“Unless you count your tux,” I say, dismissing the shot that’s being offered to me by Jaycee, another one of Landon’s movie people. He takes it, shoots it back, and then returns the empty glass to her.
“All right, I’m gonna go stop that,” he says, nodding across the crowded room at Jace, who’s currently spinning Lizzie around in a dizzying circle. I pat him on the back again as he leaves, and Jaycee gives me a wide grin.
“Feel like dancing?” she asks, setting down the empty shot glasses on a nearby table. I take one look at the dance floor and immediately spot Theresa going wild out there. Wilder than usual. She probably has a few shots in her as well. A twinge of regret hits my chest, and I wonder if I should drink tonight after all, but I quickly shake myself out of it.
“I could be persuaded,” I tell Jaycee, and she grabs me by the arm and tugs me out onto the floor.
Hours later, Landon and Lizzie are getting ready to jet out, Jace is pretty smashed, Theresa is incredibly smashed, and I’m still having a hell of a time pounding on those drums and alternating between a few dance partners.
“Hey, gotta talk to you for a second,” Jace says to me as I’m dancing with the pretty paint girl. Her name’s Kendra, and so far all I’ve learned about her is that she’s a single mom trying to make ends meet by working here. I really hope the tips are good. She seems nice.
“What’s up?” I ask over my shoulder. His unfocused eyes roll, and he waves me toward him. I excuse myself as politely as I can and follow him toward the black curtains where all the couples are painting each other.
“Um, dude, I love you, but I’m not painting anything on your body.”
“Smartass.” He shakes his head, a drop of paint falling from one of his ears onto his shirt. “I need you to take Theresa home.”
I jerk back, shooting my gaze around the room to find her. “She okay?”
“Wasted. And if you can’t tell, I’m not exactly the best chaperone at the moment.”
“Get her a cab.”
“Liz said to make sure she gets home. Tuck her in. You know, that type of shit.”
I take another glance around the room, finally spotting her at a table, head in her hands. She’s laughing at something—probably herself, because there isn’t anyone with her.
“I…” Can’t. I want to say I can’t. I won’t. It’s too damn hard, and I’d been doing really well avoiding her all night, but then I remember promising her that things wouldn’t change and I’d still be there for her, and how I’ve failed on an epic level. My eyes meet Jace’s somewhat drunk ones, and he grins at me as if he already knows that I’m going to give in.
“Thanks, man.” He pats my shoulder a little harder than I think he means to.
“You’re getting a cab tonight, right?”
“You bet your ass.”
I let out a sigh and give him a goodbye nod. Then I head out into the painted crowd to put my arm around the girl that I’m crazy in love with.
—
“Your face is so adorable,” Theresa tells me when we’re in the car. She leans up from the backseat and her very fruity breath warms up my shoulder. “Look at this dimple.” Her finger jabs into my cheek, but slips and goes right into my mouth. Her nail scrapes against the inside of my cheek, and I grab her wrist and push her back with a laugh.
“Driving, here,” I say as she dissolves into a fit of drunk giggles. The backseat rocks and I hear shuffles and thuds, so I flick my eyes to the rearview mirror just in time to catch her trying to take off her strappy high-heeled shoes.
“I’ll help you with those.”
“You’re driving.”
“When we park.”
“You want to take off my shoes?”
“You aren’t going to sleep in them, are you?”
She leans up again, and I watch her eyebrow tilt in the way it always does when she thinks she’s being cute. (She is.)
“I’m not sleeping in this dress either,” she whispers into my ear, and the small hairs along the back of my neck stand on end. I’m glad I’m at a red light because I probably would’ve swerved if my foot was on the accelerator. “So…are you going to help me out of that?”
