It feels cold outside in the parking lot, I can see the trees folding, swaying, bending with the force of the cold Chicago wind. The Windy City—the name came about because of the hot airs some city politicians and braggarts put on in earlier centuries, though many people think it’s because of the wind. And this is exactly why.
As we wait for Claude to bring the car, some people are approaching to greet him. A man with two girls, one on each arm, who smiles and exclaims, “Saint!”
“Hillz,” he says tonelessly, taking my hand before they can reach us and leading me to his car.
“Why don’t you want me to meet them?” I ask once we get in the backseat.
“You’re too good for some of my crowd,” he says in my ear.
My stomach starts churning. God, these butterflies just don’t cease. It’s like someone’s tickling your stomach and you feel like you might burst out giggling at no particular time for no particular reason, except I know I’m about to get kissed to death. The black leather seats feel cool on the bottoms of my legs. The partition is closed between us and Claude, and as the car drives away, Saint takes my face in both of his hands and gives me a light, soft kiss. “Thanks for coming with me.”
“Thanks for inviting—” Before I can finish speaking, he starts kissing me. And I let him deepen the kiss.
Instantly it’s like we’re molded into one, our movements are in sync. I can feel his hands on my body but my head is somewhere out in space, dancing next to Jupiter and counting Saturn’s rings. It’s like a high. A hot, burning, needy high. I lose it a little bit and straddle him and run my fingers through his soft hair. His mouth is on my neck, hot and wet, sucking and kissing.
I feel like a teenager, making out with him in the back of his car. I can’t breathe. I just let him do whatever he’s doing because it feels like heaven. His fingers play with the waist of my shorts, tracing circles and gently rubbing my skin. I kiss him again and start to rub against him. He groans and grabs me by the ass, using one hand to grind me closer, harder.
His other hand reaches between my legs and unbuttons my shorts. My heart beats so loud it seems to be the only thing I can hear. I feel him smile against my lips.
“Want me to stop?”
His lips latch on to my skin and his tongue traces slow, lazy circles on my neck.
“Never. Kiss me,” I plead.
He kisses a perfectly delicious path back up to my mouth.
“I’ve been thinking about this all day.” He licks my lips and keeps kissing me, hungrier than before. His hands are dangerously close to touching my panties, but he keeps running circles along my navel, his mouth moving deliciously against mine.
He tears his mouth from mine and drags his lips back down the column of my neck, sucking, nipping, tasting, nibbling.
“God, I’ve been wanting to do this since I saw you at your apartment.”
I’m panting crazy hard by now, tearing myself free so I can breathe. I’m at the point where the merest touch in any sensitive part could set me off. I’m glad his phone starts ringing.
“Work?” I ask.
Well, not work, I find out when he hangs up.
“The boys are blowing up my phone. They want to come over, celebrate. T wants to see if your friend Gina wants to come.” He lifts his brows at me, waiting.
I reach down to pat my swollen lips. I swear Saint just helped me invent the female equivalent of blue balls. “He’d better keep his hands off Gina. But I’ll text her.” I pull out my phone and shoot her a message.
Saint is breathing hard too. His hair is rumpled by me. He looks sexxxy with triple Xs.
“You don’t like T and Carmichael?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Your friends hate me too.”
“They don’t. They’ve misjudged you. They never knew what to make of you.”
He thinks about that, then leans back and spreads his arms out as he thinks about it some more. “All right. Let’s talk about how this affects us.”
I blink.
“If it makes you feel any better, I’ve already talked to my friends, Rachel.”
“What do you mean, talked to them?”
“I told the two bozos that I like this girl, I like this girl very much, and I expect them to respect my choices.”
“I didn’t know there was a choice.”
“I chose to get serious with you—and I wanted it to be clear I won’t be taking any shit from them. They fuck with you, they fuck with me.”
This conversation is . . . I cannot. I look at him. “Saint, you’re a player the likes of which this city has never seen.”
“That’s what the world sees. Is that what you see?” He looks at me curiously, starting to frown. “Tahoe threw a thousand and one parties for me. I had fun. That’s what people saw. I got drunk. I was surrounded by girls.”
I’m frowning now too. “Tahoe just cares about getting laid and he thinks that’s all you care about.”
“But it’s not. Is it?” He looks at me intently. “There were a hundred women for the taking, every weekend. I could have. It was all there, no strings and available. I wanted to take them. Over and over.”
I inhale sharply, and suddenly, I want to puke at the thought of his hands on anyone.
“But I kissed one right here,” he touches the corner of my mouth with a pained look, “and I starved even more.”
My throat hurts as if I swallowed arsenic. I have no right to feel this jealous. But the jealousy is here, like a knot of bitters in my gut. “I bet they know all kinds of sexy moves, your groupies.”
His answer is feather soft. “They do.” He strokes his pad across the corner of my lips again, and then leans back in his seat, and looks at me quietly and almost reverently. “But not one of them talks to me the way you do. They want money or fame but not one of them has asked me to save the world. Not one wanted my comfort. They look at me with lust but never like I’m the spot where their sun rises and sets. I see a girl who didn’t know what she was getting into with me. I see a girl I can’t forget. What do you see when you look at me?”
“I see you. I have no words for you.”
“My friends see a guy who got fucked up over a girl.” He leans forward and tips my head back with his knuckles, angling it so his gaze can grab on to mine. “They play when I want to play, but they know me far beyond the shit we do. We’ve known each other since we were ten. They know me . . . like I thought you did.”