded of my failures. “Did you dress up to play the part?” he adds.

“I started my new job yesterday.”

“Ditching Charlie’s already?”

“No,” I answer, wiping down the counters. “I’m working both to save up money for my own place.”

His fork clangs against the ceramic plate. “We already talked about this.”

I walk across the living room to my purse, ignoring him for a minute. As of right now, I’m staying until Mallory comes back but making him sweat isn’t necessarily a bad thing. It’s not like he hasn’t done it to me a time or two. “Settle down. I’m staying until Mallory gets back unless you give me a reason not to.”

“Is that what you’re wearing to work?” he asks, picking his fork back up.

“Yep,” I answer, putting a little extra sway in my step. The skirt pulls against my ass, and I’m pretty sure he’s looking. The apartment goes deathly quiet as I pull my purse over my shoulder. When I turn back around, he’s staring at me, his mouth hanging open. “Are you staring?”

His lips curl. “You’re walking a little funny today. Is everything okay?”

I narrow my eyes at him as I head toward the door. “I’ve been better.”

The chair screeches across the floor. I count . . . one . . . two . . . his arm wraps around my waist, pulling me back into his body. “Take that back,” his breath whispers against my ear.

“Take what back?” I ask, folding against his body even though I don’t want to. My body is a stupid traitor.

“No one’s ever made you feel better than I do.”

“You don’t know that.”

His grip tightens. “Yes, I do. Admit it.”

“Fine, Blake . . . if you don’t let me go, we’re going to be up against that wall or in your bed or on the counter. You pick.”

“Mmm, we haven’t tried the counter yet,” he groans, pressing his lips to my neck.

“Seriously, I need to go.”

“Five minutes.”

Pushing down on his arm, I try to free myself. It’s a pathetic attempt. “Blake, please, I need this job.”

“Have it your way . . . just this once. But tonight, Lemon Drop, you and I have a date on the counter.” He’s doing that thing again, bringing me to the brink of a sexual high with words alone. At some point, I know this has to stop, but that time is not now. I haven’t had my fill of him yet.

After he lets go of me, I adjust my clothes, assuring everything is still perfectly in place. I hold in my breath, trying to calm my racing heart then look at him one last time. “Bye, Blake.”

He winks.

Work reminded me of my first day of school this morning. Here’s your desk. There are the supplies. I’ll be your supervisor. Ugh.

My phone dings with a new text message.

Dana: We still on tonight??

Me: God, yes! Margaritas?

Dana: You know it. Meet me at Marco’s at 7.

Just what I need after a day like this. I tap my nails against the desk and stare at the clock. My cubicle ended up being on the fifth floor, which is nothing like the twelfth. Inspiration and good-looking men are minimal. I’m so bored out of my mind, I’d file, staple, enter data; I’m not too picky.

My mind wanders to Blake, and the date he promised me on the counter. Maybe I should let him know I won’t be home until late. Or maybe I shouldn’t because we’re not really dating—this isn’t a relationship where I have to report my every move.

Still, I don’t want him to worry so I pull out my cell phone again. After all the angst of not knowing where he was this weekend, I still didn’t ask for his number.

Looking at the time, I’m pretty sure Mallory is out of class for the day so I try her first.

Me: What’s Blake’s number?

A couple minutes tick by. More clock watching.

She texts me with it, and I quickly program it into my phone.

Mallory: Why did u need his #?

Me: Need to tell him something.

Mallory: Did he leave the toilet seat up?

I ignore her, typing out a text to Blake.

Me: Won’t be home until late tonight.—Lila

A reply comes right away.

Blake: I thought we had a date.

I smile . . . it’s hard not to. Every time I’ve walked around today, I’ve thought of him. When I look at the desk or the counter, I think of him. Even the walls make me think of him.

Me: Climb up on the counter and take care of that little problem yourself.

Blake: There’s nothing little about that problem. It’s a big problem, and your sexy-librarian-ass is going to take care of it tonight.

Me: I’ll be too tired, and maybe drunk. Sorry.

A couple minutes pass, and when I’m starting to think he’s pissed that I canceled, the phone dings again.

Blake: Still feel me between your legs?

Me: . . .

Blake: Good. Where are you going tonight?

I debate telling him, but finally concede to our little game.

Me: Marco’s

Then there’s nothing. Air silence.

As soon as the clock hits noon, I jump in the elevator, following the masses. The mixture of cologne and perfume fills the overheated space as the doors open at every floor. It’s a waste of time; there should be a It’s fucking full, and I want to get the hell out of here button.

