Reckless (42 page)

Joey’s been my best friend since we were ten, and I’m so supposed to be there. In Jersey. With all our friends.

Instead, I have the good fortune of being stranded in Seaview. I’d spent the last month hanging out with my oldest brother, Alessio, and his new wife, Aidy, in Malibu. One of my friends from college moved to Seaview a couple years ago, so I thought I’d kill two birds with one stone. Come visit him. Fly home from here. The flights were cheaper coming out of here than LAX anyway. Nothing but budget airlines nobody’s ever heard of.

Worst. Decision. Ever.

And I’ve made plenty of bad ones in my day.

My stomach growls, but I’m too pissed to eat.

I check the time. Daphne’s been gone for over two hours now. Deep down, I know she’s right. This whole thing is what it is. We can’t change it. We have to think of it as an adventure. And I, of all people, should have no problem doing that because I came out of the womb with an appetite for adventure.

It’s just hard to shake that powerless, trapped feeling that washed over me the second I heard them say our flight had been canceled.

For the first time in years, I just want to go home.

I
need
to go home.

Forcing myself to stand, I head to the bathroom to splash some cold water on my face and take a good look at myself.

It’s New Year’s fucking Eve.

I’ll be damned if I sit up here all night alone and feeling sorry for myself.

Stripping naked, I hit the shower and begrudgingly decide to haul my ass to that party downstairs.

***

A pianist in a penguin suit plays an instantly recognizable Frank Sinatra tune on some makeshift stage in the Hixson ballroom. Dozens of small crystal chandeliers hang from the extra-tall ceiling and guests dressed in varying versions of formal dance and chat, champagne flutes in hand and carefree smiles on their faces.

“Champagne, sir?” A young, male server balances a plate on his flat palm.

I take a flute and mouth the words, “Thank you.”

I scan the party crowd a bit more, gaze landing on a dark corner of the room where a man and woman sit between a flickering candle. Staring harder, their outlines grow clearer, and I recognize the one on the left as Daphne.

The man on the right has something on his sleeve. Squinting, I can’t quite make it out from all the way over here, so I move closer, nagivating through the thick crowd. As soon as it comes into focus, I realize he’s an airline pilot. A captain no less. And he showed up to this party in full uniform.

Fucking douche.

He just wants to get laid.

I sip my champagne, observing the dog and pony show going on before me. The asshole laughs at everything Daphne says, reaching his hand across the table and finding every excuse to touch her. He sweeps hair from her face. Places his hand over hers. Scoots his chair closer. His attention is laser-focused on her, like she’s the only woman in the room, and she eats it up like this is the first time anyone’s ever used that trick on her before.

Psh.

The pilot points to her champagne flute and she nods. He lifts it with ease, so it must be empty. He excuses himself, flashing her a devilish smile, and walks off, and I use this opportunity to steal his spot because I’m an asshole like that.

“That was qui-“ Daphne freezes when she realizes it’s me and not Mr. Sexy Pilot Pants. “Cristiano, what are you doing here?”

Tossing back a sip of champagne, I cross my legs and lean into the chair, making myself comfortable.

“Never mind what I’m doing here,” I say. “Can we talk about what’s happening here?”

She scrunches her nose, balking.

“Please tell me you’re not seriously considering fucking that douche tonight,” I say.

Her arms fold across her chest. “I’m not sure how it would be any of your business.”

“It isn’t.” I shrug. “I’m just saying, he came here to get laid. He set a trap and you walked right into it. I don’t know you, Daphne, but I’m pretty sure you’re smarter than that.”

She refuses to look at me. “I can’t believe this is happening.”

“He’s wearing his
pilot’s uniform
to a New Year’s Eve party for god sakes,” I say.

“Maybe he’s stranded like us and it’s all he had.”

“You mean to tell me, pilots don’t carry a spare change of regular clothes in those little suitcases they wheel through the terminals?”

Her gaze flicks to her right. “He’s coming back. Stop talking.”

“Daphne,” the pilot says when he returns, placing their filled flutes on the table. We make eye contact and I give him a wide smile that more or less says, “
I dare you to fuck with me because I’m onto your shit.”

Daphne’s stunned expression leads the pilot to immediately move closer to her.

