twenty seven #2
Slowly, I lifted a hand to push his hair back from his forehead. He turned his face, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to the curve of my neck.
When he finally pulled back, he was still inside me, his hands framing my face like he didn't want to let me go.
He kissed me again-slower this time. Almost tender.
And for a moment, it felt like nothing outside this place could touch us.
"We should probably get out."
I made a small, reluctant sound. "I don't want to."
His laugh rumbled low against my skin. "Trust me, if you stay where you are another minute, I'm going to do something that definitely gets me banned."
I felt my mouth curve before I could stop it. "You'll be okay."
"Probably," he agreed, tugging the loosened strings of my bikini top back into place with surprisingly careful hands. "But my reputation won't."
He shifted back just enough to look at me, water dripping off his hair and onto my chest. "Come on."
We dressed side by side, both of us still damp, trading small smiles but not saying much.
The drive back to the city felt easier than it should have. The windows were cracked, the night air cool on my cheeks. He kept one hand on the wheel and the other drifting over to rest on my knee.
"You're in a good mood," I said, teasing.
He glanced over, brow lifting. "And you're not?"
I shrugged, trying to fight my smile. "I didn't say that."
"Good." His thumb traced a slow circle against my leg. "Because I'm trying really hard not to think about how good you looked a half hour ago."
My heart did an embarrassing little flip.
"Stop," I muttered, looking out the window.
He didn't. "It's true."
At my place, he parked by the curb but didn't turn the car off. For a second, neither of us moved.
"You coming up?" I asked.
"Yeah," he said, too quickly, like he'd been hoping I'd ask.
Inside, I kicked my shoes off and turned to see him lingering by the door, hands in his pockets.
I reached for his hand, tugging him in by the front of his sweater.
He kissed me again-longer this time, slower-and when he pulled back, he looked like he was actually happy.
I slipped past him into the small living room. The coffee table was still covered in my sketchpads, a half-finished to-do list, and a folded piece of mail I'd been avoiding.
Brooks trailed behind me, shrugging out of his coat. He didn't say anything at first-just looked around slowly, taking it all in. Like he was trying to catalog every detail so he'd remember it later.
I set my bag on the couch and sank onto the cushions. He stood for a second, like he was debating something, then came over and pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head.
"You hungry?" he asked.
"No," I said, leaning back to look at him. "I'm fine."
"You sure?"
"Positive."
His phone buzzed in his pocket. He fished it out and glanced at the screen.
I groaned, flopping dramatically against the pillows. "Don't answer that."
A crooked smile tugged at his mouth, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I have to."
"You don't."
"Five minutes," he promised, leaning down to kiss my cheek.
I rolled my eyes.
He laughed under his breath and brushed his knuckles over my jaw before stepping back.
"Just a minute," he said again, softer this time.
Then he slipped out onto the balcony, door clicking quietly behind him.
The moment he was gone, the apartment felt different. Lighter, somehow.
I sat up and scrubbed a hand over my face, trying to shake off the last of the chlorine.
My gaze drifted to the envelope on the table.
The one with my bank statements.
I reached for it before I could second-guess myself. My fingers worked the seal open with a careful precision that felt almost surgical.
I skimmed the numbers, the neat columns and rows. My stomach flipped, but not in a bad way.
Fifty thousand.
That's what I'd managed to save. Between tips, private dances, the handful of big spenders who didn't mind dropping five grand just to watch me drink champagne and pretend I'd go home with them.
Fifty thousand dollars.
One third to what I needed to open the suite.
I exhaled slowly, pressing my thumb to the printed total.
A year ago, it would have felt impossible.
Now, it just felt...close.
Close enough I could almost see it.
The adrenaline of the pool still thrummed under my skin, sweet and restless. I peeled off my damp swimsuit and slipped into a thin satin slip-barely opaque, clinging to the still-warm curves of my body.
I padded back to the living room, sinking onto the couch. My legs folded under me, the hem of the slip sliding up my thighs.
Through the glass, I watched him. The way his hand curled tight around his phone. The way his shoulders moved with each clipped sentence.
He looked...tired. Worn out in a way work only did to him.
I should have felt guilty for how much I still wanted him.
Instead, it just made something in my chest tighten.
I waited.
And waited.
Five minutes. Ten.
I could feel the throb of impatience pulsing low in my stomach, all tangled up with the ache he'd left there in the pool.