When it finally stops on the ground floor, we parade out like a herd of caged animals. I’d gotten a tour of the cafeteria yesterday so I’m not surprised how big it is, but now that it’s full of people, it’s ten times scarier.

Not wanting to deal with lines, I head straight to the salad bar and load my plate with chicken, veggies, and fruit. I grab a bottle of water and pay before looking for an open place to sit. Surprisingly, there’s a single open table in the corner, and since I don’t know anyone here, I gravitate toward it.

I barely have my first bite in when a brunette—about my age—stops next to me. I’m admiring her mass of curls when she clears her throat. “Excuse me.”

“Hi,” I reply, not quite sure what else to say.

“Are these seats taken?” she asks, motioning to the three chairs that surround me.

“No.”

She exhales audibly, setting her tray down beside mine. “Oh, good. You’re the only person in this room who looked cool to sit with.”

“It’s kind of like high school, isn’t it?”

“Exactly. Everyone has their own little cliques, and I’m sort of the new kid, trying her best to work her way to the top. I thought adulthood would put an end to this,” she says, peeling the lid off her yogurt. “I’m Reece, by the way.”

“I’m Lila, and I’m new here too. Yesterday was my first day.”

Her eyes widen. “Me too, Architecture Apprenticeship. Ugh, the whole reason I picked Stanley was to work under Pierce Stanley, and my mentor told me he’s never here.”

I bite my lower lip, thinking about my meetings with Pierce. He’s the type of guy most girls would sell their soul to touch. “I have a Design Apprenticeship, and I’ve been staring at the clock since my mentor went into a meeting this morning. They don’t even trust me with a stapler yet.”

“That sucks. I’d staple all day if I could get one glimpse of Pierce.”

“What’s his story anyway?” I ask. There’s no way I’m going to tell her that I’ve met Pierce on numerous occasions—even had my interview with him. From what she’s said so far, she’d probably tackle me and beat every little fact about him out of me.

“You don’t know?”

I shake my head . . . Pierce is a big unknown. The little bit of time we’ve spent together hasn’t even scratched the surface.

“He’s talented, well-respected, and successful at a very young age. On top of that, the guy’s gorgeous. I’ve never seen him in person, but if he’s even half the man he is in pictures, I’ll die.” She sounds and looks like a teenage girl talking about a hot new boy band.

I’ve never seen a picture of Pierce, but the man’s beyond gorgeous—at least half Italian, perfect body, and impeccable style. “Is he single?”

She snorts. “You need to Google him. Seriously. He dates but nothing serious. They always post pictures from events and red carpets online, but he’s never had the same woman with him twice.” Something tells me she’d be satisfied with just one shot. One date. One kiss.

“Interesting.”

I wonder if I’m just a game piece to Pierce. Why does he want to take me to the benefit when he could have his pick of gorgeous women?

Chasing all those thoughts and doubts away, I spend the rest of my break talking to Reece about where she grew up and how it compares to here. We both groan while sharing our orientation stories. She reminds me a little of Mallory—super book smart—but she’s also funny and quirky.

“How long have you lived in Chicago?” I ask, pushing my half-eaten salad away.

“Since Saturday. It sucks because I don’t know anyone.”

“I’m going out with a friend tonight if you’d like to join us. Nothing too exciting, just tacos and margaritas, but it will get you out of the house.” Maybe I should have asked Dana first, but I don’t think she’ll mind. Reece is more straight-laced, but they’re both guy crazy.

“Are you sure?”

“I wouldn’t ask if I wasn’t.”

“Oh my God, yes.” I swear she’s going to jump out of her chair and hug me. Tonight will be fun, or at least it will be a good break from the mundane life I’ve been living—besides when I’m with Blake.

MARCO’S ISN’T QUITE WHAT I expected. It’s a bar like Dana said, but one end resembles a dance club. I wanted low key, relaxing, but this is more of a go out, have fun, get drunk, and hope to God you don’t have to work the next day type of place.

“I don’t think I would have come here if you hadn’t invited me . . . ever,” Reece chides next to me. Dance music blares, making it almost impossible to hear her.

“Hey, it wasn’t exactly my idea. Besides, we’re only staying for a couple hours then we’re leaving.”

She bumps my shoulder when two women in short—barely covers their ass—skirts walk by. It’s something I wouldn’t have worn even if I’d known the place. “Do we have a safe word?”

“A what?” I ask, wrinkling my nose at her. I can’t tell if she’s serious or joking.

