Love Sick

Julian

OCTOBER, YEAR 2

“Are you in love with her?”

I glare at Tori across the restaurant table, the bevy of juices for our mimosas between us. Brunch has been her favorite meal since I turned twenty-one and we could both legally get trashed on champagne at eleven in the morning. Since she leaves tomorrow, she demanded we brunch.

She also demanded Grace be invited, but sometimes I get my way.

Our table by the window at this busy gastropub is packed full of food and alcohol. Halloween decorations hang from the ceiling. Spiders, witches and ghosts spin above us in the circulated air.

I flick a straw wrapper at her. “Will you please stop asking me that?”

“I would if you’d answer it.”

“I have answered it.” I take a swig of what is essentially champagne with a drop of pineapple juice. “Multiple times.”

She rolls her eyes. “Not truthfully.”

“If you think you know, then why do you keep asking?”

“Because I want you to admit it.” She leans her elbows on the table. “I’ve seen the way you look at her. That puppy longing. You didn’t even look at Carlee like that, and you brought her home to meet Mom.”

I lift a finger. “ Carlee withheld sex until she met Mom.”

Tori’s mouth drops open, then she descends into mocking laughter. “You fell for that?”

“Sex is a powerful motivator, Tor.”

“Hence the puppy longing for Grace and her flashcards,” she says with a wide grin.

“That’s not longing. It’s annoyance.”

Tori snorts. “Yeah. Annoyance that she hasn’t let you in her undies.”

My breath expels in one long sigh. “Have you noticed that I never harass you about your love life?”

She waves a hand, dismissing me. “That’s because I don’t have one. She’s wonderful, BB. Mom would love her.”

I know. “Can we talk about something else?”

“But, —”

“She’s not interested, Victoria.” My voice sharpens, rises in volume, and a few patrons at the table beside us shoot curious glances our way.

Victoria scrutinizes me. “Are you blind?”

“No—”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re a man, so the answer to that question is one-hundred percent yes. Just trust me. She’s into you.”

I take in her brown eyes, her set mouth, and search for the joke. “You’re lying.”

Her tone softens. “Why would I lie about something like that?”

That…can’t be true, can it? I think over the last couple months—the interlaced fingers by the pool, the brush of her hand in an elevator, that quickly hidden flash of disappointment the moment she realized I had another girl in my apartment. The first was my doing, and the second was an accident I embellished just to embarrass her. That last I chalked up to simple displeasure that I chose a date over studying—something Grace herself would never do.

Except lately, when she looks into my eyes, I’m seeing something deeper. I’ve ignored it. Attributed it to familiarity or budding friendship.

But maybe…

Electricity wakes inside me, a current connected to a tenuous thread of hope. It adulterates my chemistry, immersing it in nonsensical endorphins. My face scrunches as I try to stop it, but it’s no use. The hope exists now, along with the potential for disappointment.

“?”

I match Tori’s gaze, jaw clenched. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

Eyes shuttered, she nods. “More mimosa?”

* * *

The night of Asher’s annual Halloween party, Grace swings her apartment door open, grinning. A red-and-purple--corset dress with skirts that brush the floor covers her body, and a purple cloak hangs from her shoulders. In addition to the devil-red lipstick, dark makeup coats her eyes and a beauty mark dots her chin.

“Are you…a wench?” I ask.

Her shoulders fall. “I’m Sarah Sanderson.”

I rack my brain. “Am I supposed to know who that is?”

She sighs. “Were you abused as a child? How do you not know Hocus Pocus ?”

“Oh. Right. The witches. Yeah, I remember that.”

Satisfied, she grabs her phone and shoves it into her dress beside her breast. That can’t be comfortable…

She eyes my outfit. “What are you?”

I hate dressing up, but Asher insisted that no costume meant no entry.

And costume means costume, Santini. No showing up in street clothes and insisting you’re Regular Joe.

Hip cocked, Grace inspects me, so I begrudgingly put on the mask and raise my hood.

Her face lights up. “Kylo Ren?”

I grunt.

“The scion of darkness himself?”

“Can we go?”

She latches onto my arm. “Take a picture with me.”

“What? No.” I back away, still attached to her.

“Please, ? I must chronicle my meeting of Ben Solo.”

I try to free my arm from her grasp, but she tugs, so I spin and she launches onto my back, taking selfies while I struggle to remove my mask.

She’s giggling next to my ear, arms around my shoulders, and the length of her exquisite body is pressed into my back.

Maybe Tori was right…

Is this a signal?

I give up the struggle. “You got your picture, okay? Do you need a piggyback to my truck?”

Still laughing, she returns the phone to her corset, slides off me and locks her apartment, sliding the key beside her breast as well. What else does she keep in there? Are there hidden storage containers in dresses I’m not aware of?

“Thanks for DD’ing,” she says once we’re on our way.

