Chapter 43
forty-three
Jules’s dress goes well with the rosy velvet booths and blush up-lighting at Make Believe.
The trendy bar has some of the best drinks in lower Manhattan and they’re doing the Lord’s work—sometime between her second and third drinks, Juliet even lets me take a picture of her.
The second I capture the moment, I know it’s a photo I’ll never delete. Holding her coupe glass in one hand, eyes shining, with her head tilted and a sassy smirk on her lips…
She’s perfection.
“Any good?” she asks, sipping her drink some more.
“It’s”— Everything —“great.”
She doesn’t seem to care much. I know a lot of girls who would demand to see the picture. They’d critique it and themselves, obsess over posing and preening.
Jules simply shrugs one of her shoulders and looks into her half-empty glass. “These are dangerous,” she mutters. “I almost just asked to take your picture.”
I discover that tequila makes her flirty. The botanical concoction of anejo, orange liquor, and pineapple juice has her rubbing her foot along my calf. I get my revenge a moment later, stretching my arm across the back of the booth and brushing my fingertips against the exposed nape of her neck until she shivers.
We torture each other all through drinks, in the short ride a few streets over, and during our dinner at Dirty French. We also laugh a lot. Juliet has a dozen hilarious anecdotes about her grandmother. Images of little Abuelita slapping butchers and railing at men who gawked at Jules on the subway crack me up, but they also touch me. The Rivera women have spent so long taking on the world together—it’s clear their bond runs deep.
After hearing about her childhood, I’m in awe of everything Jules has done for her family. While I was taking bong hits and scoring sorority girls, she had two jobs to save for law school and a third gig babysitting to send money to her mom.
The fact that such a noble, brilliant woman sees anything worthwhile in me is humbling.
Yet, she does.
She asks endless questions about my career, specifically the ins and outs of a broker’s day-to-day tasks and the way I try to predict market trends. Every time her brows arch or her mouth falls open, triumph surges through me.
Jules also loves my stories about Europe and asks specific questions—she’s clearly read a lot about travel but has never been anywhere. I want to fix that one day.
She argues with me over the check, just enough to get my blood up. I finally get the leather booklet away from her long enough to slide five hundred-dollar bills into it. That shuts her up, though she seethes all the way to the door.
The tension follows us out of the restaurant and into the wintery air blustering down Ludlow Street. With an agitated movement, she shrugs her sparkly coat on but doesn’t belt it. Before I can smooth things over, she takes off toward my apartment.
Goddamn it . My usual methods for dealing with her attitude won’t work out here, on the street… will they?
Something has to. I still have a whole plan set up for her at my place.
“You’re going to get cold,” I comment, taking a few long strides to catch up.
Her pissy expression pinches. “It’s not even two blocks.”
I shrug. “Still. You should close your coat.”
She looks up the road and then back at me. Her stance reminds me of our elevator encounter—the way she stuck her chest out and tipped her head up. The heat simmering in her eyes.
“You gonna make me?”
Once she throws that down, I can’t even fucking think . I only know I have to have her. Now .
I bend and lift her over my shoulder, hauling us both into an alley and sliding the length of her body down mine. Jules doesn’t even bother to put her feet on the ground. Instead, her ankles lock together at the small of my back while she fists my lapels and pulls my mouth to hers.
I can’t blame her. Three hours of non-stop teasing, a decent buzz, and days without her body have me on edge, too. I’m obviously not the only one stretched past the limits of my control.
Grunting, I flatten our torsos together. Even in the cold, I feel the damp heat from her core. My hands glide up the back of her skin-tight skirt, finding the bare, bountiful curves of her ass and?—
A G-string? Fucking hell .
This woman is going to kill me.
Her earring brushes my forearm as I tug on her ponytail, licking into her mouth until she moans and tightens her legs around me. She reaches between our bodies to tug on my fly.
I lean back just far enough to let her, panting, “You want it now ?”
My disbelief makes her smile. She likes throwing me off. Without a word, she unzips my pants and slips her hand into my boxers.
Fuck me . Her touch feels incredible. Burying my face against her throat, I bite a tender spot while her fingers rub up my shaft. When I start to pulse in her hand, she strokes me harder.
“Jules,” I groan. “If you don’t stop, I swear, I’ll fuck you right here.”
“Do it,” she dares, skimming my jaw with her teeth before biting my lip. “ Please .”
I weigh our options, knowing I should do my best to hold off until I get her home. I want to make her wait, drive her wild. I have surprises for her, a whole plan of attack. And someone could see us here.
Grayson’s already going to kick my ass and—possibly—rescind his investment when he finds out about us. Do I really want my best friend to see a picture of me fucking his employee in some tabloid before I manage to tell him?
If I manage to tell him…
While I waver, my phone starts buzzing in my back pocket. I ignore it, but the ringing picks right back up a second after it cuts off. With a frustrated growl, I rip the cell out and glare at it.
Damn it. Christian.
I grind my teeth together and force myself to set Juliet down. “I’m sorry. If it were literally anyone else, I’d ignore it. But I really need to get this.”
Worry crowds into her features. The smoky sensuality in her eyes evaporates. She fusses with the front of her dress and the belt of her coat while I step back to answer.
“Chris?”
Static fills the line, followed by an ominous silence. A chill prickles my blood, cooling it. “Christian?” I try again. “It’s Graham. Are you there?”
Street noise swells behind him. “Graham?” he slurs, then groans. “I think I— ughhhh . I need help.”
“Help?” My back straightens. I take two more steps away from Juliet. “Where are you?”
“Dunno,” he mumbles, “It’s code.”
Cold. Outside . “Okay, look around you. What do you see?”
“I can’t see . It’s cold. It hurts.”
Fuck, fuck, fuck . I’ve already sent my car away. Needing a taxi, I grab Juliet and drag her out to the street. She catches on quickly; her hand flies up to hail the first cab she sees.
“Can you send me your location? Go to the Maps app.”
“It hurts, Graham. It’s not supposed t-to hurt .”
He means the drugs. Fuck .
“I’m coming to get you,” I promise. “But I need a location.”
I hear him fumble with his phone while we get into the cab. “Street-t,” he garbles. “Near sc-school. On Th-th-third.”
It sounds like the phone hits the ground. “Christian? Chris!”
Panicked, I pull the screen away from my face and blink down at it, trying to think. Juliet’s hand falls on my forearm, but I barely feel it.
“He dropped the phone,” I ramble, opening the Maps app and zooming in on NYU. “I need to find him. He said he’s on Third?”
She glances at my screen, then over to the rearview mirror. “Head toward the Village, please,” she tells the driver, all business. “We’re in a hurry; it’s an emergency.”
The car glides forward. She refocuses on me. “Okay. He said Third. He goes to NYU?”
When I nod, Juliet’s features tighten. “Does he think he’s near campus? Maybe the East Village?”
Hell, it’s as good a place to start as any. I nod, and she gives the driver our updated destination. I try to call Christian back twenty times, but the phone keeps ringing to his full voicemail inbox.
Juliet doesn’t question me or try to make conversation. She keeps her hand on my leg, silently offering support while we speed across town.
The cab spits us out on Avenue C and she takes charge, leading me up Third Street, constantly glancing around as she tries to get her bearings.
“We’ll find him,” she mumbles, frowning at our surroundings. “Do you think he’d be in one of these empty buildings? There are half a dozen on this block. Maybe if one of them is abandoned or condemned, people might use it to meet up…”
She makes sense, but I can’t think. Panic obliterates all my wits. An ambulance screams by us, driving slower than most.
Going somewhere close by .
And, deep down, I know . It’s for Christian.