“Don’t you read?” Her eyes bug out like I’ve grown two heads right before her eyes or something.

“Yes, I read.” Probably more than I should actually.

“What genre?” she asks, tapping her heel against the hard floor.

I shrug. “Women’s Fiction or Romance mostly. Sometimes James Patterson or John Grisham.”

“No BDSM?” Even in the dimly lit room, the blush on her cheeks is evident.

“No, that’s not really my thing,” I answer, scanning the crowded room for Dana.

She continues, “Safe words are used to get out of uncomfortable situations. For example, I hate dancing so if anyone asks, I’m using our word.”

With a roll of my eyes, I say, “Seriously, Reece? I really don’t think that’s what they’re for.”

“I don’t care. So what’s it going to be?” Dana needs to hurry up. The sooner she gets here, the sooner we can all leave. I want to go home, maybe find Blake, and let him fuck me on the counter like he promised.

“Your pick,” I answer, simply to satisfy her.

She taps her index finger on her chin. It’s entertaining just to watch her spend so much time picking out a word we’ll probably never use. This is nothing but an outdated bar slash dance club . . . not the bedroom. “Pierce.” She says it with so much excitement, you’d think he was an old friend she hadn’t seen in forever standing across the room.

I shake my head, forgoing any response. I wonder what Reece would say if she knew I was going to a benefit with the hot shot CEO this weekend. Trepidation builds inside me every time I think about it. What will people think when I show up with him? What will Blake think?

Cold, bony hands cover my eyes, breaking me away from all thoughts of the upcoming weekend. “Boo!” Dana shouts, giving me my eyesight back.

“I was starting to think you’d punk’d us,” I remark, crossing my arms over my chest.

“Sorry I’m late. I got hung up at home. Wait, who’s us?”

I motion toward Reece. “Dana, meet Reece. Reece, this is Dana, a friend of mine.”

Dana smiles warmly, lifting her hand in a short wave. “The more the merrier.”

Tonight will be fun. Over the years I’ve learned that it’s not so much about where you are as it is who you’re with.

“Let’s grab a booth before there’s none left,” Dana says, motioning for us to follow her.

After we’re seated, the waitress brings us some chips and salsa and takes our order for three margaritas. The first chip tastes like pure salt-covered heaven on my tongue, and before I know it, I’ve downed a handful before Dana and Reece even get a taste.

“What are you guys going to get?” Reece asks.

“Should we order a taco platter? We can share,” Dana suggests. I swear the more time I spend with Dana, the more I like her.

Reece and I both throw down our menus in agreement. The waitress returns to bring our drinks and takes our order. She’s not even a foot away from the table before our lips are plastered against the salted rims. The icy tequila is some of the best I’ve had. Chicago has a one up on Nebraska in the drink department.

“God that’s good,” Reece moans, pressing her thin lips to the rim. She sounds like a woman in the throes of wild sex.

“Well, hurry up and finish those, and then we can have another,” Dana says. She has half her drink gone while Reece and I still savor our first sip.

“You do realize that Reece and I have to work in the morning, don’t you?”

She waves her hand like it’s nothing. “Oh, come on, we’re young enough. We’ll bounce back quick.”

I roll my eyes and take another drink, realizing just how easy it goes down this time. Tomorrow morning is going to come with one hell of a headache.

Our food arrives, and we put it away like a table of post-game football players. It’s been almost eight hours since I ate a few bites of salad . . . anything would taste good to me right now.

“So, Reece, what’s your story?” Dana asks between bites. I’m curious myself since I just met her today.

“All twenty-five years of it, or would you prefer me to narrow it down to one chapter?”

Dana rests her elbows on the table like she’s going to soak up each and every word. “Let’s start with the juicy stuff. Boyfriend? Virgin?”

Reece’s narrows her eyes at her. “Why does everyone assume that I’m a virgin?”

“I’m not assuming anything. Spill.” Dana grabs a handful of chips and sits back like she’s waiting for the main feature at the movie theater.

“I’ve had boyfriends. Lots of them. Like more than I can count on one hand. One was even a football player in high school.” She talks so fast that it’s hard to discern. It’s like she doesn’t necessarily want us to retain it all.

“Do you have one now?” Dana asks, popping yet another chip in her mouth.

Reece snorts. “No, I’m keeping my options open since I just moved here. I don’t want to be tied down right now, you know?”

I pipe in, saving her from more of the Dana inquisition. “I’m the same. The last thing I want to be is tied down. Besides, I just got out of a relationship a few months ago, and it didn’t leave me feeling warm and fuzzy about men.”

