35. Serena
Serena
When there’s a knock at my door later on that night, I know right away that it’s Travis. Maybe I’m desperate to know the cadence of his movements, to identify his knock without needing to see him. At this point, I’m a little past caring.
Even though I’m exhausted, I haven’t been able to fall asleep. Instead, I’ve just been staring up at the ceiling, blinking dazedly, my mind turning over and over the events of the past few days.
More than anything else, I keep seeing Bianca. Hearing the desperation in her voice.
“I’m—I’m sorry, Serena, it just s-slipped out?—”
Not even an apology for what she did. For ducking out of my life and right into Alex’s. No explanation or admission from her. The hurt squeezes around my chest, tightens down, and makes it hard to breathe.
So, I pull myself out of bed and answer the door.
“Serena,” Travis says, clearing his throat.
He’s wearing a pair of black silk pajamas, the pants ending just at the tops of his socked feet.
His shoulders are strong and broad under the fabric, and I can’t stop myself from looking.
His gaze travels up and down my body too, taking me in so intensely that my skin lights up in pleasure. “Can I come in?”
I want to say no. I want to keep punishing him for leaving me, or for trying to forget me, or whatever it was that he was attempting to do.
For going weeks without talking to me. Making me think I was crazy for wanting him, or that I was just one of many girls on his roster. A faceless woman in a long line of having fun. There’s a voice in my head—the one that’s convinced I’m never good enough for anyone—that wants me to push him away.
But I’m tired.
And being with Graham when we got here somehow made me want Ryan and Travis even more.
So I step to the side, let Travis Oakley into the room with me, and shut the door behind him. The click of the latch echoes loudly like the starting shot of a race. We’re officially alone.
“Serena.” Like everything else he does, the way he says my name is precise. Exacting. It’s a reflection of how his attention feels over my skin.
“Travis.” I try to mimic him, but then I cross my arms over my chest, aware of the fact that I am not wearing a bra. I’m still in my grungy clothes from home because I just didn’t have the energy to sort through all the clothes Travis had sent over for me.
He stares at me for a moment, his jaw clenching, thoughts clearly turning behind his gorgeous brown eyes.
Travis really is unfairly handsome. Even with a few months of space, I haven’t stopped thinking about his strong forearms, the honey of his irises, the slope of his nose and slant of his jaw.
Everything about him is grace and poise, even how he stands now, his shoulders back, tapering down into his chest and then to his hips.
I force myself not to look at the way his pants hang from his hips.
Force myself not to think about what it would feel like to tuck my hands under that waistband, shirk his pants off to the floor.
“I came to apologize.”
The admission—so honest and straightforward—stuns me.
Maybe it shouldn’t. This is Travis, after all. But after more than a year of being with Alex, I’m not used to receiving an apology, honest and sincere, like that. Not used to anything so forthright.
“For what?” I prompt because I can’t, apparently, be mature about this. Or maybe I need something more like groveling from him.
Travis smiles, turns, then tucks his lower lip into his mouth before saying, “For leaving you that night. You were drunk, but I could have stayed with you.” He pauses, lifts his eyes to mine. “I wanted to, Serena.”
“Even if we weren’t having sex?” I ask, annoyed with how small my voice is. I want to be apathetic, but I care. I want Travis to want me. Want him to want me in his bed, in his arms. Even as I’m actively wanting—and having—Graham and Ryan, as well.
His attention settles on me, and even from this distance, I make out the glint in his eyes. Amber, or a light caramel. I’ve noticed they darken when he’s mad, like when Alex was in his office.
“I just want you, Serena, no matter what we’re doing.” He takes a step closer to me, and his breath catches in his throat. I can feel it like my fingers are pressed against his neck. “I want you when you’re sick, and when you’re angry, and even when you’re… thinking about someone else.”
He doesn’t say it like a concession. He says it like my desire for someone else might be preferable to him. Like it turns him on.
That thought turns me on. Or, more than I already was, just from Travis showing up at the door, making me think of that first night, how he caught the hotel door before it shut. That feeling of being pursued.
It’s back again, but this time, instead of a heart-racing chase, it’s steadier. The slow walk of Michael Myers behind me, the insistent promise that he’s going to get me, no matter how fast I run.
Except maybe that’s a mixed metaphor, since I’m more than happy to be here with him, in this room. Trapped. Not with a lunatic trying to murder me, but with one of the sexiest men I’ve ever seen.
When I say nothing, Travis takes a quick breath, “I know you agreed to this before I had a chance to apologize, or to make it up to you. You don’t have to give me an answer right now, Serena. Just let me show you that I?—”
He’s interrupted by a swift knock, then the door cracking open, a head of golden curls popping in. Ryan looks to the bed first, clearly expecting me to be there, but falters when I’m not. Then his gaze swings around to find Travis and me standing near the sofa.
“Oh, sorry,” he says, and for once, it actually sounds like he means it. He takes a halting step forward, revealing a little treat in his hand—a tiny trifle, topped with purple flowers. “I brought you a nightcap. Well, in a way. It’s a lavender parfait. But I can?—”
“No,” Travis lifts his hand, waves toward Ryan like don’t leave. “I was just going. It’s fine.”
“Travis, wait,” I choke, reaching out and grabbing him by the wrist. Playing coy was fine a second ago, but now that he’s headed for the door, I don’t want him to leave. “I forgive you.”
There’s a pregnant pause.
“…you don’t have to say that, Serena,” Travis says, his voice low, his gaze directed to the pale wood floor. “I understand that it might take some time.”
“I’m over it.” I squeeze where I’m holding him, tug him a little closer. “I’ve missed you.”
“Ye-ah,” Ryan draws out, laughing a bit at the end and sidling over to the bedside table with the dessert. “I’ll just leave this. You can try it—well, Travis, you might like it, too. Goodnight?—”
Without turning to look at his friend, Travis says, voice still just as low, “You can stay, Ryan.”
I blink, desire and anticipation swinging up and punching at the bottom of my throat like I’m on a thrill ride. Travis is still looking at me, his gaze a question, even after he made that bold statement.
Do I want this? Do I want him and Ryan, at the same time?
The answer is easy, and immediate.
“Yes,” I say out loud, leaning around Travis to look at Ryan, who’s standing by the bed, his eyebrows raised. “Stay, Ryan.”