Текст книги "Step by Step"

Автор книги: Natalie E. Wrye

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A Rook-ie Mistake

My opponents make good moves too. Sometimes I don't take these things into consideration.  –  Bobby Fischer

ELENA

 

After Lukas leaves, I resign myself to actually having some fun.

I dance. I dally. I drink.

A LOT.

There seems to be a surgically irremovable glass of liquor in my hands at all times, and I am casually entertaining so many people that one might even mistake me as the “life of the party”—which I never am.

I don’t even recognize myself.

My world has been turned upside—unwittingly flipped by my new uprooting, my new career goals… my new “family.”

First, the addition of Foxx—now, Griff, and honestly… I just don’t know the rules to this.

Am I supposed to treat him like family? Invite him over for barbeque and beer?

He’s like a brother to Brendon. How the hell am I supposed to act?

***

LUKAS

 

“Stop staring at her,” Chris says to me, knocking his knuckles against my chest.

I feign ignorance, peering at him over the lip of my quickly disappearing scotch. “What are you talking about?”

“Elena. Stop staring at her. You’ve been gawking all night. I know when you’re eyeing someone. Just like you used to gape at Becky Fletcher in eighth grade. You’re not as stealthy as you think you are.”

I shrug with a laugh, sitting my empty scotch glass on a nearby waiter’s tray.

“Delusion is a sickness, Chris. You might want to see someone about that.”

He takes a sip of his drink. “I already see someone about my anxiety-based delusions, Griff; this is not one of them. I know you. I know when you’re scoping someone out. Even if no one else can see it.”

“The only thing you might see in my eyes is irritation. I’m tired of this dark liquor. I need something white. And I am not scoping out Elena.”

I try to play it cool.

“Besides… I’ve never nabbed a girl with short hair before. What would I hold onto?” I smirk, dismissing Chris’s accusation.

“If you’re as good as you say you are, Griff… you’ll figure it out.”

“Damn straight,” I say, toasting him with an invisible glass.

“Except…” Chris begins.

“Except what?”

“I don’t know, bro. This Elena, man… She’s different…”

I narrow my eyes at him. “Different how?”

“I don’t know… Can’t quite put my finger on it, but there’s something different about her… and Kat. These Lexington women… they don’t come cheap.”

“So, what are you saying, Chris?”

“I’m saying that this won’t be as easy as you think. You remember the few things Foxx did tell us about her, don’t you?”

I squint harder, placing a hand in my pants pocket. “Yeah, I do. Something about Elena being hard as nails… a real ball-breaker or something like that…”

“’Ball-breaker?’” Chris guffaws out loud. “He said any man’s nuts will be able to fit through a flour sifter by the time Elena’s done with them.”

He winces, looking conspicuously down at his family jewels.

“Ahhh¸ but you’re missing one important thing here, Mr. Johnson,” I say, sliding an arm around his shoulders. “I’m not just any man. This is me—Lukas Griffin you’re talking about.

“Surely you haven’t forgotten my, uh… special skills.”

He laughs. “Not going to lie, Griff. When it comes to women, you’re the master at bagging the best. I’ve never seen someone have ‘em eating out of the palm of their hands the way you do, but… I’m just saying…”

“Say no more, Chris. Just let me handle Elena… that is, if I decide to even give it a go…”

Chris shrugs. “Whatever you say, man. Can’t say I didn’t warn you…”

His eyes look over my shoulder. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a dance with the pretty redhead in the corner.”

He passes his drink to me, flashing me a mocking smile. “Good luck.” He takes off into the crowd, heading towards the furthest nook of the room.

I frown at his retreating back. Luck? My ego scoffs. Hmph. I don’t need luck.

Forget being the Master; I’ve got a goddamned PhD in women. I can have any woman I want in this room. I glance at the long legs under the red dress.

With the exception of maybe one—the most difficult one. Every man in here wants her—including me—and I’m doing my damnedest not to show it.

I down what’s left of Chris’s drink. No. Fuck that. Nabbing Elena is definitely a challenge… but I have never (and I do mean never) backed down from one. And I sure as hell am not going to start now.

I head towards that red dress when a hand snakes out of the crowd, gripping me tightly.

“Looking for me?” she hisses seductively. She pulls me into her, leaving me no choice but to gaze into her eager eyes. Her glossy tendrils are framing her face, her dark hair pulled up into a high, messy bun.

