Midnight Heat (Firework Girls #2) Page 6

  By the time I lay loosely in his arms, completely spent, my world had changed forever.

  We were both panting, coming down from the high. I looked into those blue eyes and he smiled. His lone dimple appeared on his cheek. I reached up and touched it gently with the tip of my finger. I was still lightheaded and weak from my orgasm.

  We held each other’s eyes. With only the sound of our ragged breathing in the background, I looked at Grayson and saw the way he was looking at me. I thought he was going to tell me he loved me.

  My heart began to pound. I still couldn’t say if it was due to longing or fear.

  Finally he took a breath, ready to speak. If he told me he loved me, I honestly didn’t know what I would say back.

  But this is what he said: “I used to think my parents were crazy.”

  My eyebrows shot up in surprise, then I laughed. “Well, that’s not what I expected you to say.”

  “What did you expect me to say?”

  His question caught me off guard and I looked at him frankly, wondering if he could see it on my face. There was a pregnant pause. He kept his eyes on mine, but stroked my hair gently.

  “I don’t know,” I said, smiling now. Keeping it playful. “I guess I just didn’t expect your parents to come into the conversation so soon after we... you know.”

  “You know?” he asked, his eyes twinkling at my hesitation to come right out with it.

  “Okay, okay. Tonight you’ve given me the fucking of a lifetime.”

  He smiled broadly and puffed up his chest, looking perfectly pleased with himself. “Fucking of a lifetime, huh?” He twirled a lock of my auburn hair around his fingers. “Don’t build me up too much or I’ll be doomed to spend the rest of our lives trying to top an impossible standard.”

  My heart started pounding against my chest so loud I knew he had to hear it. The rest of our lives?

  “So why did you think your parents were crazy?” I asked with a smile, trying to deflect what I felt building between us.

  “Did I tell you my parents were eighteen when they got married?”

  My ear caught on the word ‘married.’ I shook my head. “You said they’ve been together twenty years or something.”

  “Thirty. And they’ve been miserable for most of it, as far as I can tell.”

  I furrowed my brow. He wasn’t kidding.

  “Miserable,” he said nodding. “And I swore I would never end up like that. Who gets married when they’re eighteen? How can anyone think they’re not going to screw up a decision like that when they’re not even done growing up yet? It’s stupid. Almost as stupid as sticking it out for thirty years and hating the one person in the world you’re really, really supposed to love.”

  “I’m sorry. That must’ve been hard.” One of the things that comforted me after my mother’s death, was knowing how much my parents had loved each other. While somewhat recovered and relatively happy, six years after my mother’s death, my father still won’t date.

  “Eh. I’m pretty adaptable,” Grayson said. “You learn to get along on your own when you’re the last kid in a long line of kids. My parents were worn out and kinda checked out by the time I hit junior high. I made a lot of decisions for myself, and one of them was that I’d never get married young. I promised myself I wouldn’t marry before thirty.”

  “Thirty??”

  “My friends call it The Rule. They like to kinda mess with me about it. But did you know the human brain isn’t even done developing until you’re twenty-five? I figured thirty’s a safe cushion.”

  I shook my head again. “I’m twenty-three. I’ve got two years to go until I’m done developing.” I gave him a devilish grin.

  His eyes slid down to my breasts. “I think you’ve developed just fine, sweetheart.”

  “You’re almost twenty-five. Less than a year to go.”

  “Six until I’m thirty,” he said. I guess that sounds like he could’ve been giving me the brush off, like, “Don’t even think about it honey, I’m nowhere near thirty.”

  But he wasn’t. And I knew it.

  He looked deep into my eyes, placed his hand on my cheek, and leaned in until he was nearly kissing me. “I may have to make an exception.”

  He kissed me then, with my heart beating out of my chest. I don’t know where the hell my brain went, because it was definitely my heart in control at that moment. I kissed him back so deeply it was like my heart was saying yes to a question he hadn’t even asked.

