Not Looking for Love: Episode 7 (A New Adult Contemporary Romance Novel) (10 page)

Somehow I fell back asleep after Scott left and woke up at twelve to find him still gone. I called him at two, when I realized I couldn't even leave the apartment since I don’t have the keys. But the phone started ringing somewhere in the bedroom, and most of my fears returned. Unbidden. Since I'm at his place now, and he wouldn't just abandon me here. But still, I'd like a key, and an introduction to the doorman.
 

I hold on tight to the spark of anger this thoughtlessness of his brings, because the alternative is worrying that something went wrong. That he was arrested. Killed. No. I won’t worry about that. He knows what he’s doing. I’m sure he didn’t lie to me about that.

I tried to clean a little, but he doesn’t have a vacuum. I settled for wiping down the kitchen, throwing out most of the food in the fridge, then moved on to the bathroom. Which was pretty clean, considering he only has the one bottle of kitchen spray cleaner.

Then the lock clicked and Scott was home, and all my annoyance fled like water down the drain.
 

"You didn't have to clean. I did that like two weeks ago," he says, smiling at me and brushing a strand of hair back behind my ear.

"I had nothing better to do." My hands are still stinging from scrubbing the bathroom, but it all becomes a distant thought as his lips find mine. His hand is reaching up under my shirt, my whole body already tingling.
 

And before I know it, I'm straddling him on the sofa, my fingers tangled up in his hair, which is so much thicker and darker than I remember, the color of ripe wheat or honey.

I comment on it once we pause for breath, and he's just gazing at me, his eyes so deep, I swear there's a whole world in them, the one I want to inhabit.
 

"It only turns light in the sun, and when it's shorter," he says, smoothing it down. "I haven't really been out in the sun much this summer."

Somehow that admission feels like he just told me his cat died or something terrible like that. And there I go again, thinking of the past, tears balling up in my throat. We were supposed to go away to Thailand together, there'd be all the sun in the world there. Instead we spent months apart. And why? Because we just can't move forward. Because I entered his life at the worst possible moment.

"I like your hair this way though," he says.
 

I brush it back, determined not to let the tears show. Because we’re still here, still trying to move forward, and that's all that should matter now.

"You don't mind that I cut it?" I ask, rather stupidly, but it's the best I can do.
 

"Nah, it was too long," he says and grins. "Kept getting in the way all the time."

I gasp. "Oh come on, you liked it."

He kisses me again, takes away all the annoyance, all the tears, leaves only warmth, the feeling of coming home after a long hard day.

"Wanna get something to eat?" he asks later.

I nod and climb off him. I haven't eaten since dinner last night, and I might suggest we order in, if that didn't mean another hour or more of waiting.

Luckily the area is full of small restaurants, and we stop at the first Italian one.
 

Scott gets a lasagna, and I order a seafood risotto without opening the menu. After the waiter leaves, Scott gazes at me, his lip curled up.

"What?" I ask, pouring water for the both of us, mostly to get away from under his gaze.

"You always get the same thing," he elaborates.

"I guess I'm just steady that way," I say, trying to turn it into a joke, because I don't like the edge in his voice.

"Steady Gail," he says, and leans back, his leg pressing against my knee under the table. If it weren't for that little thing, I'd be sure he was picking a fight. He's looking at me hard though, and I kind of want to look away to escape the intensity, since his eyes seem to be burning holes into mine. But I don't. Though I can feel his bad mood crashing between us like a waterfall. He doesn’t say anything else so I don’t either.
 

"A friend of mine might be stopping by later," Scott says once his lasagna arrives.
 

"The guy who smokes too much?" I ask, picking up my fork.

He grins. "Yeah."

"Is Janine back yet?" I ask.

He shakes his head. "Last I spoke to her she was still in Thailand. Or back in Thailand. I don’t even know. I've kinda been keeping to myself these last few months."

"Me too," I mutter, sadness gripping my throat again. We could've done so much during those months. Together. Instead we just wasted them apart.

"What is it?" he asks, but he already knows, I see it in the firm set of his mouth, the way his eyes gleam like hard steel.