She’s as beautiful as she’s ever been, but her features are hardened, made grotesque by the unhinged look emanating from her wide, green irises.

Trina. “Trin,” I call her like I used to. “Hi. No, actually… “ I stall. “I’m only looking for the head. Gotta take a leak.”

My voice is gruff: clipped. I’m not looking to be near her any longer than I have to. I pull slyly out of her grasp, taking a step in the opposite direction.

“No way, handsome,” she coos, tugging me full-circle back into her body. “I deserve a dance. It’s the least you can give me, don’t you think?”

I stiffen.

I don’t know what to say to that. It’s been over for Trina and me for a long time, but I guess I always knew that she got the shitty end of the stick.

I knew I wasn’t ready to be in a relationship when we first hooked up; I told her so right away.

When she got too clingy, I ended it as amicably as anybody really could in those circumstances, but she never really got the picture, no matter how clear I’d been.

I scan the dance floor for Elena again, but she’s gone, those long legs and blonde hair missing from the spot that she once occupied.

I turn back to Trina, swallowing a lump in my throat.

I’ve dumped a lot of girls in my time, but this is the only one that I feel guilty about. Trina used to be a nice girl; I should’ve never gotten involved with her.

“Ok,” I relent with a nod. “One dance won’t kill me.”

She grabs onto my palms, wrapping my arms around her. “I make no promises, Mr. Griffin.” And then we start to move.

The band starts to play “The Girl from Ipanema” and Trina begins to sway seductively. I’m no slouch on the dance floor. I lead, spinning her skillfully as we swing on the beat.

But she’s clutching me just a bit too tight and sliding just a tad too close. I back up by a step.

“Watch it, Trina. You’re going to get us in trouble.” I smile, trying to thwart her unwanted advances.

She gives a high-pitched giggle, grabbing onto me. She brings her face close to mine, whispering. “Oh, Griff. I am the trouble.”

I stare into her eyes, mesmerized. Those wide, green irises. They aren’t just wide. They’re dilated: unnaturally and inexplicably large.

She’s as high as a kite.

I grab her shoulders. “Trina…”

She digs her nails into my arms, standing on her tiptoes to try to kiss me. I dodge her lips.

“Trina,” I grab her harder. “Listen to me…”

But she doesn’t. She puts a finger on my lips, nearly into my mouth. “You’ve been avoiding me all night, Griff…”

I snatch her finger. “I haven’t even seen you all night, but I would have avoided you because of...”

“Me.” The voice over my shoulder startles me, and I turn to find piercing blue eyes staring back at me.

Elena reaches out, prying Trina’s small fingers from around my stiffened arm.

“I’m his girlfriend… Trina,” she spouts mockingly. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d give him some air to breathe and some space to dance with his actual partner.

“And might I suggest you hit the ladies’ room while you give us room? You’ve got a little snow under your nose there.”

Trina scowls, stepping away from the both of us with a heated glance. Elena slips into the circle of my arms where Trina just was.

She dips a few fingers into her cleavage, tossing a handkerchief at Trina, which she catches.

“Probably would be a good idea to wipe that look off of your face as well. Your desperation is seeping through your pores.”

Ouch. Even I feel the sting of that one.

I stand still, waiting for a comeback from Trina, but it doesn’t happen. She takes what shreds of dignity she still has left and hightails it towards the hallway where the restrooms lie, the golden tail of her dress dragging as she scurries away.

Elena and I continue dancing as part of the ruse. Mm, this feels good.

“Wow,” I say to her. “You’re a natural.”

“At dancing?”

“No. At making people cry.”

She laughs, bowing her head to cover up a small smile. Her soft blonde hair smells fragrant, like vanilla. She raises her face towards mine again.

“She didn’t cry,” she remarks. “Not yet…” She shrugs absently, moving slowly to the music.

My hands squeeze gently on Elena’s hips, and I realize that we still haven’t stopped dancing…

“Uh huh, Miss Lexington,” I tease. “Nice cover-up… but you get what you give.”

“Oh, you mean karma?” she asks. I nod slowly. “Don’t think that’s going to happen. I don’t cry easily…”

“You might be surprised.” My eyes shoot to her lips. “You know… when some women experience intense orgasms… instead of moaning or screaming, they cry… “

She snorts softly. “Cry?”

