When he steps out of the kitchen, I turn to Beck and say, “Sorry, he must have heard the smoke alarm going off. He doesn’t live very far from me.” My explanation is cut off when the phone says poor connection, will resume shortly. Damn you, iPhone.
“There, that should do it.” Griffin comes in the house with only an oven mitt in hand. “I left the chicken outside to cool off and remove the smell. Keep the windows open for at least an hour to help with the smoke and please, for the sake of the neighborhood, get your oven cleaned before you cook anything else. Something dripped to the bottom, and that’s why there was so much smoke, like double the amount.”
“Oh.” I nod. “That’s why she called for a bigger pan in the recipe.”
Griffin shakes his head and squeezes my shoulder. “Stick to the writing, Rylee.” He smiles his handsome smile, then takes off toward the sliding glass door. “Holler if you need anything.”
“Sure, thanks.” Feeling awkward, I turn back to my phone where Beck is waiting patiently, hands clasped in front of him, his forearms flexing from his grip.
Not knowing what to really do, I drop the apron on my counter, pick up the phone, and take it to the couch where I prop it up on my tucked-in knees. There’s nothing I can do about the smoke but let it air out on its own, so I devote my time to Beck instead.
“Sorry about that.” I wince, hoping . . . hell, I don’t know what I hope. It’s not like Beck and I are dating, but then again, we talk so much that I kind of feel like I owe him an explanation. “He is a volunteer firefighter—”
“I miss you.” Beck’s voice is gruff. He grips the back of his neck, pulling on it and rubbing it. “Damn it, Rylee, I miss you a whole fucking lot.”
Well, that’s not what I expected him to say, but I can’t deny the little jump in my heart it’s giving me.
“Do you miss me, Rylee? Or is this a one-sided feeling? Tell me now, because if you’re not experiencing the same kind of feeling, I have to know. I don’t want to keep calling you, and thinking about you every goddamn day, if you’re not missing the hell out of me too.”
As much as I want to deny my growing feelings for Beck, as much as for my heart’s sake I should tell him no, there is no way I can tell him I don’t miss him. It’s a blatant lie. I feel sheer panic from the thought of him not calling me anymore. This is stupid. I spent a few days with him on an island and over a month with him on the phone, and yet, I feel this bond between us, this electric force pulling us together.
Biting on the inside of my cheek, I nod, unable to squeak the words out.
“No, Rylee. I need to hear it. I need you to tell me.” There is a different tone to his voice, a . . . desperation about him that I’ve never heard before and what’s really weird, is that I can feel the same desperation inside me.
Making eye contact with him, I say, “I miss you, too, Beck.”
Briefly he shuts his eyes and exhales. “Thank fuck.”
“Were you really that worried? Isn’t it obvious I miss you?”
“Hell, I don’t know, Rylee.” He grumbles something as he rubs his hand over his face. “Fuck.” Looking at me now, leaning forward, his stare cutting through me, he says, “Meet me somewhere.”
“What?” My brow pulls together.
“Let’s crash another wedding. Meet me somewhere, anywhere, and we can crash another wedding, maybe spend more time together, see where these feelings are taking us.”
“Why crash another wedding?”
“Because, that’s what we do.” He says it so matter-of-factly, it’s hard to give it a second thought.
“I don’t know anyone getting married.”
“That’s the point. We could truly crash a wedding this time.”
“But . . . how would we know where to go?”
A devilish smile passes over his lips. “That’s easy, the wedding capital of the world. Vegas, baby.”
“You want to go to Las Vegas to crash a wedding?” I raise my eyebrows in question. This might be the dumbest idea ever, but I’m actually entertaining the possibility.
“Yeah, why the hell not? We meet up, scour the wedding chapels, maybe take a few pictures with the bride and groom, do a little gambling, and then spend the rest of the time in our hotel room. Sounds like a fucking fantastic time to me.”
“You’re serious?” I don’t know why I asked the question, because I can see it in his eyes. He’s locked in on this idea.
“Completely serious. This Friday, let’s do it.”
