20. Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty
Allie
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
It feels like I’m back in high school, waiting for my mom to go to bed so I can sneak out. Not that I ever actually did it, but I definitely worked up the nerve a few times to at least try.
The three of us are supposed to be watching The Notebook for the millionth time. We’ve got the wine, the popcorn, the tissues—all the essentials for the perfect girls’ night. But how am I supposed to focus on that when I know the second they go to bed, I’m supposed to meet Jax?
Sneaking out. At twenty-five years old. To go have sex with a rock star .
Is this really what my life is turning into?
I thought about canceling only a half dozen times. I even opened our texts, my thumb hovering over the screen, ready to type some excuse out. But then that little voice, the one that’s been living rent-free in my head all vacation, started whispering again. You need to do this.
Then there’s the damn bucket list Nora wanted to start when we first got here.
I haven’t scratched a single thing off that list while she’s just flying on through it.
Coming home with that glow on her face that screams she just had the best sex of her life, while I’m lounging on the couch with my fingers stained orange from Cheeto dust.
I know it’s not a race, but to not have a single thing crossed off? It’s a little embarrassing if I’m being totally honest.
But this is something for me to venture out and step out of my comfort zone. The little bubble I’ve trapped myself in for so long that I just have to force myself to pop through.
Isn’t that the entire point of a bucket list?
The TV clicks off, and the black screen reflects the three of us like a mirror. I glance over at Nora, catching her mid-sniffle as she dabs at her eyes with a crumpled tissue.
“I don’t know why this movie makes me cry every time,” she says, laughing softly through her sigh.
I pat her knee and lean my head back against the couch. “Because deep down you want Ryan Gosling to build you a big, beautiful house with a wraparound porch.”
Her head drops back, too, eyes on the ceiling. “Is that so much to ask?”
Then she quickly pulls herself upright and starts collecting the empty wine glasses and rogue popcorn kernels from the cushion beside her.
“I’m heading to bed,” Nora says, stifling a yawn. “This was nice. Just us girls hanging out.”
“Yeah, movie night was way better without hearing the bed creak this time,” Ana adds, grinning like the menace she is.
Nora’s face turns beet red, and she glares at Ana, her expression a mix of horror and disbelief.
“Oh, don’t look at me like that,” Ana says, waving her off. “I’m not judging you. I’m judging Allie’s aunt for not soundproofing the walls in this place.”
Nora rolls her eyes and stands, brushing popcorn from her pajama pants.
“Goodnight, ladies,” she says with a mock salute.
We both watch her disappear up the stairs. The second she’s out of earshot, Ana turns to me, remote in hand.
“Do you wanna watch another one? Or are you heading to bed soon too?” she asks, gesturing to the television.
I shrug, doing my best to look sleepy even though my pulse is thudding in my ears and my stomach’s tying itself in knots. “I’ll probably head to bed soon,” I lie.
She nods. “Yeah, honestly, I should work on this damn book,” she says, letting out a long sigh.
“How’s it coming, by the way?” I ask, guilt creeping in.
World’s worst friend, right here.
She’s working on her third novel, about to publish, and I completely spaced on it.
She shrugs as she lifts herself from the chair. “It’s… coming,” she says, nodding. “I wanna smash these characters’ heads together most days, but hey, that’s writing for you.”
I chuckle like I know what she’s talking about when, really, I have no idea. Sure, I’ve been obsessed with books for as long as I can remember, but writing one? That’s a whole other world. I can barely plan what I’m having for dinner, never mind planning entire plots.
At the bottom of the stairs, she pauses, glancing back at me over her shoulder. “Good night, Allie.”
“Night,” I say, trying to sound casual or like I’m not about to sneak out and maybe wreck my entire life.
And then I wait.
And I wait.
And I wait some more.
It’s been at least an hour since Ana and Nora went to bed, and I’m still glued to the couch. Car keys in one hand, phone in the other.
And yet… I haven’t moved. Not a single inch.
Instead, I continue to sit here, feeling like the worst friend. Because a real friend would’ve said something by now, right? Or at least mentioned they were seeing someone they like.
But real friends also worry, and that’s exactly why I can’t tell them.
I don’t want to be talked out of this. I don’t want to see pity in their eyes because I’m diving into something that could very well leave me heartbroken. Again .
The bucket list was supposed to be simple. Just three things.
Confidence. Wants. And, finally, desires.