I imagine sliding down the zipper, smearing paint from my skin onto hers as I smooth my hands over her shoulders. The dress pools at her feet as she steps lightly out of it. My eyes catch hers, hers look right back, and we both smile. I haven’t ever felt as alive and as terrified as I do now, with her naked and the bed right at the bend of her legs. I could simply ease her down and let her painted hair fall across the sheets and her pink-stained fingers reach for my belt—
“Is this a yes?” She laughs, her finger pointing directly to my suddenly tight paint-stained jeans, and I have to tell her to sit back again as I adjust myself. I’m coherent enough now to hear sounds as well, and the guy behind me isn’t too happy that I sat through a good portion of the light that turned green during the fantasy Theresa slipped inside my head.
“You stay back there.”
“Ooh, I like it when you get all serious.” Her lips squish together, and I chuckle, which completely makes my commanding tone moot. She giggles and burbles, and I wish I found it unattractive, but I find it adorable.
“Did you know I can put my leg behind my head?” she slurs, pulling on her ankle. “I used…oof!…to be able to do…ouch, oh shit…both legs. But now…”
“Put your feet back under you,” I say through a laugh. Then I hear a thunk as she knees herself in the jaw.
“Help! I’m wounded!”
There’s not a chance in hell I can help her while driving, so I put us in park alongside a curb and fight her flailing arms and legs.
“Jewelry,” she says when I get hold of her wrist. She twists the ring from her sort-of-boyfriend that she wears on occasion, which I’m relieved to say isn’t as often as it used to be. “One day you’re going to give a girl jewelry, Alec, and she’s gonna die over it.”
“I’m sure she will.”
Her dress bunches around her upper thighs, and I quickly tug it down for her before she flashes me another glimpse of the red lace underwear she’s wearing.
“I mean it.” The surprisingly hard pressure of her finger pushes against my bottom lip. “You’re gonna luver soooo much. And she’ll luvu back.”
I wrestle her leg down and look up at her. She gives me a very alcohol-induced smile and taps my lip again.
“I got jewelry once. It didn’t…it’s not going so well.”
My throat constricts, and I watch as her eyes drop to her finger on my mouth. I hear her breath catch, feel her relaxed body twitch. The desire to hold her, comfort her, and erase the sadness that’s creeping through her drunken stupor floods through me. I let go of her leg and hold her hand, being careful not to pull it from my lip because I like it there.
“I know,” I tell her, then drop a small kiss to her fingertip. Her eyes meet mine again, and whatever she sees there…she thinks is funny as hell. Her lips open and her stomach quivers with laughter. I let out a sigh and try to get her into a seatbelt; she doesn’t want to cooperate.
After finally getting her into a semi-normal position (she’s tucked her knees under her, ass up in the air and face stuffed into the upholstery), I pull back onto the road and try to get us home in one piece.
A very long twenty minutes later, I’m helping her into the elevator and down the hallway to her apartment. Her lips have become really friendly, kissing up my shoulder and neck and sliming up my ear, which I try to wipe off discreetly as Theresa attempts to get her key in her door. I eventually do it for her.
“Okay, do you need help getting into be—”
She lunges at me, her hands flopping over my shoulders, and I stagger backward, involuntarily slamming the apartment door shut. “I want you in me.”
“Theresa,” I manage to say around her eager mouth. “You’re drunk.”
“Yep.” She leans back and smiles at me. My entire world rocks underneath my feet w
ith the realization that she’s just kissed me. That we basically had our first kiss and I’m not even sure if she knows it.
Her nails scratch the back of my neck and she pulls me in, I think to whisper in my ear, but the alcohol has taken her volume control.
“Take advantage,” she says, and there are several parts of me that want to take her up on it. “Because this won’t happen when I’m sober.”
And there it is. The sobering shot straight into the vein that makes me pull away from her advances, no matter how much I ache to accept them.
“Come on, drinky,” I actually whisper. She hangs on me willingly, and I’m not sure if it’s because she thinks I’m taking advantage or if she needs my support in order to stand upright. That’s the cold, hard truth of this night—there’s a good chance she won’t remember a thing tomorrow morning because she’s so blissfully unaware of anything right now.
