Chapter 27
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Dove
When we arrived at the apartment, Deacon busied himself with calling the concierge—something I thought only hotels had—while I wandered off in the direction he pointed. I found my suitcase neatly placed on a luggage rack beside a queen-sized bed. His guest room was austere but expensive-looking, designed in shades of sage green and cobalt gray.
The city lights twinkled in the gaps of the thick curtains, the world beyond this luxurious apartment feeling so far away as I unzipped my tight dress. I let out a moan of relief as I rolled down my shapewear, wadded it up, and threw it across the room onto my suitcase.
Deacon’s apartment seemed more like a hybrid between a hotel and an art museum than an actual home. Apart from the catalogue racks of comic books and a framed map of Middle-earth on the far wall, nothing about the place seemed like Deacon. I wondered how many days of the year he even got to spend here. The three bed, two and a half bath property had probably cost him millions and he didn’t even get to enjoy it.
I slipped into my trusty sweatpants and hoodie, grateful to take off all the elaborate and suffocating clothes and the layers of caked on makeup that made me feel like I was drowning in my own skin. The fact I managed to find a cozy blanket stashed in the bottom of the linen cupboard was a miracle. I wondered if Deacon even knew it was there or if whoever had designed and furnished the apartment had done it for him.
When I came out, I found that Deacon had on old episodes of Game Changer on the TV. I flopped onto the couch, pulled the soft blanket over my lap, and surveyed the spread of food across the coffee table.
Deacon had called up for snacks and, to my surprise, the concierge had brought up two buckets of movie theater popcorn, candy, and fountain sodas. I wondered if some poor staff member had had to run to the nearest movie theater at midnight to obtain them. Somewhere even being open at midnight felt unfathomable to me on my little island. If I suddenly had a craving on Prickle Island for something that Lighthouse Lane General Store didn’t stock, I’d have to take a ferry into town to acquire it.
I laughed and shook my head as I opened a box of Butterfinger bites. “Designer clothes and luxury cars are fine,” I said, “but this is the coolest perk of being rich and famous I've seen so far.”
Deacon grinned at me, sweeping his hair off his face. “I've been wanting to do this with you for a long time.”
My stomach flipped. It should be illegal for such husky words to come out of the mouth of someone as attractive as he was. I was certain the many glasses of Champagne, whisky, and complimentary cocktails had loosened his tongue. He'd shucked off his jacket, his bowtie and belt abandoned and his collar unbuttoned to mid-chest, making him look like a sexy, disheveled assassin.
Move over James Bond, Deacon Harrow has entered the building.
Deacon stood in stark juxtaposition to me in every way, but especially now while I wore a faded hoodie and he looked like he’d just foiled the world-ending plot of an evil supervillain.
Deacon fell onto the couch beside me, and I collapsed into his side. We ate popcorn and watched our favorite shows until midnight became 2 am. And despite my exhaustion, I didn’t want to sleep. I wanted to keep laughing and swapping inside jokes and sharing fun facts and just simply letting the conversation flow on forever. I didn’t want this magical moment between us to end and my carriage to turn back into a pumpkin just yet.
When the food had been devoured, Deacon pulled the leather cord of his necklace out from the neckline of his undershirt, pulling a coin off a magnetic clasp. I scrutinized it as he toyed with it in his fingers for a second before I finally caught a clear enough glance and gasped.
“You do still have that!” I exclaimed, looking down at the golden coin in his grip. My mind spun. “You’ve been wearing it this whole time?”
I’d hoped he’d kept it. I’d hoped the memory had been as special to him as it had to me. Suddenly, all of the times Deacon had rubbed his hand to his chest took on a whole new meaning. I’d thought it had been some sort of meditation tool, some yogi-appointed gemstone or something, but no, it was the coin— our coin —that he’d been touching this whole time. My heart thumped faster at the thought.