Being with Jax? That’s practically the whole list wrapped into one.
And it’s the only thing I truly want right now.
I want to see him. I want to know what it would feel like, even just once, to be held in his arms. To be able to prove to myself that I was brave enough, for once in my life, to go after something just for me.
And if I don’t tell anyone, then maybe, when it inevitably falls apart, I’ll be the only one who ever knew it existed.
Driving to the hotel, I’m not sure how I made it in one piece.
I zoned out so many times that I nearly missed a few turns. And in a city like Boston, that’s not something you can afford to do—figuratively and literally.
Now I’m parked out front, hands tight around the wheel while I try to calm my heartbeat, which feels like it’s about to burst free any second now.
I flip open the visor and stare at my reflection, rechecking every speck of makeup to make sure it’s still perfect. Thankfully, there’s not a smudge in sight, but it doesn’t do much to calm my nerves.
I exhale through pursed lips, eyes fluttering closed while I try to talk myself down from the ledge of canceling— again .
It doesn’t work entirely, but I’ll pretend it does.
Fake it ‘til you make it, right?
The clack of my heels echoes across the tiled floor the second I step into the bar. Thankfully, it’s a quiet Tuesday night, not too crowded, not too loud, so at least I’m not turning every head in the room.
And then I see him.
Sitting in the exact same barstool as the other night. And my god, does he look good—even from the side.
His tattoos peek out from under his rolled sleeve, biceps stretching the fabric in a way that makes my fingers twitch with the urge to trace every line.
Although I do wish he’d worn that backward cap— that would’ve earned him a few extra brownie points. But hey, we can’t all be perfect, can we?
I slide onto the stool beside him without a sound, but he turns toward me anyway. Like he felt me coming the second I walked in.
Without a word, he slides a glass of water in my direction, that small, knowing smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Thank you,” I murmur, wrapping my fingers tightly around the cool glass and taking a slow sip.
He watches me with unreadable eyes. Although that smile is still there, just softer now.
“Are you…” he starts, voice low, “sure you want to do this?”
I don’t answer right away. Unsure how to put into words exactly what I’m feeling since I don’t even know. Instead, I slowly reach for the edge of my sleeve, and with one finger, I slide the fabric down just enough to reveal the delicate strap of black lace resting against my skin.
“It’s a little too late to turn back now,” I say with a nervous laugh.
His eyes shift quickly from heated to something else entirely. Something… sad.
He slowly lifts a single finger. “Rule number one,” he says, his voice firm. “We stop the second anyone’s uncomfortable. No matter what.”
“I-I know.” My gaze drops to my lap, fingers absently toying with the hem of my shirt. “I’m sorry. I say stupid things when I’m nervous.”
When I look back into his eyes, I see them soften, and the corners of his mouth lift slightly.
“I’m nervous too,” he admits quietly, taking a sip of his water.
Well, at least I’m not the only one freaking out. I’m not sure why he’s freaking out. I haven’t been with anyone since Trevor. That’s two years of being without any kind of physical touch. I’m sure he’s been with—
Nope. We’re not going there. You’re already wearing the damn lingerie. You’re doing this.
But the curiosity clings to me like a second skin. And I need to know.
“I… haven’t been with anyone since Trevor and I broke up,” I admit softly. “And he was the only one… ever . So this is all new to me.”
He nods slowly. “This is all new to me too,” he says, voice low, almost hesitant. “I haven’t been with anyone since my ex, Emelia.”
His gaze drops for just a moment, like he’s ashamed of it somehow. But instead of turning me off, it does the complete opposite. And now every doubt I had falls away entirely.
I tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, then glance over my shoulder to make sure no one’s listening. When I turn back to him, I lean in a little closer.
“Did you already get the room?” I ask, keeping my voice low.
He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a thin keycard.
“It’s all set. Fresh linens and all,” he says, his voice lighter now. Then he slides the card back into his pocket.
His eyes return to mine, and this time, they’re not the kind eyes I’ve come to know over the past week. They’re darker now. Heavier. Like he’s picturing exactly what we could be doing right now if we weren’t both nervous wrecks.
I give him a shy smile, trying my best to look sexy, but I know it probably comes out more like a grimace. But hey, points for effort.
“Are you ready?” I ask.
“Only if you are.”
I stand slowly, nodding toward the door, my heart screaming inside my chest.