“Uh huh. Full-blown boo-hoos. Sometimes, the pleasure is just too much, and the tears just overflow. The intensity is just too overwhelming, and their eyes start to water from an overload of sensation.”

Her expression tightens. “Thank you for that interesting and unwelcome lesson, Lukas,” she quips, deadpan. “Like, I said… I am not a crier.”

I shake my head at her response. Goddamn, she’s so stubborn. And I usually can’t fucking stand it, but tonight—tonight feels different…

“I don’t know. I’ve seen some… interesting things happen,” I continue to press. “It seems like one of the rare nights, doesn’t it? Where the unexpected just… takes place…”

I can tell that she’s intrigued. She cocks an ash-blonde eyebrow, causing her blue eyes to twinkle.

“The unexpected? What unexpected stuff? Enlighten me…”

I shrug casually. “Like you… coming over here, getting rid of Trina, dancing with me… That’s all pretty unexpected, wouldn’t you say?”

I tighten my hold on her ever so slightly, using my thumbs to caress the silk at her sides.

Her lips are bright red, as red as her dress. They’re slightly parted and all of a sudden, all I can think about is putting my tongue between them.

The thought makes me grow hard. Irrationally and undeniably hard.

I’m close to Elena, but not close enough for her to feel it.

If I step one millimeter nearer, I’ll be skimming the “v” of her thighs with an erection that could hammer nails.

She starts speaking, and I have to look away from her lips and concentrate back on her eyes. Those amazing, light blue eyes.

“It’s really not unexpected,” she declares. “After what you did earlier, I owed you one. And now… the favor’s returned. Have a good evening, Lukas.”

She extracts herself from my arms, turning away without a backward glance. She walks in the direction of the ladies’ room, and I am confused about what to do next.

Damn.

My cock tells me to follow, but my pride just plants my feet. The latter wins the battle this time, but then again… he always does.

I’ve never been one to chase after a woman. Never had to… until now. Sigh. This is going to be harder than I thought.

I need another drink.

Double or Nothing

 

“When you see a good move, look for a better one.”  –  Emanuel Lasker

 

 

ELENA

I act as if I’m going to the bathroom in case Lukas follows. When I’m sure that he isn’t, I make a detour, heading for the preparatory kitchen.

Cake. Cake. Cake.

I need some cake. Something to calm me down.

Sweets were always a go-to in our household growing up. My mother always said, “There was no illness that sugar couldn’t cure.” If we hadn’t gone to the dentist regularly, our teeth would’ve rotted right out of our heads.

Luckily, we made it into adulthood with our original bicuspids in tact, but that crazy sweet tooth hasn’t escaped a single one of us.

I need the cake to bring my nerves back to neutral. And I’ve already had enough alcohol to drown a small nation.

I whiz past waiters and trays and chefs with large hats. I scan the countertops, the cabinets until bingo—I hit the fridge. The rush of air is cold and refreshing, and my eyes are gobbling up every square inch of space.

Cake. Cake. Cake. Cake. Ah-ha!

But the cake is far too large, and I wouldn’t be able to sneak it out of here without getting discovered and dropping the large sheet all over the kitchen floor.

Think, Elena. Think.

Oh, yessss. Cupcakes.

They sit on the bottom shelf with champagne and creamy white hues of frosting, topped with decorative and shiny round-shaped sprinkles.

I reach for them like a crack-fiend. I’m no better than Lukas’s coked-out groupie in the ballroom, but I have no choice. I need this.

I grab two cupcakes, pulling them close to my body before closing the fridge completely. I shield them with my arms as I pass the unsuspecting and, frankly, unconcerned wait and kitchen staff.

I stow away with my stolen stash into a separate side-room near the kitchen, where I sink into a white and unused foldout chair with my treasure, ready to eat.

The minute I sink my teeth into the frosting, I feel calm. Mmmffff, I mumble through a mouth full of buttercream. There. That’s better.

Eating the cupcake gives me time to simmer down, time to think. Time to reconsider all of these crazy ass ideas that have been popping into my head.

Like kissing Lukas.

What… the hell… is wrong… with me? My subconscious is screaming at me at this point.

What are you thinking, Elena? You hate this guy. Hated this guy.