"Nothing," I say and eat some more of my risotto.
 

"Just say it," he insists. Which is odd, because he hardly ever pressures me. And I get the answer before I even compose my next sentence in my head.

"I know I fucked up," he says, leaning back.
 

"Yeah, you sort of did," I reply, the words just coming out on their own.

"What was I supposed to do?" he barks and leans forward, his elbows crashing into the table so hard it wobbles. "Besides, you were about ready to dump me again anyway."

"I wasn't!" my fork drops from my fingers, landing with a clank that makes the business man sitting at the next table turn. But I ignore him. "I was mad at you, sure, but I had every right to be."

"You made a total idiot of me in front of all your friends," he says, his chest heaving. I can't even hear him all that well over the pressure rising in my head.

"What is this, Scott? You picking another argument so you can get rid of me?"

His eyes lose the hardness in an instant, the steel replaced by a soft summer sky. "No, Gail. That's not it."

And I do believe him. "Why are we arguing then?"

"I don't know," he says, locking eyes with the businessman who's still watching us. The guy looks away and starts eating his food again. "It has to come out eventually, right? Though maybe a restaurant is not the place to have this conversation."

He grins at me, and all my anger is swallowed by love, though I’m not entirely sure it should be so easy for him to turn me.

"I went a little crazy at Kate's," I offer. "But I did want you there. You’re wrong about me wanting to chase you away."

He reaches for my hand, and I entwine my fingers with his. "I know."
 

"And I do understand why you left. I know you were trying to protect me," I continue. "But it was a huge shock."

I won't go into him lying about sleeping with his ex. It never happened, so it doesn't concern us at all now.

He grips my hand tighter. "I should've just told you everything right away."

And I'm not sure which right away he's talking about, but I nod, lay my other hand over his. "What's done is done. But please, Scott, no more secrets, and no more leaving me for my own good."

His lip curls up and I know exactly what he's thinking, that there will always be secrets, but he doesn't say it. Because he's mad at himself, not me. But I'll gladly share all that with him too.

The doorbell rings about two minutes after we get back to the apartment.
 

"This is Greg," Scott says as the guy enters. I guess Greg would be very attractive if practically every inch of his skin I can see wasn't covered in tattoos. Some girls I know are mad for tattoos, but they've never done much for me.

"And you are Amber?" Greg asks, before Scott can introduce me too. I feel my eyes pop out of my head, just as I hear Scott gasp.

"No," he mutters. "This is—"

"Gail," I interrupt him, shaking Greg's hand. I can't believe Scott didn't tell him I was here. Does this new friend of his even know I exist? Scott must still be thinking of dumping me. Why else wouldn’t he mention me? I'm fighting back tears now, as well as rage. "Who’s Amber?" I manage, though I think I know the answer.

"She's the…you know I told you…" Scott starts, but I save him the trouble.

"The escort you told me about?" I ask, wrapping my arms tightly around my chest and turning to Scott. He just nods, wearing a very sheepish expression.

Greg's fiddling with his pack of cigarettes, not looking at either of us. "Sorry, I just assumed…"

"Doesn't matter," I say and storm off into the kitchen. "Do you want a drink?"

"I don't want to impose," Greg calls after me, but I just wave a hand at him dismissively. I can't believe his friend knows more about a pretend hooker girlfriend than he does about me. Or was Amber just pretend?

I get three beers from the kitchen. Just like him to have no food, but always a good supply of alcohol. I slam one into Scott's chest when I return to the living room. He's trying to catch my eyes, but I won't let him. Not yet. Because I know it'll all just be alright if I do, and I'm not ready to stop being angry with him yet.

I open my beer too quickly, causing the foam to rise and spill out all over my jeans.
 

"Shit," I mutter and set the bottle on the table, where even more foam froths out. "I have to change."

Then I flee the living room, because I'm just making a fool of myself like I always do, and I think I'll start crying at any moment. Which is exactly what happens as soon as I shut the bathroom door behind me.
 