“Everything okay?” he asks. “Do you know this guy? Is he bothering you?”

Her lips part and her gaze travels between the two of us.

“He’s staying with me,” she says to him.

The pilot steps back, his posture straightening like’s suddenly reassessing the situation. He still holds two champagne flutes in his hands, and my gaze focuses on his left ring finger, where a lily-white tan line where his wedding ring should be practically shines in the dark.

“I don’t
know
him, know him,” she says. “I just met him today.”

The pilot snorts, offering an insecure smile as his gaze passes between us. “Look, you seem like a nice girl and all, but I’m not into that kind of . . .”

“No.” She rises, her hand splaying across her chest. “It’s not like that. That’s not what I meant. And he was just leaving anyway.”

She motions for him to come back but he continues moving away, his face wearing the phoniest apologetic smile I’ve seen in my life. Leaning back in my seat, I’m sure I’m beaming with pride because mission fucking accomplished.

She’ll thank me later.

“You happy now?” She hunches forward, giving me the evil eye as soon as the pilot’s out of sight.

“Exceedingly.”

Rolling her eyes, she lifts a brow and says, “I hope you didn’t cock block him because you wanted me all to yourself because I can
promise you
that’s not going to happen tonight. Or ever.”

Scoffing, I fight a smile and lean in. “You’d be so lucky.”

“Are we done here?” She rises, slipping her bag under her arm and scanning the area. I hope to God she’s not looking for that ass wipe.

“No,” I say. “Sit down.”

She flashes me an incredulous glare and keeps her feet firmly planted, completely disregarding my request for her company.

“Daphne,” I say. “Sit.”

“I’m not a dog.”

“Clearly.”

“What do you want? You don’t even know me and you’re acting like a crazy, jealous boyfriend. I’m starting to regret taking you in off the streets today.”

Chuffing, I rise. If she won’t sit with me, then I’ll stand with her. “First of all, I’m not the crazy, jealous type. Second of all, you took me in off the streets because you stole my suite. The suite that I reserved.”

Her arms fold along her chest and she pulls her shoulders back, nose lifted. “And is there a third?”

“Yes.” I clear my throat. “You should be thanking me right now.”

“For what?” Her face is pinched.

“That pilot you were about to fuck was married,” I say. “Or did you not notice the indentation on his left ring finger?”

Daphne glances to the side, as I watch her expression change from angry to confused. “I didn’t look at his finger.”

“Yeah, well, I did.” I shrug, boasting like a proud asshole. “Anyway, maybe you’re into screwing married men. I don’t know.”

“I’m not,” she says with a sigh. “But I wasn’t going to fuck him. For the record, I wasn’t.”

“Mm, hm.”

She smacks me across the chest. This girl has balls. “Just stop, okay?”

“Stop what?”

“Gloating,” she says, re-crossing her arms. “And stop following me around. And stop trying to intervene with literally everything I’m doing. I can’t get away from you. And you’re kind of a know-it-all which annoys the hell out of me, but you’re also extremely attractive and those two things put together confuse the hell out of me.”

Inhaling, I let her words marinate for a bit. I suppose, from the outside, it seems like I’m following her around, I’m not. I understand her concern, but if she was truly that concerned, I doubt she’d have offered to share her suite with me.

“I get that you’re pissed about being stranded,” she says, “and you were probably bored up there in that room all alone, but coming here and ruining the perfectly enjoyable evening I was having is beyond shitty.”

Our gazes meet, but I can’t get a read on her. It’s like she’s sad and angry and confused and maybe even slightly . . . turned on? Her chest rises and falls and her full, bee stung lips are slightly parted.

“I didn’t know he was married, Cristiano,” she continues. “On my life, I didn’t. And I wasn’t going to screw him. I just thought it’d be nice not to have to spend New Year’s alone. He was funny. And he had so many incredible stories because he’s traveled all over the world. Do you know how rare it is to meet someone like that? Someone who’s traveled to all the places I want to go? Someone’s that’s slept under the Eiffel Tower and climbed Mount Kilimanjaro? We were just talking . . . as
new
friends
. . . having a nice time. And then you showed up.”