  When he pulled back he leaned on his elbow again looking content and satisfied. “Are you hungry?”

  I nodded, too stunned by the moment to speak. My heart was still pounding. What was I getting into?

  “How about I take a quick shower, then I’ll make you my famous French toast.”

  “And bacon?” I asked, smiling back at him as if my head weren’t spinning.

  “Anything you want,” he said, giving me another peck before hopping to his feet.

  I rolled onto my stomach, watching his bare feet pad across the carpet to the doorway.

  He stopped and looked down at me with that crooked smile of his. “Feel free to join me in the shower,” he said, “if you have the strength.” He winked and left the room.

  In the five seconds that followed his departure from my presence, a cold wave of fear dropped over me.

  Right there on Grayson’s floor.

  Funny isn’t it? Just how much can happen in five seconds?

  I suddenly realized that only three months earlier I was prepared to marry another man and here I was, ready to give my heart to Grayson after one day. I really was. And I did not doubt he intended to give his heart to me. I thought of him whispering in my ear: I want this forever. I want you.

  I thought of his Rule and him saying, I may have to make an exception.

  Shaking, I got to my feet and tiptoed to the hall. Down the way, through an open bedroom door, I heard the shower water running.

  In the opposite direction was the living room and my clothes. And the door.

  I wrapped my arms around myself, shivering. Not from the cold. I don’t know how long I stood there, deciding.

  I had said I didn’t want a one-night stand because I knew I had to be me, just me. Just for a while. I couldn’t lose myself in a man again.

  But...

  I looked in the direction of his room.

  But it’s Grayson.

  It was very clear to me, in that moment, that if I stayed, I would be wrapped up in Grayson for good. There would be no taking things slow. We were far past that point already. And I knew I wouldn’t be able to resist him.

  I took a slow, indecisive step backwards, toward the living room. And another. Spurred on by the momentum of those two steps, I backed farther and farther away, making myself do it, until I was bolting into Grayson’s kitchen and fumbling to get dressed.

  I ran out of his house, fully dressed but with my shoes in my hands. I drove barefoot, away from Grayson’s house and down through the hills, with my heart pounding.

  It took every ounce of strength I had not to turn around and go back. As I crossed Swan Pointe, heading for my apartment, I had to make the decision over again every time I went through an intersection. I pulled into my apartment complex knowing he was probably out of the shower by now. And I wasn’t there. I was here.

  I would not permit myself to cry. I had to be strong. I couldn’t be one of those women who couldn’t survive without a man. I wouldn’t.

  When I pulled into my parking spot, I was momentarily distracted by the fact that Ashley’s car was still parked out front. Shouldn’t she have taken Isabella to the airport by now? And after that, Ashley was supposed to drive back to her apartment in Rosebrook. What happened?

  “Where the hell have you been?” Ashley demanded when I opened the door to find her sitting on my couch.

  The room was empty. I dropped my bag and shoes on the floor, furrowing my brows at her. “Why aren’t you on the road? Where’s Isabella?”


  “I dropped her off at the airport but then came back here to wait for you. Why didn’t you answer my texts? Is your phone dead?”

  Then Ashley took in my clothes—and probably my just-been-fucked appearance—and a dawning smile broke out across her face.

  “Ah!” she said in a Sam-like way. “I see!”

  “Ashley—”

  Her phone rang and she pulled it out of her back pocket, still looking gleeful. Suddenly worn out, I headed toward my bedroom when I heard “Bella? She’s here. Spent the night with some lucky guy from the looks of it.”

  I spun on Ashley and heard Isabella squealing through the phone. “Shut up, Ashley!” but Isabella’s squealing reached a new decibel level as Ashley put it on speaker phone.

  “Oh my god!” Isabella said. “I want details.”

  “Absolutely not,” I said.

  Ashley’s face immediately registered concern. “Are you okay? What’d he do to you?”