“But . . .”
He chuckles. “While you wrack your mind for an excuse, I’m booking a flight.” He stands from the couch, propping the phone up on something and quickly returns with a computer. His fingers furiously type across the keyboard.
“Beck, are you really booking a flight?”
Without saying a word, he turns the computer around for me to see the airline flight he’s on. Oh my God, he’s really doing it. “Better hurry up and get your computer, Saucy. Flights from Maine might be booking up.” He looks up from his computer and says, “You know you want to see me.”
Damn it, I do. Ever since we turned up the heat and I was ready to masturbate while he watched, I feel as though I’ve been on pins and needles. So horny. So frustrated. So needy . . . for him.
Gnawing on my lip for all but two seconds, I get up from my couch, grab my computer, and start searching through flights, the impulse decision sending a rush of excitement through me.
“That’s my girl.” There is a huge grin across Beck’s face. That grin. I’ve come to love that grin. Am I really doing this? Are we really going to see if there is more between us than just the mini-vacay jaunt? Yes. We are. And to be honest, I love that he wants this. That he wants to see where our feelings lead us.
God, this is going to be so worth it.
Nervous about flying?” the guy next to me asks as he sips from the stir straws of his drink.
“What? No.” I shake my head.
“Oh, well it looks like it from the way your legs are bouncing up and down, as if they’re trying to create turbulence.”
I still my legs and release my grip on the armrests. I couldn’t care less about flying. I never get nervous about slicing through the skies in a metal tube. No, the bounce of my legs and the death grip on my armrest is a result of “what the hell was I thinking?” syndrome.
You know when you decide to do something and think to yourself, this is going to be the greatest thing ever! And when the time comes for the greatest thing ever to happen, immediate questioning and regret pop into your head, drowning you in a roller coaster of “what the fuck am I doing?”
Yeah, I’m there. I’m drowning in my thoughts, questioning my sanity.
“Uh, no, not nervous.”
The guy nods his head. “Good, good.” He leans closer to me and stirs his drink, rum on his breath. “You know, I was upgraded to this seat. Fancy, huh?”
I eye him up and down, wishing I could sit farther away due to his cheap cologne searing my nostrils. “Oh yeah, that’s cool.”
“Yup, got the old upgrade.” He sips loudly on his straw. “You know they give you free alcohol up here. Want me to order you something? It’s on me.” He winks, like a dweeb.
I hold up my hand. “I’m good, but thank you.”
“Yeah, sure, anytime. I know the waitress. We’re tight.” He holds his crossed fingers up to me.
“Flight attendant. She is a flight attendant, not a waitress.” He needs to be corrected, but doesn’t seem to be fazed.
“Oh I know, just joshing around with you.” He nudges me with his elbow. “You know, this is when you laugh.”
I pick up my earbuds and hold them over my ears. “I laugh when a joke is actually funny.” I put in my earbuds and turn up the music on my phone, starting a playlist I created after my Key West trip. The first song to play is Havana, the song Beck and I danced to at the wedding, the one where I swear the dance floor was ours and ours alone. Flashes of us plastered aga
inst each other play through my mind. His hands gliding up my thighs, his breath caressing my neck, his lips a whisper away from my skin.
Goosebumps break out over my arms and the tension starts to ease in my shoulders as I close my eyes and think of the man I’ll be seeing shortly. It will be okay; this was a good idea. Maybe I can get one last fill and move on. Maybe that’s all this is—one last hurrah. I bet after this weekend, we won’t want to see each other anymore. Won’t I?
Settling into my seat, I let out a pent-up breath and melt into the leather—
“I got you something.” My earphone is yanked from my ear and the man next to me points to a drink beside me. Smiling, he repeats, “I got you something. I like to call it The Brad. Try it.”
I eye the drink and then look back at this immature man who frankly shouldn’t be touching any part of me. He crossed a line, and I’m about to let him know about it.
