“Bullshit.” She pressed down a little harder, and jerked my face a little closer to her own. “You’re Golden Boy. You’re good at everything. You’re sweet, gorgeous, and probably stop to help little old ladies cross the street. If you can’t compete, the rest of us are completely f**ked.”
I smiled. Hearing her say I was gorgeous was a pretty good consolation prize.
“The other guy is British.”
She tossed her head back and laughed, and my eyes caught on the smooth line of her neck.
“Yeah, you’re shit out of luck, Golden Boy.”
It felt good to be able to laugh about this with someone. I hadn’t even been able to do that with Milo or any of my friends back home. This morning losing Bliss had seemed like a weight shackled to my feet, and now it felt like what it was—a memory.
She was still smiling when she lifted the cloth from my forehead.
She hummed and said, “Looks good.”
She sat back, and the hand on my face dropped to my thigh. She used it to brace herself as she reached for the gauze. Sweet Jesus.
I searched for something, anything to say. “It’s been an . . . interesting day.”
Considering I’d only met her this morning, and I was ten miles past fascinated into obsessed territory, yeah. I’d say the day had been pretty damn interesting.
“Tomorrow will make today look like a cakewalk,” she said.
She cut a piece of gauze, and raised back up on her knees to place it on my head.
“Why do you hate the holidays so much? Do your parents go way overboard?”
She pressed tape to the edges of the bandage and started smoothing it down, and her other hand rested on my shoulder for balance.
“It’s hard to explain.”
“I think I can keep up.”
She reached for the rag again and started cleaning more blood off my face. With her eyes focused on her work, she said, “The holidays bring up bad memories for us. My parents think if they pretend enough and have enough decorations and food that they won’t think so much about the things they don’t have.”
“And that doesn’t work for you?”
Her eyes met mine for a few seconds.
“Nothing works for me. But music.”
I brought my hand up and placed it over hers that rested on my shoulder
“I’m sorry.”
She looked down at me, and her eyes searched mine. “Normally, I hate it when people say that, but . . .”
The damp rag skimmed across my cheek to the cut on my mouth. Her eyes were dark, and her lips parted. She dabbed at the cut carefully. I watched the movement of her throat as she swallowed.
Slowly, so slowly that it felt like a dream, her hand turned so that the backs of her knuckles trailed across my lips. Her eyes were open and clear. We were both sober. One of my hands found her hip, and her chest brushed against my shoulder as she leaned over me.
I could feel her breath on my lips, and her eyes were dilated with desire. She bit her lip, and I held in a groan. Her eyes dropped to my lips, and the rag dropped to the floor.
Then her phone rang.
She jumped back so quickly that she was across the room before I’d released the breath that had been caught in my chest.
She picked up her phone, and her expression was blank as she said, “It’s my boyfriend.”
I swallowed, but my mouth still felt as dry as the desert.
The universe was doing us both a favor. I didn’t want to make her into a cheater. Kissing her earlier had been bad enough.
“I should be going anyway.”
I crossed to the door as quickly as possible, and she called back to me, “Cade!” I pulled the door open wide, and looked back at her. She held the phone in her hand, ready to answer. She said, “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be. I’m not.” She took a small step toward me, and I turned. “I’ll see you in the morning.”
14
Max
This was a catastrofuck of colossal proportions.
I hit accept and said, “Hi, babe.” The sound on his end was garbled and booming. He must have been in some kind of club because the music was blasting. “Mace?”
“Maxi Pad!”
And . . . he was drunk.
“We’ve talked about this, Mace. There are funny nicknames, and there are atrocious ones. That one is the latter.”
“Maxi . . . Come meet me at Pure.”
Shit, if he was there, he’d probably been popping pills rather than downing beer.
“I can’t, Mace.”
“Yes, you can. Christ, Max, this shit is awesome. You have to come try it.”
Just as I thought. I wasn’t judging him. I’d done too many screwed-up things over the years to do that, but I didn’t have room for that kind of stuff in my life. If I dealt with my pain that way, there would be no reason to put it into my music instead, and then I’d be left with nothing.
“Listen, Mace, I had a really rough day at work.”
“I’ll take your mind off of it.” His voice was gravelly and slurred. His voice normally made me weak in the knees. Not tonight. I wasn’t up for any kind of solution he had to offer.
“No, Mace. I’m just going to go to sleep.”
“Fuck, Max. First, you bail on me this morning.”
“My parents are in town, and you bailed on me.”
He didn’t even listen to me, just kept right on talking. “Now, you won’t even come out when I won’t see you at all tomorrow.”
I couldn’t deal with this right now. It took all of my control not to just hang up the phone.
“I can’t, okay? We’ll talk when you’re sober. Good night.”