Wait… Is this past tense? Or present?

Have I all of a sudden stopped hating this guy? No… that can’t be right, but then…

Why did I want to kiss him? Why do Iwantto kiss him? Present tense.

As in now. Like, right now.

While my lips and teeth are sinking into this soft and succulent cake. Soft… So soft… Like Luke’s lips.

My thoughts meander.

His bottom lip looked divinely supple. I tried not to stare at it, but then I would have had to stare into his eyes, and that would’ve been infinitely more dangerous.

They’re a deep evergreen color… like a forest. They’re framed by lively, dark eyelashes that constantly move as his eyes look me up and down. I feel lost when I look into them: abandoned in an evergreen wilderness from which there is no escape.

I shake my head. I’m talking crazy. I’m drunk.

I can’t remember the last time I’ve been this drunk. And I’m a mess. Not on the outside, but on the inside. On the outside, I think I’m still passing off as calm and collected.

But internally, my stomach is going nuts, and I am secretly craving a taste of something else. Something stronger than alcohol. Something sweeter than confection.

Something like Lukas.

A loud sound rings out in the empty room, almost making me jump out of my seat. I start to panic from where I sit, my head rotating on a rapid swivel, when I realize that the sound is coming from me.

It’s my cell phone in my wristlet. It’s ringing. It’s Linda calling.

I’m a piece of shit.

I’ve been putting off returning her phone call for days and now she’s resorted to calling me at the party. She knows I’m here… so why would she call?

It must be more important than the fashion emergency that I had previously assumed. I pick up the phone.

“Hello?”

“Elle? What the hell, girl? I’ve been calling you for days on end. Where have you been?”

I huff heavily. “In Tampa… trying to piece my goddamned life together. I’m sorry, Lin.”

Her voice softens. “Don’t be sorry for me, Elle. I have some bad news.” She hesitates.

“Looks like one of our pieces dropped out of the puzzle. Someone purchased the studio space we were buying.”

A long pause stretches out while I try to gather my thoughts. A minute passes. Two. Linda shows infinite patience.

I finally manage to find my words. “Wait… what? That can’t be… My offer on that space was pending.”

Linda sucks in a breath over the phone. “Not anymore. And as your friend, your attorney and your active representative, they broke the news to me a little over a week ago.

“I just didn’t want to break the news to you through voicemail or text. Just didn’t feel right.” She gives a small sigh, and it drops like a final axe, like the thud of a gavel, closing the case. Game over.

And there it is. That’s all, folks. Looks like I’m back to square one.

I don’t know what I feel. Hell… I’m not even sure what feeling is at this moment.

I’m too tipsy to process anything—too drunk to register any true emotions.

I wait for the additional kick to the gut, for the fiery onslaught of outrage to hit me, but neither one appears.

In fact, something totally unrelated starts to happen. I laugh.

The sound is almost hysterical, and I can hear myself cackling uncontrollably, but I can’t do anything to stop it.

I can barely hear Linda’s voice over the noise.

“Elle?”

“I’m sorry, Linda baby, but this is a party,” I squeak.

“Sure, I’m going to have to tuck my tail between my legs and go crawling back to my misery in Memphis. But tonight?

“I am fully fucking sedated. And if I’m lucky, I’ll get fully fucked as well. I’ll talk to you in person tomorrow.”

I hang up at the fading sound of my name, stuffing my cell phone back in the small pocket of the purse attached to my wrist.

I pick up my cupcake to take another bite. A minute passes before I consider what I just did. Shit. Did I really mean what I told Linda?

I just don’t know…

Maybe I’m using all of this hoopla to self-medicate. The party, the cupcakes… Lukas. It could all be a numbing method—a temporary anesthetic.

A large clatter from the adjacent kitchen interrupts my thoughts. I hear a voice soon after. A very distinctive voice.

I can’t avoid him. And if what I’m thinking really does apply, he may be just what the doctor ordered.

***

LUKAS

 

Despite being caught in a game of “Cat-and-Mouse” with the elusive Elena, I’m actually enjoying this party that we’ve arranged.

The drinks are cold. The women are hot.

But why the fuck doesn’t anyone here speak English?

I make a drinking motion with my hand. “White cognac,” I say. “White cog-nac.”