Taking my earbud back, and not in a kind way, I say, “Are you delusional? In what universe do you think I’m going to take a drink from you? First of all, I didn’t want a drink. Second of all, how do I know you didn’t tamper with it? And third of all—I lean in close, my eyes slicing him in half—“touch my earbuds again and I will take those straws out of your drink, pierce your balls with them, and serve them to the other first-class passengers as mini shish ka-balls.” To make my point clear, I add, “Leave me the fuck alone.”
When he quivers backward, I feel a little bad. But then I tell myself he pushed his luck, so he deserves the little tongue-lashing. Turning toward the window now, I block him off and close my eyes, focusing on one thing. Beck.
I stare at my text messages as I ride the train through the Las Vegas Airport to baggage claim. When I turned my phone off airplane mode, I had two text messages waiting for me.
Beck: Can’t wait to fucking see you, Saucy.
Beck: Here. Waiting for you in baggage claim
That last one set off a flutter of nerves, the nerves I thought I already kicked. It’s real. It’s not just talk over the phone or flirtatious texts. This is really happening. And I haven’t told anyone.
Probably not a smart decision, but I couldn’t make myself tell Zoey and Victoria. I didn’t want to hear their ribbing, and I really didn’t want to talk through my decision, because in my mind, I could see them trying to talk me out of it. And maybe I should have had them talk me out of it, given the unsteady situation between Beck and I, but I also feel like I need this wild streak to continue; I need to give myself another chance at throwing caution to the wind.
And that’s exactly what this is.
The train stops and I follow the passengers through the exit and past a wall of security doors out into an open room where there are rows and rows of baggage claim carousels. I bite my bottom lip as I search the space, looking for Beck, and when my eyes land on him, my breath catches in my chest.
Leaning against a pole, one leg propped up, in all his sexy, six-foot-something glory, he stands, waiting for me. He’s wearing tight-fitting black jeans, black boots, a loose white V-neck shirt, and a grey sock hat. When he spots me, he doesn’t attempt to make a move. No, his eyes lock with mine, making a magnitude of promises I’m sure he won’t fail to deliver on, and his trademark devilish smile takes over his face.
As I approach, he doesn’t shift, and he doesn’t even waiver. He waits for me, as if he wants me to make the first move.
Three steps.
Two steps
One.
“Hey,” I breathe out, unsure of what to do with my hands.
He tilts his head to the side and pushes off the pillar, coming toe to toe with me. He doesn’t say anything. The sounds of our beating hearts fill the silence as he reaches forward and pinches my chin with his index finger and thumb, bringing my mouth to his. It’s a light but passionate kiss, his lips taking what they want with just enough pressure to make me want to beg for more.
Growling against my lips, he lifts away, revealing lust-filled hazel eyes, the same eyes I can’t seem to erase from my dreams.
“Exactly how I remembered.” He places one more kiss on my lips and pulls me into a hug. “I’ve missed you.”
My cheek rests against his chest, his arms enveloping me into his warmth, and for the first time since I said goodbye to him all those weeks ago, I feel at ease, like all my worries are washing away, and I can live in this moment. How does he do that to me?
Being honest, I respond, “I missed you too.”
“That’s my girl.” He kisses the top of my head and links my hand with his. Bending down, he picks up a small duffle bag that’s at his feet and guides me to the carousel. “I’m going to assume you checked a bag, unless you decided to have a naked weekend in the hotel room, then I’m good with that.”
I squeeze his hand, loving how this isn’t awkward at all, almost as if we haven’t skipped a beat since we parted. “I checked a bag. I’m here to crash weddings and nothing else.”
Chuckling, that deep rumbly sound causing me to sigh, Beck says, “I would like to say nothing else is going to happen, but you and I both know that’s not the truth.” He presses his lips against my ear as he speaks low. “Because I’m going to tell you right now, the first chance I get, I’m going to sink my cock into you and fuck you. For hours.”
The way he says the word fuck—with such confidence, such sensual, hidden promises—has my legs shaking beneath me.
Unable to speak, especially with Beck rubbing his thumb along my hand, I spot my baggage quickly and we make our way to the taxi line, which thankfully, isn’t very long.