  I turned around and tried, once more, for my bedroom. “Nothing.”

  “Nothing?”

  I heard Ashley get off the couch and start following me. I managed not to groan in frustration.

  “Well, I mean, yeah we did something but he didn’t do anything wrong.” God, I did not want to talk about it.

  “What’s going on?” I heard Isabella ask through the phone.

  “Chloe’s upset,” Ashley said.

  “I’m not upset.”

  I’m not sure why I couldn’t tell them. I tell them everything. Ashley was the first one I ran to when Brad called things off. My Firework Girls came and cried with me and got me to laugh and feel like things would be okay, in the end.

  But in that moment, I couldn’t begin to put into words what happened and what I was feeling and I didn’t want to try. I just wanted to go to bed and sleep. For a month.

  “It was a night of sex and it was great but now it’s over and I want to go to bed. I haven’t slept a wink.”

  I got to my door and glanced back over my shoulder to see if Ashley was ready to let things lie. She was grinning again. “Wait until Sam hears about this.”

  “Don’t,” I said strongly, before I could stop myself.

  I turned and Ashley was still grinning, but giving me a puzzled expression. “Why not?”

  “Look, I—” I sighed. God, I was just so tired. “Thank you for getting me through my Not Wedding night,” I said. “You too, Bella. But can we please, please not talk about it again? I just want to move on, okay?”

  “Okay,” Isabella said. “I understand.”

  Ashley nodded but I avoided her eyes. It felt like she was still scrutinizing me.

  “Okay,” she said. “Well, since I know you’re okay, I’m going to head back.”

  “Sorry for not answering my phone.”

  “It’s okay,” she said giving me a hug. “I’ll text you when I get there.”

  I pulled it together enough to smile before she left. I said goodbye to both her and Isabella and then she was gone and that was it.

  I was standing alone in the middle of my apartment with the smell of Grayson on my skin and the memory of him all around me.

  I wondered what he was doing in that moment. I wondered how he reacted when he came out of the shower to find me gone. This is something I’ve wondered many, many times in the months since.

  I pulled my phone from my pocket and checked for a text from him before remembering he didn’t have my number and I didn’t have his. Of course there were no messages from him, only Ashley’s increasingly frantic texts that morning and a few from Isabella begging me to text Ashley before she called the police.

  I dropped my phone on the couch and didn’t bother plugging it in to charge even though the battery was almost dead. I walked back to my bedroom. I wondered if Grayson was eating French toast anyway. Without me.

  Just like he’d go on with the rest of his life. Without me.

  It’s for the best, I thought, and collapsed on my bed fully dressed. I didn’t allow myself to cry.

  In fact, I have never once allowed myself to cry for Grayson Piers.

  As I’ve said, I had to be strong.

  Chapter 8

  The waiter has cleared away our platters, but we’re in no hurry to leave. The girls and I are chatting happily when I get a text from my brother.

  Bobby: Almost there.

  Me: Okay. We’re in the Sandbar finishing up appetizers and cocktails. You’re welcome to join us if you like.

  I don’t get an answer back and take to checking the open patio doors that lead toward the lobby.

  A minute later someone I know does walk through the doors. But it isn’t Bobby.

  Walking smoothly onto the patio, his eyes sweep the area like he’s looking for someone. His eyes land for a moment on Sam. There’s a brief flicker of recognition, but then he sees me and instantly stops short.

  Grayson.

  I don’t think my heart is beating anymore. I know I’m not breathing. I’m confronted with such a confusing array of emotions I feel physically slapped.

  I can’t move at all. He looks as shocked as I feel. There’s a sudden sharpness in his eyes. Anger. And it’s directed right at me. Oh god.

  There’s this moment when I’m torn between wanting to run away in horror after what I did to him, and wanting to launch myself into his arms and beg him to forgive me.

  This is what happens in the next moment.

  Sam glances toward the door and says, “Oh, there he is!”