When he finally stepped back in, he didn't notice me at first. He scrubbed a hand over his jaw, exhaling hard.
"Everything okay?" I asked softly.
His head came up, eyes dragging over me. The slip. My bare legs. The way I was sitting, too casual to be innocent.
Something flickered across his face-surprise, then something darker.
"Yeah," he said after a beat, voice a little rough. "Just...work."
I hummed, tipping my head back against the cushion. "Look who's the tense one now."
His gaze didn't move from me. "I'll be fine."
"You sure?" I teased, letting one knee fall open just a little.
His jaw flexed. "You trying to help?"
"Maybe," I murmured.
He didn't move closer, but I could feel the air shift between us. That quiet tension that never stayed quiet for long.
And sitting there, warm and loose and still buzzing from everything we'd already done, I decided I didn't care if he was tired.
I wanted him anyway.
He hadn't even sat down fully before I hooked my fingers in his waistband and tugged him closer to the couch.
Brooks let out a breath-half a laugh, half a groan. "What are you doing?"
"Making you comfortable," I murmured.
I gave him a little push. He sank back into the cushions, legs spread, looking up at me warily like he knew he was already losing.
I stepped between his knees, fingers trailing down the crisp line of his shirt. "Still tense?"
He swallowed, jaw flexing. "We need to-"
Before he could finish, I swung a leg over his lap and settled on top of him, knees bracketing his thighs.
He went very still, hands hovering near my hips but not quite touching. "Amira."
"What?" I asked, all wide eyes and innocence, even as I pressed closer.
He cleared his throat, voice already rough. "I'm serious. We have to talk."
"We can talk." I bent my head and kissed the side of his neck, letting my lips linger. "I'm listening."
One of his hands landed on my waist-a steady, grounding pressure. "I was on the phone with my PR manager."
"Mmm." My mouth brushed the warm spot just below his jaw. "About what?"
He exhaled, his free hand rubbing the bridge of his nose. "About...optics. The campaign is getting more intense, and they think it would be smart if..."
While he was talking, my hand drifted between us, slow and deliberate. My palm cupped him through his slacks, feeling the heat there.
Brooks went silent.
I rubbed him gently. "If...?"
He let out a ragged breath. "If I was...seen with someone."
My hand stopped. Completely.
I pulled back just enough to see his face. "Seen with someone?"
His eyes lifted to mine, dark and steady. "Public appearances. Events. Just for the cameras."
I stayed still, my heart kicking up in my chest. "You're telling me you're going to...fake date someone?"
His jaw tightened, but he didn't look away. "It's not personal. It's strategy. They think having someone...more polished in photos will help neutralize any of the gossip."
I searched his face, waiting for the part where this would hurt worse.
"And you're okay with that?" I asked quietly.
"I don't know if I want to hear this," I admitted. My voice came out too quiet.
Brooks's hands flexed lightly at my hips. "Amira."
I shook my head and shifted back, trying to slide off his lap. But his hands tightened, holding me in place.
"Don't," he said, voice low but careful.
I looked down at him, feeling my chest pull tight. "It doesn't really sound like I get a say in it and it sounds like your mind is made up already."
His jaw flexed, something frustrated and soft moving across his expression. "That's not fair."
"Isn't it?"
He exhaled slowly, his thumbs tracing circles into my skin. "I'm telling you because I don't want you finding out any other way. Because I don't want you thinking there's anything about this I'd hide from you."
I swallowed, trying not to let that get under my ribs the way it always did. "And I'm supposed to just be okay with it?"
His hands slid up my sides, not quite pulling me closer but not letting me move away either. "You're supposed to know you're the only person I'm actually with. That nothing about this changes that."
I searched his face for any hesitation. Any crack in the practiced calm.
But he just looked sure.
And that was almost worse.
I looked down at where his hands framed my waist. "I don't know how to feel about this."
"That's understandable. I know if the shoe was on the other foot I'd hate to see you with another guy." His voice dropped lower, almost pleading. "Even if it was just for optics. But don't pull away from me over something that isn't real."
"It's not real to you," I said quietly. "But you didn't even tell me who she is."
His hands tightened just slightly where they held my waist.
I raised an eyebrow. "So?"
He hesitated, just for a second. "She's...someone already in that world. A good look on paper."
"Right. On paper."
"It's not like that, Amira."
"Then what is it like?"