The waitress brings yet another round of drinks. The steady stream of tequila is loosening me up . . . a welcome feeling after the past couple weeks.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Dana says to Reece. “Lila’s got a man.”

“Shut it, Dana. I’m not tied to anyone right now.”

She laughs. “Oh, he hasn’t broken the handcuffs out yet and hitched you to his bedpost? Poor girl . . . I totally took him as the type.”

I narrow my eyes at her. “What about you? Do you have a boyfriend?”

She scoffs. “Hell no! I work them like monkey bars, jumping from one to the next.”

Reece and I share shocked expressions. Through high school and college, I knew plenty of jumpers but never one that would admit to it.

“Chill out. I don’t end up in bed with all of them.”

As if that makes it any better. Dana and I are different, but sometimes dissimilarity is needed for two parts to fit together. She’s the blank to my tab.

We spend the next hour talking about the duds we’ve dated while on our journey to find Mr. Right. And that just leads to us discussing how Mr. Right probably doesn’t even exist.

After three, or maybe four, margaritas Dana finally convinces Reece and I to join her on the dance floor. I’m uncoordinated, I always have been, but the alcohol gives me enough courage to fake it.

My body flows freely to the beat of the music. The three of us form a circle, laughing and having a good time. Strands of hair fall from my once perfect bun, sticking to my face. The best part of it all is I don’t care . . . alcohol is a wonderful thing.

One song ends and another begins. Unable to make out the words, I close my eyes and let the rhythm carry me. This is freedom at its finest.

“Pierce!” Reece yells. My eyes shoot open, immediately scanning the dance floor. I find her a few feet away, her ass shoved against a guy’s crotch.

My instinct is to laugh, and then I put myself in her shoes. I cringe when strange men touch me. There’s a layer of unpredictability—not knowing the guy’s intentions or where the hell his hands have been. I literally pry Reece from his arms, not stopping until we’re back in our booth.

“Thank you. I tried to get away, and he thought I was grinding against him. It was so gross.”

“You said you wanted to make friends,” I tease.

“Who wants to make friends?” I’d know that voice anywhere. Deep and sexy. My mind shifts to all the seductive words that have slipped from those lips over the last couple weeks. I never imagined that thoughts of the past would leave my panties wet.

“And what are you doing here?” Dana asks, coming up behind Blake. She slides in next to Reece, glaring up at him along the way. For her part, Reece can only stare, smitten with the stereotypical bad boy—ripped faded blue jeans, fitted navy henley, hair tousled in the most perfect way possible. His parents should have just named him The Panty Dampener.

He grins, and maybe it’s the alcohol or the dancing, or the memory of how his hands feel on me, but I’m finding it hard to catch my breath. “My plans for tonight got canceled.”

“Oh, shucks,” Dana chides, “Guess you’ll have to find something else to do.”

“I already have,” he responds, sliding in next to me. His arm brushes against mine. Sparks fly too easily. I should move away from him, to extinguish them, but I don’t. It’s been a long time—maybe even never—since I was turned on by the mere presence of a man.

He runs his finger over my blushed cheeks and damp hair. “You look so damn sexy right now,” he says as he leans in close. “But I prefer when I make you wet.”

“Can you keep your voice down?” A deeper shade of red paints my cheeks. I glance across the table, noticing Dana and Reece locked in a whispered conversation. Maybe they didn’t hear a thing, or maybe they heard it all and they’re having a nice little chat about my screwed up arrangement.

“Am I embarrassing you in front of your friends?” Blake asks, a little louder this time. His words are embarrassing me, as is the obvious way my body reacts to him. Whenever he’s within a couple feet, I become a withering, flimsy petal rolled between his stupid, magic fingers.

“Will you two stop already?” Dana groans from across the table.

“I’m confused. Is this the guy?” Reece pipes in, eyes gleaming with a newfound excitement.

“They’re fucking,” Dana remarks matter-of-factly. Oh God. I want to be anywhere but here. Blake is going to know I have a big mouth, and Reece is probably wondering how she picked the company slut as a new friend.

“What’s the difference?” Reece pipes in.

I grimace, draining the rest of my margarita in an attempt to hide my face. For his part, Blake is quiet. He’s either grinning at how uncomfortable this is all making me or pissed that the whole world suddenly knows our business.

“There’s a huge difference. I’ll explain it to you when we’re sober,” Dana adds.