The kitchen staff stares back at me with blank eyes. I point to an empty glass on the counter. White… Clear…

They don’t understand a word I’m saying. Where’s the damn water?

They motion towards each other, speaking to one another in fluent French. I hear the word “tequila.”

“Tequila! Yes!” I slam an excited fist on the counter. “Tequila. I’ll take some of that.”

A chef in a large white hat nods, reaching into a cabinet and pulling out a bottle of amber-colored liquid.

“Yes! No!... Not gold. Silver. Sil-ver.” I enunciate as if it will help them understand me any faster.

Ask me anything in Italian, and I’ll spit it right out. Talk to me in French, and watch my brain fry itself from the stress.

I start pointing at random staffers. “How about you? Ingles?” No, that’s Spanish. “Aleman?” Fuck. No.

What’s the French word for English?

Ang-something. Anglee. Anglass.

Ah! It’s Ang…

“Le monsieur veut savoir comment dire en anglais en français,” says a voice from behind me.

I wheel around to find myself staring at the “lady in red.” She raises her eyebrows, glancing quickly at me, and then back at the kitchen staff.

“Il veut aussi savoir si vous avez une liqueur claire.” Her French is impeccable, mellifluous.

The staffers exclaim simultaneously, throwing their hands into the air with mirthful enthusiasm. “Ahh, liquer clair!”

They talk excitedly. “Au début, nous ne savions pas ce qu'il voulait,” one of the chefs cries out.

“À un certain moment , nous avons pensé que peut-être même qu'il demandait des faveurs sexuelles.” He finishes the sentence with the same drinking motion that I used earlier.

Elena bursts out into laughter, prompting my eyes to dart between her and the staffer. She catches my narrowed eye.

“Something funny?” I ask.

She giggles, covering her mouth with a small hand. I realize that I’m the butt of some French-fried joke.

My anger is taking turns with desire, and the two jockey for position on the tip of my tongue. I don’t know whether to kiss Elena or curse her.

“They’re saying you confused them—that at one point, they thought you might be, uh… asking for sexual favors.” She makes that same “bottoms up” gesture.

Watching Elena do it, I realize how close the motion is to the act of sucking…

I bristle, getting ready to wipe the smirk off of the chefs’ grinning faces. They may not understand English… but they do understand the sudden anger that is radiating from my direction.

Their smiles drop.

The last chef to speak shakes his head at Elena, speaking even lower. “Aucune liqueur blanche.”

She nods ruefully in response. “Merci beaucoup, Messieurs. A bientot.”

She tugs insistently on my sleeve, pulling me gently into the next room. It’s quiet in this smaller space—with just me, Elena, and some extra chairs. In one of the chairs sits a swirly beige cupcake.

I turn to Elena. “That’s the second time you’ve rescued me tonight. Didn’t know you were as tired of the brown liquor as I was.”

She grins. “Who said anything about liquor? I was there for the extra cake.” She motions towards the small sweet that’s in the seat.

“And as the bride’s sister,” she continues, “I get first dibs.”

Her smile is genuine this time—real. It’s the first time she’s shown teeth since I’ve met her—teeth that weren’t involved in any snarling or growling at me.

Her eyes sparkle with uninhibited humor and when they do, my previous anger melts like butter. I am no longer pissed off; I am turned on.

It’s like all the boiling blood that ran heatedly through my veins because of her has conveniently made its way to my cock, and in its absence, all I am left with is want.

Her eyes are strikingly blue, and the gentle curve of them makes me think of guilelessness, of innocence.

But there is nothing guileless or innocent about the filthy words we used just days ago, and the dichotomy of her sweet and sultry face mixed with the naughtiness beneath is more than I can bear.

I have to have this girl.

The words are out before I can think.

“I’ve got something better than that cupcake. Have a drink with me.”

Elena giggles. “We’ve got drinks here.”

“Not what I’ve got. It’s white liquor… and it’s good. Have a drink with me.”

“But the party…”

“Will be fine without us for half an hour… Have a drink with me.”

She huffs. “You sound like a broken record.”

“And I will continue to do so… until you…”

“Have a drink with me,” we say in unison.

She shakes her head slightly, staring down at the floor for a few seconds. Whatever excuse she comes up with, I am more than prepared to spoil.

I wait…

Suddenly, she raises her head. “One drink… and this place better be damn close.”