Deacon grinned. “I've almost lost this thing more times than I can count,” he said with a chuckle as he flicked it up with his thumb and caught it again. “I finally had a jeweler make a magnetized clasp for me so I didn’t keep losing it in my pockets.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know.” He tossed the coin up again and when he caught it, his eyes landed on mine and snagged. “Maybe I was afraid.”
“Afraid of what?” I asked as he passed it between his knuckles with practiced ease. “Oh, come on, you have to tell me.”
He weighed his head back and forth. “Maybe I should let the coin decide," he said. “Heads or tails?”
“Uh . . . tails.”
He flicked it up in the air, caught it, and slapped it onto the back of his hand. He peeked at it before showing me. “Tails.”
I cheered, bouncing on the couch in a goofy victory dance. When I looked back at him, he was just staring at me. My brow furrowed. “So what it is you were so afraid?—”
Before I could get the whole question out, he grabbed me by the back of the neck and kissed me.
My insides exploded, fireworks filling my body as his lips slid over mine. He let out a satisfied sound at the back of his throat that had my hands delving into his hair, pulling him closer. He tasted like popcorn and whisky—because he was drunk and not thinking straight.
He’s drunk and not thinking straight!
The reality of the moment crashed into me and I pulled my mouth from his.
Deacon dropped his forehead to mine. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a really, really long time,” he murmured, moving in to kiss me again.
I lurched backward, warring with myself to make the sensible choice.
“Wait.” I put a hand on his chest . . . and then slid it down to his cut abs because I wasn’t a fucking saint and when else was I going to have a chance? Still, I said, “You're drunk right now and you will regret this in the morning.”
He shook his head, his thumb sweeping across my cheek as he held onto me. I couldn’t help but lean into his touch.
“I'm not that drunk,” he refuted, trying to close the distance between us again. He managed one more amazing, world-shattering kiss before I rose to my feet, putting the couch between us so I didn’t climb him like a freaking mountain goat.
“Deacon, this is the alcohol talking. You probably won’t even remember this in the morning.”
He leaned back, tousled hair falling into his eyes and a smile on his swollen lips as he slung an arm over the back of the couch. “You don't know how wrong you are, love.”
“How dare you say such a hot thing right now!” I let out a frustrated groan, balling my hands to keep from touching him. “You probably won't even remember that you called me love.”
I started anxiously bouncing on the balls of my feet. Was this really happening? This couldn’t be really happening. There was no circle of hell where I would say no to Deacon trying to kiss me, was there?
“I will remember.” Deacon cocked his head at me. “ Why are you freaking out right now?”
I shook my hands out. “Because you’re you ! Look at you!” I screeched, gaping at him like he’d seriously lost his mind. “You don't date girls like me.”
“No,” he said. “I fall in love with girls like you.”
“Oh my god,” I whined. “Screw you for being so damn romantic! You are a hopeless flirt when you’re drunk.”
“I’m not doing this because I’m drunk,” he argued with an exasperated laugh. At least he was able to make light of the situation, even if I was utterly panicking.
“Then why did you say ‘never’?” I paced back and forth across his perfectly shined wooden floorboards.
“What?”
“At family dinner,” I clarified. “Why did you say ‘Dove and I? Never.’” I mocked his voice, unsure why I delivered the line with robot arms, but right now that was the least of my concerns.
“Because you are incredibly stubborn.” He drunkenly waved me up and down. “Case and point.” He shook his head. “And I thought you’d never forgive me for the skink thing. So I said never because I knew you’d never let me in, never give us a chance, well, at least I thought that until you kissed me, and then I thought maybe there was still hope.”
I crossed my arms. “Well, you should’ve been more explicit with that sentiment then. It was very confusing.”
“Dove.”
“Deacon, we can’t do this!” I exclaimed. “I don't think you understand. You do not go for people like me. There’s a reason why celebrities date celebrities. I mean, come on, you date women who need fake IDs to get into bars!”
He winced. “Those were all fake relationships,” he said, holding up a defensive hand. “Not that I’m saying I’ve been a monk or haven’t been playing the field, but yeah, none of the relationships that have been public have been real.”