I clicked the phone off and sank down onto the couch. I pressed the cool phone screen to my heated cheek, and placed my other hand on the cushion beside me. There were so many thoughts running through my head—thoughts about Mace and Cade. But it had been a long, emotional day. I wasn’t stupid enough to let myself make a decision in the heat of the moment. Even if I could still feel Cade’s hands on my back, and his face beneath my fingertips when I closed my eyes.
Catastrofuck. Definitely.
All I wanted to do was take a shower, but then I’d screw up the bandages on my back. Instead, I shucked off my clothes and fell into bed and oblivion.
He tugged on my hair, and I felt the pull run down my spine all the way to my toes. He pulled my head back, and his lips came down on my neck. He dragged his mouth softly down the column of my throat, and then his teeth grazed my collarbone.
I moaned embarrassingly loud.
He rewarded me with another nip of his teeth.
I burrowed my hands underneath his shirt, and dug my fingers into his lower back. His h*ps pressed forward into mine, and I could feel his muscles flexing beneath my palms.
He left my collarbone, and nosed aside my shirt, kissing down my sternum. His tongue dragged across one of the branches on my tattoo, and I felt like I was burning alive. His stubble scratched against my sensitive skin, and my legs went weak.
“Please,” I begged.
“We shouldn’t,” he whispered.
I pulled his mouth to mine, determined to convince him. I wrapped an arm around his neck, and a leg around his hips, and pulled him into me. He steadied himself with one hand against the wall, and the other on my ass.
“Yes,” I hissed between kisses.
His kiss was intoxicating. Slow and fast. Soft and hard. I melted into him, happy to follow his lead.
He pulled back again. “You’re sure?”
Dear God, yes!
I nodded, and he spun me from the wall onto a bed. His hands ran up my legs, raising goose bumps and making me squirm. His fingers hooked around the fabric of my panties and pulled them down gently. My shirt was already gone, disappeared somewhere in the frenzy. He pressed his h*ps into mine, and my eyes rolled back in my head. Then the whole world rolled, and I was astride his hips. His messy hair looked so good against my pillow, and his brown eyes were so dark they were nearly black.
He slipped his hands underneath the frills of my skirt, gripped my thighs, and said, “Ride me.”
What was it about a nice boy saying naughty things that was so damn hot?
I threw my head back and groaned.
“Max.”
“Oh God,” I whimpered.
His hands traced my jaw, then gripped my face hard.
“Max, are you okay?”
God, yes.
I was so far beyond okay that I couldn’t even string together a sentence.
Hands gripped my shoulders, and the world spun. I opened my eyes, and I was no longer on top. Cade was hovering above me, entirely too far away. I reached a hand out toward his jaw.
That was odd. His stubble was gone. He’d shaved.
I hooked my hand around his neck, and pulled him closer.
He resisted, only for a second, but it was enough to give me pause. I blinked. My mouth was dry, and my head felt foggy.
His eyes were on my lips, and his expression pained. “Max . . .”
He pulled away from me, but I kept my hand wrapped around his neck. His movement pulled me up into a sitting position.
His took me in, and his eyes went dark. He exhaled sharply. “Oh f**k me.”
That was the plan, but his voice sounded strained, not seductive.
He averted his eyes to the ceiling, and plucked my hand from the back of his neck. I pulled my hand free, and let it run down his chest.
He didn’t pull my hand off of him this time, but he said, his voice low and gravelly, “Golden Boy nickname aside, I’m not a saint, Max.”
His body was stiff next to mine. I rubbed at my eyes, and slowly the world started to resurface. I was in my bed. In my apartment. Light filtered in through the window, and Cade was sitting on my bed, fully clothed, staring at the wall like it was Hitler.
Oh holy Hell, I was dreaming. I’d just put the moves on him in my sleep! I covered my mouth with my hand and racked my brain to try to remember if I’d said anything that would give me away.
When the shock wore off, I let my hand drop to my chest, where my fingertips touched bare skin.
I looked down and had to resist the urge to scream.
I WAS NAKED.
Like, gave him a look at my full-tree tattoo, nak*d.
Like, curl into the fetal position and die of mortification, nak*d.
I jerked the covers from my waist up to my chin. Beside me, Cade let out a long breath, and his shoulders relaxed.
As calmly as possible I asked, “What is going on?”
Inside, I was anything but calm. Only a sheet and a few measly articles of clothing on his part separated me from him, and my mind was still fogged with dream-induced desire. And to be honest, I was a little offended that he managed to look away.
A small, crazy part of me wanted to drop the sheet again and see how long his resolve could last. Cade pushed himself to his feet, and moved all the way across the room.
He said, “I knocked, but you didn’t answer. I was outside, and I heard you groan. It sounded like you were hurt or sick.” He looked back at me, and now I knew how he’d managed to look away from me . . . guilt. He hadn’t even done anything wrong! I was the one having pervy dreams about him, and I didn’t feel the least bit guilty. He said, “I swear, the door was unlocked, so I came in to check on you. I swear, I wasn’t trying anything. I’m sorry.”