It's all too much. First he wants me, then he dumps me, has regular hookers, takes me back, tries to push me away, and what? I'm just supposed to stay quiet and take it all? Accept everything? Until he decides to kick me out again? I don't know anything anymore. No that's not true. I know I love him. More than I thought I could ever love anyone. Which just makes it so much worse.
 

I'm shaking now, mostly since I'm trying so hard to keep the tears in.
 

I'm so done with tears.
 

The bathroom door opens, and Scott's standing in front of me. "You alright?"

I'm not even thinking of answering him. He looks so much taller now that he's not as bulky. He's not skinny either, just like he said he wouldn’t be way back in the beginning, when he first started talking about slimming down. The heat rising between my legs as I look at the outline of his perfectly formed biceps, pecs, and abs under his shirt does a lot to chase away my frustration, anger, and sadness. It certainly burns away the tears.
 

I'm a mess, the wet spot from the beer covering my whole left thigh now, but I walk to him anyway, pull him in by the waistband of his jeans and shut the door.
 

"So you like professionals?" I ask, my voice hoarser than I'd ever heard it.

"I never slept with Amber, I told—"

I rise up on my toes and take his bottom lip between my teeth, biting down, but not hard enough to hurt. I know I'm skirting the edge of what he's comfortable with, but I'm angry, I'm hurt, and he will not run from me again.

The tension that's been coiling between us since we left the restaurant snaps. He grabs the back of my head, his other hand sliding down to my ass, and kisses me fiercely, hungrily.

"I only want you, Gail," he says as he breaks for air. And it does a lot to quell my anger, but not enough. Words are cheap. Here I am with my whole life open for him. Despite his secrets. Despite having no idea what he did during the months we were apart. And he'll know the whole depth of it.
 

I push him against the wall and take a step back, pull my tee over my head. He licks his lips as my boobs bounce free and reaches to pull me closer, but I shake my head, and take a step back, undoing the button on my jeans.
 

He leans back and watches me, smiling, amusement playing in his eyes, which are black in this light, yet still deeper than the entire universe.
 

"Want me to take the rest off?" I ask.

He nods. "Or better yet, let me help you."

I shake my head and reach behind my back, unclasping my bra, then bring my hands back to cover my breasts as I slide it off all the way. My nipples are hard and erect and I love the pressure of my fingers pressing against them. When I look up, he's towering over me, standing so close I can feel the heat radiating off his body. His look is telling me he won't take no for an answer anymore.
 

He pulls me closer and turns us so my back is against the wall, then kisses me again, quick and hard. Then his lips leave mine and travel down my neck, back up to my ear. The urgency, the fire of it all sends a stinging pulse all through me. I squeeze my own nipples and gasp as his tongue pokes into my ear, heat so hot it’s cold exploding between my legs.

He kisses the path down the middle of my chest, my belly, yanks my panties off so hard I nearly topple over. His lips find my clit just as I lean back against the cold tile, the shock of those opposing sensations making me forget who I am. I shudder as his tongue slides all the way to my opening, then back up to my clit, back down, and up. I come hard as he slides two fingers into me, my buckling knees driving them even further inside.
 

He keeps his fingers in as he stands up, working them in a slow circle, his kisses covering the side of my neck. The heat rises again, a new explosion building, even though my whole body is still vibrating from the orgasm I just had.
 

"You like that?" he asks, and all I can do is nod and moan.
 

"You know professionals are always ready for more though, right?"
 

I open my eyes and glare at him, but the heat spreading from his fingers still inside me makes it impossible to hold on to any form of anger.

"I am ready for more," I say. His eyes don't actually widen, they just grow deeper, blacker. His fingers stop moving, and I actually groan in annoyance. Which makes him chuckle.

He undoes his jeans with his left hand, keeping his fingers inside me. His hard cock slaps me on the belly as it’s set free, and I've never been more ready for it in my whole life.
 

I stroke it gently and stand on my toes to guide it to my pussy, the message clear enough for him to withdraw his fingers and push it in. I gasp as the head enters me, but I want more, I want it all. I wrap my leg around his hips and grab the top of the shower stall, so he can get a better angle.