“Where to?” the driver asks. I’m about to open my mouth when I pause. I have no clue where we’re headed. I didn’t make any reservations.
But I don’t have to worry for long. “The Bellagio.” Leaning into me, he whispers, “My friend hooked us up.”
The taxi takes off and Beck scoots as close to me as possible, his arm stretched out behind me.
“Good flight, Rylee?” he asks, so casually. It’s impressive he can seem so chill, especially when I’m shaking with excitement and nerves.
“Sort of. Some college guy was trying to hit on me, I think.”
“Is that right?” He chuckles. “Did you shut the poor bastard down?”
“Quickly.”
“Man, I feel bad for him.”
“Why?” I turn slightly to look at Beck. His scruff looks even thicker, and those lips of his, God, I want to feel them all over my body.
“Because, if I was shut down by you, I’m pretty sure I would cry myself to sleep.”
I roll my eyes and playfully knock him in the stomach. “Please, you’d move on to the next girl.”
“Yeah, you’re right. I would have gone after Victoria.”
“What?” Now I turn completely in my seat. He what? Beck’s laughter carries through the cab. “Are you serious? You would have gone after Victoria if I’d turned you down?”
“Nah, but it’s damn sexy seeing that fiery spirit in you again.”
Infuriating man.
We get checked in to our hotel, and I faintly hear the words suite when the clerk at the front desk speaks to Beck. Just how good of a deal did we receive from Beck’s friend? In the elevator to our high-rise floor, we exchange glances, Beck’s fingers delicately tracing my back, working their way up and down my spine, slipping under my shirt then below my waistline. I suck in a harsh breath when he starts to play with the lace of my thong.
Tug and snap then a gentle rub of his finger. It’s on constant repeat, sending my mind into a whirl of sensations. And thanks to the man in front of us, I’m forced to be on my best behavior.
The elevator stops at our floor and we scoot past the unwelcome passenger, down the hall to our room, where Beck pushes the keycard in to open the door for me. I brush past him, catching his masculine cologne as I walk by. For a moment, I temporarily forget about the sensual attack Beck made on me, and I’m caught up in the beauty of the room.
Wind
ows run the expanse of the large wall, giving a picture-perfect view of the city lights. To the right is a giant bed, fluffy and white, and to the left is a small sitting area and bar. The room is decorated in tans and browns, with touches of black. It’s clean and crisp and beautiful.
Stepping behind me, Beck puts his hands on my shoulders and starts to lower them down my arms. His lips press against my neck, and my body starts to tingle with awareness.
“I’m going to take a shower and get ready. I have dinner plans for us, and I’ve scoped out some wedding chapels. Do you need to shower before we leave?” He kisses my neck again and I’m a little stunned. Don’t get me wrong, I’m ready for dinner, my stomach could use something in it, but I thought the minute we stepped foot in this hotel room, Beck would strip me down and make me feel so incredibly good.
But when he parts from me and takes his duffle bag to the bathroom, I’m proven wrong.
The shower sounds off through the partially open door. Beck was serious? We’re . . . getting ready to go out? As I hear him move around in the bathroom, getting in the shower, I contemplate if I should simply shower with him. Is that too bold? To invite myself in?
We only spent one night exploring each other’s bodies. I haven’t seen him in over a month, so would it be super weird? Does he want me in the shower with him?
I nibble on my finger, my suitcase handle in hand, trying to figure out what to do. Deciding to take things slow since we’ve only reunited, I take my suitcase to the luggage stand and open it up to let my clothes air. Carefully I unfold the black, sequined dress I brought for wedding crashing and lay it on the back of a chair to avoid wrinkles. Next, I pull out my cosmetic bags and grip them to my chest as I take a peek into the bathroom. I can’t see anything but billowing steam. How hot does he have the water?
Maybe the shower is partitioned off. Contemplating taking my cosmetics into the bathroom, I decide it won’t hurt if I slip in quickly, cast my eyes down, and set my bags on the counter.
Yes, that’s exactly what I’ll do.