Her gaze falls to the floor and she turns her face away. I don’t care what Daphne says or how she spins this, that pilot wanted to fuck her. And who wouldn’t? She’s beautiful. Long legs, platinum blonde hair, full lips and baby blues. Everything about her is perfection from the tip of her pointy nose to the subtle sway in her hips when she walks.

“Guess I’ll just go up to the room,” she says. “Happy fucking New Year, Cristiano.”

C
hapter Four

D
aphne

L
ying
on my back in the middle of my hotel bed, the ceiling tiles above me spin ever so slightly when I hear the barely audible beep of the lock on the door.

He’s back.

Stifling a monstrous groan, I roll to my side, away from the door, and curl my body around a pillow.

“Daphne,” he says.

Squeezing my eyes, I exhale and wait three beats. “What?”

“I’m sorry.”

I’m not sure what exactly he’s sorry for or if it even matters at this point. After leaving him in the ballroom like Cinderella at the stroke of midnight, I hurried back to the suite, changed into pajamas, and promptly did a little Googling in hopes that I could prove Cristiano wrong.

The pilot’s name was Alistair and he was from Rhode Island. That was about all I gathered about him from our conversation earlier. That, and he worked for North Patriot Airlines. It didn’t take long to find his bio on their website, along with his last name, Conrad. A cursory Facebook search revealed his and his lovely wife, Becca’s, profiles which were chock full of family photos of the two of them with their five small children because apparently they’re into reproducing like rabbits.

“You were right,” I say, voice flat and slightly muffled by the pillowcase. “He was married.”

I wait for Cristiano to say, “I told you so,” but he never does.

Maybe a tiny part of me hoped that Alistair was special. That our meeting on the elevator was kismet. That we were destined to stay up all night talking and sharing stories in between kisses. That the way he looked at me, like I was the most fascinating creature he’d ever stumbled upon in all of his worldly travels, was actually genuine.

Now I know, he was just another shameless asshole trying to get laid.

Rolling to face Cristiano, I open my eyes. He’s standing halfway between the door and the bed, his hands shoved in his jeans pockets and looking at me like he feels sorry for me. Maybe he picked up on something earlier. Maybe he heard the desperation in my frustrated rant. Maybe he
smelled
the loneliness on me.

“I’ve never climbed Kilimanjaro,” he says, expression steady. “But I have slept under the Eiffel Tower, believe it or not.”

I sit up.

“I’ve also been skydiving in Switzerland,” he adds. “Although, we didn’t jump from a plane, it was a helicopter. I thought I was going to die for a second because my first chute didn’t open at first. It was crazy. And intense. And I loved every heart pounding second of it.”

Looking at him in a new light, I pull my legs up and wrap my arms around them.

“I’ve sailed in a boat off the coast of Buenos Aires just to watch a pod of orcas swim at sunset,” he continues, “and I’ve pulled an all-nighter just to see the sun rise in Antigua, how it turns the water all pink and orange. I’ve shopped the
souks
of Marrakesh, which smell incredible, by the way. I’ve danced like an idiot in Ibiza after taking a handful of questionable pills I bought from some shirtless girl who called herself Tinkerbell.”

“Why are you telling me all of this?”

He steps closer yet still keeps a safe distance. “I don’t know. Guess I feel bad about ruining your night. But in all fairness, I think your night would’ve been ruined after waking up the next morning, hungover, and seeing that dent on his ring finger as you crawl out of his bed. Don’t you think?”

I don’t answer because I know he’s right.

I didn’t plan on sleeping with Alistair, but even the best laid plans often go awry.

“I’ve been around the world, Daphne,” he says. “I know I come across as an obnoxious know-it-all, but I’ve done a lot of things. I’ve
seen
a lot of things. I’m good at reading people. I know when to call bullshit. And I refuse to sit back quietly when everything in my gut tells me someone’s about to be taken for a ride. But anyway, if you want stories, I’ve got stories. We can stay up all night if you want, and I’ll tell you some crazy shit. I won’t even try to sleep with you, how’s that?”

Pulling my shoulders back, I lift my eyes to his. “Why do you care so much about what I’m doing, anyway? You don’t know me.”

He exhales, running his hand through his messy hair. “I don’t know.” His lips pull into a careful smirk that lights his face. “How’s that for ironic? The know-it-all has no fucking clue.”