  It happens in slow motion and is as confusing and disorienting as a dream. Sam hops out of her chair. His eyes go to her and his expression changes. He looks like he’s still trying to recover from his shock, but he does a fair job of it. Better than me. I’m watching it all unfold with my mouth hanging open. He’s smiling. At Sam. I don’t understand why until she goes up to him and puts her arms around him and kisses him right on the lips.

  That’s when my heart stops again and I look away. I can’t breathe. My heart hurts. It really hurts and I don’t think it’s beating.

  Oh god, can a person die from shock?

  She leads him back to our table and I hitch my mouth into a smile, trying to look normal. Do I look normal?

  “Girls, this is Grayson,” Sam says. “Grayson these are my girlfriends, Ashley, Chloe—” his eyes flit to mine and I try to look normal, am I still smiling?—“and the lovely bride, Isabella.”

  Then I remember. He’s met them before. Everyone but Sam. He and Mr. Greek God came right up to our table there in the Perched Owl.

  The girls apparently don’t remember because they say some variation of the whole “nice to meet you” routine.

  “Where’s your stuff?” Sam asks him.

  His eyes flick away from mine and he looks at her. My Grayson is looking at My Sam and her arm is still around his waist. I can’t feel my body.

  “I left my suitcase in the car,” he says. “I figured I’d find out where our room is first.”

  Our room??

  Oh my holy fucking god, if you have any mercy, strike me down right now.

  “I’ll take you,” she says, leading him away. She glances back over her shoulders and gives us a wink.

  I watch them go. He doesn’t turn back. They just disappear, on their way to get his suitcase and take it to their room where Sam’s going to do god knows what to him.

  I take a sip of my water with trembling hands. I really can’t breathe.

  “He’s cute,” Isabella says.

  “He looks kind of familiar,” Ashley says.

  I look at her in alarm.

  She catches my expression and gives me a look of concern.

  Oh, did I forget to keep the fake smile plastered on my face?

  I pull my lips into a smile but it feels funny. Am I smiling?

  “You okay?” she asks.

  I stand and give a fake laugh. I even bat my hand at her like an idiot and say, “Of course, of course. Yes, I’m fine I just have to... go to
my room for... something.”

  I’m walking away from the table on unsteady legs.

  “Uh... okay,” Ashley says. “See you at dinner.”

  I raise one arm in acknowledgement but keep walking.

  I exit the patio and make it to the sprawling lobby. It’s when I’m stuck waiting for the elevator that I realize I might see him.

  Them.

  I glance around but they’re nowhere in sight. At his car maybe? Has she been to his house? Has she been all over his house the way I was?

  I punch the button again. I don’t want them to come in and see me standing here but I don’t know where else to go. I just have to get to my room.

  The elevator dings and I squeeze through as soon as the gap is big enough to admit me. I’m punching the round “7” button before the doors even finish opening.

  I punch it again. “7.” Then the “Close door” button. Why do those never, ever work? What’s even the point of them? I glance at the lobby again, which I have a clear view of because the doors are still all the way fucking open. I still don’t see them. As I’m pummeling the “7” button, the doors finally close and I’m on my way.

  As I clear the lobby level, the glass back of the compartment opens up to provide a view of the grounds and, as the car goes higher, the coast. I was enjoying this view earlier, when I’d checked in and brought my suitcase up to the room, but I keep my back to it now. I’m gripping the brass hand rail and bending part way over.

  I can hardly think. All I can see in my mind is Grayson and Sam kissing each other hello then walking off together. My Grayson and my Sam.

  The car dumps me out on the seventh floor and I rush down the hallway to my room. I fumble with the key card—red light, red light, green—and swing the door open. When I shut it behind me, I collapse against it and slide all the way down to the floor.

  Grayson is here. He’s here at Isabella’s wedding with Sam and I think I’m going to just have to stay here in my room forever or else catch a plane to Bermuda or something. What in the hell just happened?