Her lips are still fighting to get hold of mine, and they succeed a few times, but not for long. She giggles and makes noises that weaken my resolve as I unfold a towel and try to get it on the bed while she’s still in my arms. I end up falling to the mattress, taking her with me. Her body relaxes under my full weight, and…two seconds. Two seconds pass while I fight the temptation to stay right here, and it’s both the longest two seconds and the shortest two seconds of my life.
“Wait,” she says as I push up on my arms. Her knee slides up my thigh and rests against my hip.
“What?”
“It feels good,” she says, warm breath washing over my face. “You on top of me.”
“Theresa…” I want to tell her that she feels good under me. I almost do. But she leans up, and instead of fighting her off, I pull her in. I need a kiss between us that says everything I feel. I kiss her with passion and heat and conflict and confusion and words that I can’t say out loud because I’m terrified of getting hurt again. I know this won’t go anywhere, yet I kiss her anyway. She’s no match for my enthusiasm; in her drunken state she’s blissfully unaware of the repercussions this will have.
“Take them off.” Her hands have found my jeans, and she’s running her palm up and down. I beg some of the blood to come back to the brain in my head. Because this isn’t how I want to do this. And most important, if this did happen, things would change for the worse. I can see it all—her waking up naked beside me, confused and full of regret, while I’d feel like absolute shit for taking advantage of one of my best friends when I knew—I know she’s too drunk to do this right now.
“Theresa…,” I say, shaking my head and easing her hand away.
“Stay.”
I clench my jaw, push myself off her, and opt for sitting on the edge of the bed so I can tuck her in, prying her wandering hands off me.
“You need…you need to sleep.”
She lets out a long sigh and her arms grow lazy. Her body melts into the bedding and her eyelids start to droop. I quirk a half smile at her before planting a soft kiss on her forehead.
“I like this,” she says so softly I’m not even sure if I hear it. “I like the feel of…of you.”
My beating heart crashes behind the wall I’ve put up tonight, and I run my thumb over her cheek as her eyes fall all the way closed. The paint from my thumb stains her skin, which is beautiful and imperfect, just like she is. I’m tempted to lie down next to her, sleep in the same bed, and breathe in her scent and her everything before she wakes up and regrets what she’s done tonight.
Her chest rises and falls, her painted and curled hair tumbling over the pillow. I still love her, and I don’t know if I can ever stop loving her. Distance only makes the times when there is absolutely no distance that much harder. And I don’t want to just love her. I want to fall in love with her—dating her, kissing her, sleeping next to her, making love to her. I want to do all those things, and not just with anyone. I just wish she wanted those things too—when she’s sober.
Something creaks by the closet, breaking me out of my reverie. I reach over and click off Theresa’s light, letting her disappear into the blackness so that it makes it easier to leave. I lean down, tuck a pink-stained piece of hair behind her ear, and tell her what I can’t say when she’s awake.
“I like the feel of you too.”
Chapter 7
PRESENT DAY
There’s nothing but cashews. Landon told me once that he hated that it was cheaper to get mixed nuts when all he really wanted were the cashews. So he’d pick them all out and Lizzie would get pissed at him. And as I shake the can with nothing but cashews, I wonder if the limo Landon takes to movie premieres has these. Probably solved one of many hilarious marital arguments he gets in.
“Should I be concerned that you’re fascinated with the nuts?” Rian asks with a laugh, lying flat on her back across the seats perpendicular to me. Her legs dangle over the edge, and she pulls up the hem of her shirt and draws circles just under her belly button. It was pretty toasty once we hopped inside, so both our jackets are hanging out on the empty seat.
I set the nuts inside the limo’s minibar. “Which one’s the first?”
“The first nut?” she asks, confusion evident in her furrowed forehead.
“Tattoo.” I nod in the direction of her circling finger. “Which one did you get first?”
“This one.” She trails a nail to a hidden tattoo behind her ear. It’s a single raindrop. “You’re very interested in my ink.”
