Chapter 11 #2
We wade in line, looking up at the board before ordering at the counter.
We’re stuck in line for about ten minutes, not talking because fans keep coming up with near-endless requests for selfies and autographs.
Fans shout my name, hold out phones, ask for selfies.
One woman actually asks me to sign her cleavage, which makes Juliet cross her arms and look like she wants to commit murder.
I plaster on a tight smile, sign a few napkins, pose for three photos, and try to get us to our table before things get completely out of hand.
We get our food astonishingly fast after we order and head out to find seats on the terrace. Once we’re seated in a corner booth with a decent view of the water, Juliet stabs her fork into a biscuit like it offended her.
“You hate this,” she says.
“What?”
“This. Being the Chainsaw. All the performing and the fans and the persona. You hate it.”
I glance at her, surprised. “You noticed that?”
She shrugs. “Nobody else seems to.”
I watch her for a beat, something uncomfortable shifting in my chest. She sees things other people miss. She always has, apparently. I feel a hard lump in my chest at that thought.
I nod toward the couple two tables over, the ones with a French bulldog in a baby stroller. “You think the dog picked that stroller out himself, or did they workshop it together on Pinterest?”
Juliet tries not to smile, but it cracks through. “You’re ridiculous.”
“That stroller has a sunshade and cup holders,” I mutter. “I’ve seen players travel with worse setups.”
She glances over. “I mean… the dog looks pretty comfortable.”
“Comfortable?” I scoff. “That mutt is living better than I am. If it’s got a skincare routine, I’m walking into traffic.”
She snorts. “Jesus.”
I can’t stop looking at her. The lipstick, the bun, the dangerous heels. The way she’s trying so hard not to enjoy this, like admitting she’s having fun would be some kind of weakness.
Beside us, a kid at the next table over knocks over a glass of orange juice. I lean down fast, grabbing napkins and mopping up the mess before it can spread.
As she stands and stretches to help, the hem of her skirt rides just a little higher up her thigh. I don’t even try to hide the way my eyes track the movement.
Juliet glances over her shoulder and catches me mid-stare. My expression is probably somewhere between guilty and tempted. It knocks something off-balance in both of us. For once, I’m not teasing or trying to get a rise out of her. I’m just looking. And she doesn’t seem to hate it.
“Hey, little man,” I say to the kid, distracting him with an eyebrow wiggle. “You just made brunch way more exciting.”
Juliet watches me like she’s seeing something brand new.
As we walk out, she murmurs, “As much as it pains me to admit this, I feel better now that I’ve eaten.”
I nod. “Told you. Brunch solves everything.”
“It’s better than being cooped up in the condo for another three hours, torturing myself by rereading the article again and again.”
“Same difference.” I put my hand on the small of her back, enjoying the flush that spreads from her cheeks to her chest at my touch.
It makes me wonder if she’s always so responsive. Would she make soft little sounds if I kissed her again? Would she gasp if I tugged her hair back and nipped her neck? God, I bet she would.
I’m in my bubble of horny thoughts as I touch her smooth, warm skin almost all the way home.
Back at the condo, the bubble stretches and pops almost immediately. We’re only home for a couple of minutes when I catch her tinkering with the heat. Checking the temperature, I find it to be about seven degrees higher than I would ever keep my house.
I scowl at her. “Turn down the thermostat. I’m going to be sweating in my home.”
She glares right back. “You’re a giant. You generate your own heat. I’m freezing.”
“Not my problem.”
Juliet puts both fists on her hips and gives me an irritated look.
“You’re such a cave troll. Also? Your music is too loud. Every night before I go to sleep, you blare the dumbest music. It’s inappropriate.”
She’s hot when she’s a little pissed off. “Aw, baby. I’m doing it for you.”
“What do you mean, you’re doing it for me? How does it help me exactly?” She cocks her hip.
I lean closer, invasion of personal space becoming a theme. “If I didn’t play music, you’d hear me jerking off.”
Juliet’s cheeks turn a fiery red. She goes completely still. “That happens every day? You can’t be that horny.”
“I’m a professional athlete who’s currently not getting any action. Masturbating once a day is barely taking the edge off.” I step forward, close enough to see the flecks of gold in her brown eyes. “Why? Are you keeping track?”
Her breath catches. “No.”
But she doesn’t move away.
My hand brushes her arm. Her gaze drops to my mouth.
We move in the same orbit, drawn together like two bodies caught in the same tide.
The air between us hums, thick and electric, a current thrumming between us until the only thing left is the pull of her mouth, the heat of her breath.
When we collide, it is not gentle. It is heat and want, the sharp edge of something that has been building for years, a collision so inevitable it feels like the universe has been conspiring to bring us to this exact moment.
The kiss is messy, frenzied, uncoordinated, too much. Lips and teeth and desperation and years of unresolved tension.
I kiss her like I’m starving. Like she’s air and I’ve been drowning without having her. Juliet kisses me like she forgot who she’s supposed to be. Like all that careful control just evaporated.
Like she’s desperate for my touch. Like she’s ravenous.
She whimpers into my mouth and I slide my hand up her jaw, into her hair, hungry for more. More of her neediness, more of her desire.
I’ve kissed women before. Slept with plenty of them. But none of them ever felt like this. No one has ever looked at me the way Juliet does. No one has ever tasted like heaven on my tongue and moaned, so soft and sweet, that I feel ruined by a kiss.
I’m going to fuck this up. Break her heart, crush her dreams. That’s my track record. That’s the pattern. People get close, and I ruin it. I disappoint them or hurt them or drive them away with my inability to be anything other than what I am.
But damn, at this moment, my lips move against hers, my tongue sweeping against her lips, seeking entrance. For a second, she makes a soft sound and nearly allows my tongue inside her mouth.
Then Juliet pulls back, breathing hard. She looks at me for several long seconds, her shoulders heaving, her face flushed. Those dark brown eyes of hers pin me in place.
“Huxley,” she whispers. “This is a mistake. It can’t mean anything.”
I hate her for saying it, even though I know it’s true.
“Yeah,” I say, even though I want to drag her back and kiss her until neither of us can think straight. I clear my throat. “I agree.”
She walks away toward her room. I stand there in the hallway, breathless, blood pounding in my ears.
She tasted of citrus, vanilla, and musk. Like danger wrapped in silk.
And now I want more. So much more.
What a terrible fucking idea to ever to kiss her.