There is an immense difference between a relationship and fucking . . . I’m just learning that myself. He doesn’t take me to dinner or pull me close like a second skin after sex. We just have this thing—an intense, sanity-stealing chemistry—that makes it impossible to keep our hands to ourselves. In some ways, it’s more powerful than the connection I had with Derek. No feelings—just a fierce, undeniable attraction.

I didn’t move here with any intention of starting something like this so soon, but sometimes we don’t get to choose where we land. Life has taught me that over and over again in both good and bad ways. With Blake, I must have had a choice, but I don’t remember choosing him.

Shaking my thoughts, I bring my focus back to the group around me. Reece stares at me incredulously, and it dawns on me that I haven’t officially introduced her to my . . . whatever he is. When I finally take a chance and look up at him, he’s staring at me with this amused expression on his face. Watching me squirm is entertaining to him, I guess. “Blake, you’ve already met Dana, but this is Reece. She’s a friend from my other job.”

“Like a peanut butter cup?” Blake jokes, shifting his eyes to Reece. I instantly want his attention back. He’s not mine, but he is.

“Blake, stop!” I groan, just loud enough that my group around the table hears me.

“These two seem like they could use some alone time. Let’s go dance,” Dana suggests. Her wide eyes shift from me to Reece, silently begging her to agree so they can get out from under the awkwardness at our table.

“Only if you promise to keep me far away from Crotch-to-Ass guy,” Reece responds.

“Don’t worry. We’ll find someone sexy for you to grind with.”

Reece looks like the music just cued up on that popular shark attack movie, and she’s about to be clamped in the jaw of the giant fish. “Or we could just leave.”

Dana laughs. “Nope. Come on.”

My shy new friend wrings her hands together as she stares at me from across the table. A good person would rescue her from the water, but being around Blake doesn’t necessarily put me under the best light. “Go, I’ll join you guys in a couple minutes.”

After one last narrowing of her eyes, she begrudgingly follows Dana. As they disappear into the crowd, I look over and meet Blake’s gaze. There’s a sparkle in his eye I rarely see. A gorgeous smile curves his lips. He makes it incredibly hard to remember why I was angry with him just seconds ago.

His hand moves between my barely covered legs, his fingers slowly working their way upward. My breath hitches. He wouldn’t go there . . . not here with all these people surrounding us. A little higher, and I know I’m wrong. This man has no inhibitions. “Come home with me.”

“I need another drink first.” I alternate between swallowing down my rebuttal and squeezing my thighs together. Swallow. Squeeze. Swallow. Squeeze. If our waitress doesn’t come back soon, I’ll have no choice but to throw back whatever I can find on the table to help drown these nerves.

“I can do so much more for you than a drink ever can. You should know that by now.” His voice purrs, his breath hitting my cheek. He’s not exaggerating, but I’m not leaving just yet.

The waitress reappears before I get a chance to turn him down . . . or that’s what I think I was going to do. “I need another margarita, please. The largest one you’ve got.”

She glances between Blake and me, shaking her head. “You got it.”

As soon as she turns her back, Blake surprises me by pressing his lips to my neck—that magical spot right below my ear. I moan softly, feeling the familiar tingle travel down my spine.

“That good, huh?” he whispers against my skin.

Maybe it’s just the tequila, but I need his hands on me—all over me. My next words surprise even me. “Dance with me.”

His grin could melt thousands of panties and break a million hearts. Damn him. “I don’t dance.”

“Not a big deal,” I say, pushing against his shoulder to hint that I want out. “I’ll find someone else to rub their hands all over my body.”

He groans, angling himself to cage me in. “I dare you.”

“Well, Blake,” I say, patting his strong chest. “A dare is something I never walk away from.”

His attention darts to my lips and just when I think he might kiss me, he slides out of the booth. “This should be fun,” he announces, crossing his arms over his chest.

Without a second thought, I scoot out and bring myself up so we’re chest to chest. There’s a playful glimmer in his eyes—one I usually only witness seconds before he devours me. It’s taking every bit of my self-control not to beg him to take me home and do what he promised earlier.

I lift myself to my tiptoes, using his shoulders as leverage. I close the gap between us, and when he smiles like I might kiss him, I change paths until my lips are against his ear. “I’ll be back in a little while . . . maybe.”

I spin around, swaying my hips to show him what he’s missing. I’m probably not very good at it, but the alcohol helps.

“Hey, Lemon Drop!” he yells when I’m a few steps away.

I look over my shoulder. “Yeah?”

“You’ll be back.”