“Still,” I said, pacing faster, searching for ways to make him understand that he and I were not the same. “I’m older than you!”
He rolled his eyes. “By five months.”
“You date supermodels. With zero cellulite and blindingly white teeth. And millions of Instagram followers,” I countered. “I’m not in the same universe as you, let alone league.”
His head reared back. “You think I’m too good for you ?” he asked in disbelief. “Dove, you have absolutely no idea how incredible you are. Ivy picked on you because she's horribly jealous of the fact that you don't even care that you’re ridiculously gorgeous. You are smart and funny and nerdy and hard-working, and you have an amazing family and job and wit, and you care so much about making a difference in the world.” He held a hand to his chest like it made his heart hurt. “If anything, I am unworthy of you.”
“You don’t really want this, Deacon.” I retreated another step. “You don’t want me.”
“Could you please stop telling me what I want? I know what I want,” he demanded, his face growing more serious as he held my gaze. “I’ve known since I was twelve years old.” I felt tears pricking my eyes, my heart constricting as I tried not to believe him. “Are you saying you don’t have feelings for me?”
“Of course I have feelings for you!” I erupted, unable to deny it any longer. “You were my best friend—funny and smart and creative and daring—and how could kid version of me not develop feelings for kid version of you?” He laughed. “What?”
He shrugged. “I think you’re the only person in the world who wouldn’t have led with rich, famous, and handsome, and that is one of the many, many reasons why I really want to kiss you right now.” He stood, ambling over to me.
"Don't you come over here with that sexy smolder face and your perfectly kissable lips,” I scolded him. “Your looks might be lower down on my priority list of things I like about you, but come on! You know you’re the most gorgeous man in the world, so please don’t test me.”
“What if I want to test you?” He flashed that mischievous smile and my pussy fluttered.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
This was the worst kind of torture. Was he this devilishly charming with every model and actress he’d brought back to this apartment after a few too many drinks? I bet I was the only woman ever who didn’t immediately get naked for him even though I desperately wanted to.
Why— why !—did I have to be the bigger person right now?
“You are drunk,” I repeated slowly, holding Deacon by the shoulders so he didn't come any closer.
“I really wish I didn’t have any celebratory drinks tonight.” He sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face, and I suddenly felt the pull of sleep surrounding us and the fact it was 2 am, which was insanely late for someone who routinely woke up at 5. “What can I do to make you believe that I'm not just saying this ‘cuz I'm drunk?”
“Okay, how about this?” I proposed, knowing I needed to get both of us to bed and reset whatever sloppy, drunken, melodrama was playing out between us. “If you still want to kiss me in the morning, then you go right ahead, okay?” I offered. “But chances are you won't even remember this conversation.”
“I will remember,” he slurred, suddenly more obviously intoxicated now that he was on his feet. I was pretty sure he was seeing two of me, which only reconfirmed my decision not to take things further.
“Sure you will, big guy.” I patted him on the shoulder. “Let's get you to bed before you crash into something, okay?”
“You could sleep in my bed tonight?” He held up his hands. “Nothing would happen. It would just be nice to have you there.”
Yeah, and have him wake up thinking we’d slept together when he couldn't remember any of this and have to come up with some awkward excuse as to why it was all a big mistake.
“Another night.”
“Okay.” He gently rubbed his knuckles across my cheeks. “I'll hold you to that.”
I smiled. “Tonight was perfect. Really. Thank you.”
“You might be the only person in the world who has the same definition of perfect as me,” he said. Which almost made sense and made my chest constrict with its sweetness.
With that, he wandered off, leaving me reeling. All the things he’d said to me, I knew, would be erased with the daylight, but God did it feel good to hear them. I probably should've just let him kiss me, but knowing he was spurred on by alcohol hurt too much. It would just be a crazy memory I could tuck away when I headed back to Prickle Island tomorrow. Deacon would go on being one of the most famous men in the world, but for a little while in the wee hours of the night, it had been fun to pretend that he was mine.