I’m interested in conversation. So far this night has been hot and cold, and I’m not sure if it’s just the chemistry (or lack thereof) between us or if it’s all in my head.
“You’re a freaking celebrity,” I say with a laugh. “And conversation starters aren’t my forte.”
“Hmm,” she hums thoughtfully, rotating her finger across her skin and staring at the limo’s closed sunroof above her head. “How about you ask me how I got into it?”
“I figured everyone asks you that.”
She turns her head to look at me. “Only people who are interested in getting to know me.”
“How’d you get into it?” I immediately ask, and she giggles. I do want to get to know her. All part of the plan, after all. And it’s not like I have a lot of questions to ask her stocked up in my brain.
When I moved from Pennsylvania to New York, I thought I had shoved away that part of me that has difficulty meeting people. I even read a book on how to socialize. Luckily I didn’t have to do much, since Landon has no difficulty talking for hours with someone he just met, and I was around him the majority of my time. Hell, he told me he fell in love with Lizzie after their first conversation.
I wonder how many conversations it’ll take for me to forget Theresa and start connecting with Rian (since I am determined to make that happen). Three? Four? A hundred? A thousand?
“…and that’s how it all started,” she says, and I blink a few times. Did I mention that I also have a daydreaming problem? Guess that connection will have to wait for another conversation, since I didn’t pay attention to a damn word of this one.
She laughs at my blank stare and hoists herself up on the seat. “Usually people have some sort of reaction.”
“Uh…”
“It’s okay. Refreshing, actually.” She smiles and twists around to bang on the partition. “Hey, Jackson,” she says to the driver. I’m still detecting a weird tone in her voice when she says his name. Maybe they have history or something. Damn…is that how I sound to Theresa?
“Take us to the roof court,” Rian says, then faces me again. “I hope you’re not afraid of a little illegal activity.”
She does not read people as well as she claims to. I’ve never had so much as a detention.
“Such as…?”
“Trespassing.”
I suppose that’s not horrible as far as illegal activities go. “As long as we aren’t killing anyone, I’m in.”
Rian switches on the music. It’s not exactly my kind of thing, but music is music. I’ve learned from watching Lizzie an
d Landon’s relationship that you don’t have to be fans of the same sort of things to be compatible. And I’ve learned from Jace and Shay’s relationship that you can be polar opposites and still be crazy for each other.
It doesn’t take us long to get to whatever the roof court is. Jackson pulls over about five minutes later and I hurry out and hold the door for Rian before he can. Figure I may as well show her that I’m gentlemanly as shit, though I didn’t realize I’d get the look of death from the driver when she puts her hand in mine and says, “Thank you.”
She leads me to an abandoned building that is giving off major haunted vibes, and I try to find a street sign to see if we’re in the ghetto, but I’m pulled into an alleyway before I can read it. I get one more glance of Jackson getting into the limo, and I swear I see someone ducking down in the passenger seat. Brown hair. That’s what I catch, and a leap goes through my gut, which is absolutely ridiculous because over 50 percent of the girl population has brown hair. And on second glance there’s not even anyone there. So my damn mind is playing tricks on me.
“Watch out for the edges,” Rian says, pulling my attention back to her and her purple hair. Purple. That’s probably less than 1 percent of the girl population. Along with her millionaire status. I’m out with one of a freaking kind. So I shake myself out of it and give her a grin. She pulls the chain-link fence out where it’s cut, being careful not to slice herself on the sharp edges. I hold it for her, eyeing the NO TRESPASSING sign, adrenaline starting to bubble through my veins like when I was up on that stage. When she makes it through, I duck in after her.
“Where are we headed?” I ask in a hushed voice, crouching down so she can hear me. She lets out a giant laugh that makes me jump.
“No need to whisper.”
“Bullshit,” I hiss at her, pulling on the crook of her arm so she gets behind me. “This place has murder written all over it.”