I offered on impulse, thinking solely of the drive to and from Asher’s, knowing I’d have her to myself. If I’m going to pursue this, I should probably work up the courage to make a real move at some point, though. This is sort of a sissy way to go about things. A little pathetic.

The fear of rejection is high-key terrifying—having to work with her for two more years, wanting her while she’s all awkward about it. No thanks.

“Sure,” I say, glancing at her profile. “You excited?”

Devil-red lips curve into a bright smile. “Oh yeah. Asher has promised me this will be a good time.”

My stomach decides right that moment to cramp painfully. What else has Asher promised her? It’s been months since he declared his interest, and nothing. Well, I think nothing. Maybe they’re in a secret relationship and blissfully in love. Maybe he’s in her bed every night, waiting for her to finish studying with me so he can make her moan. Or maybe he already tried, and she turned him down. That thought cheers me.

We can’t help but argue over the music for the rest of the ride, and she skips off to find the girls as soon as we arrive. I lose track of her when Maxwell and I fall deep into a game of poker with a few others. The party is massive. Residents from all specialties filter through the house, as do most of our attendings and some nurses.

Once the poker game fizzles, I dive into the drunken fray. Raven and Alesha are dressed as the other Sanderson sisters, and close to midnight, all three of them take to the karaoke machine set up in the living room. They sway to “You Don’t Own Me” by Lesley Gore, their skirts brushing the floor.

Afterward, Asher hops onstage with them, and they sing “Come Little Children” which is much darker and has far more verses than I thought. I refill my glass with soda as they sing. Grace’s voice is melodic, almost haunting.

Sticky liquid spills onto my hand when my cup overflows. I curse and snatch a paper towel to clean the mess. When I lift my gaze once more, Grace leans in to share a mic with Asher, smiling while they sing together.

Ugh.

A twisting pain beneath my ribs has me eyeing the rows of liquor. A drink would be nice to take the edge off. Instead, I head outside. Several of us congregate around the firepit, chatting. It takes everything in me to strangle my groan when Rebecca sidles up to my side. She’s a chief resident now, so her free time is abundant, and she still drops hints about her interest on the reg.

I’d heard she found herself a boyfriend, but if the gleam in her eye is any indication, she’s free tonight.

She smiles. “Hey, .”

“Hey, Becca. Having fun?”

“Eh.” She grimaces. “I’m DD, so…”

I chuckle and shake my cup of Coke. “Heard that.”

“You, too?” She holds her hands toward the fire. “Sucks.”

Shrugging, I reach toward the fire myself. Heat licks over my skin in comforting waves. “Could always Uber, I guess.”

She tilts her head back and forth, considering. “Nah.”

The drunken laughs and whoops around us draw my attention to the side.

“Can I ask you a question?” Rebecca asks. The fire gilds her face, gold light glistening over her eyelashes and blond hair. Her lips are turned down into a frown. “Was it—was it me?”

Oh.

Okay.

So we’re doing this, then.

I don’t pretend to misunderstand, though I wish I did. Despite the flames, prickly cold wraps around my neck and torso. Lying tastes like vinegar, but hurting her isn’t an option either, so I settle on, “You can’t control attraction, Becca.”

“And you aren’t attracted to me?”

My slight hesitation makes her grimace.

“Never mind.” She shakes her head. “I don’t want to know. I don’t know why I even asked that.”

“Becca, you’re great—”

“Seriously, .” Her voice grows pointed. “I don’t want to know.”

I hold a hand up in submission. She brushes off her arms and walks away without a backward glance. I should probably feel bad, but instead, a wave of relief washes over me. That episode is finally closed. Thank you, universe.

A bench seat at the far corner of the deck calls my name. Out in the yard, some inebriated fools light old fireworks and screech in delight. Sitting stone-cold sober in the corner, I find them a tad obnoxious, but prepare to be entertained nonetheless.

Asher falls next to me, intoxicated and smiling. “Santini!”

“Hey, Asher.”

“Good party, right?” His words are slurred.

“The best.”

He laughs and claps me on the shoulder.

“Are you—” I eye him closely, taking in the fake mustache and glasses “—dressed as Dr. Chen?”

His eyes crinkle in merriment. “It’s great, right?”

I glance at his white coat, pointing at the embroidered name there. “You even stole his white coat.”

Asher waves a hand. “Meh. He’ll never know it went missing.” His head lolls to the side, a dopey smile on his face.

“You need some water, buddy?”

“Nah. I’m fine.” He rests his head on the side of the house. “Just need a minute.”

The scent of burnt wood mixes with the chilly October night, and I relax into it, breathing deep.

“It’s a good night, isn’t it?” he murmurs.

I take a moment to study the lines of his face, tapping my finger against my leg. “You look…happy.”

His eyes open. “Yeah, I—”

A fraught feminine voice from around the corner cuts him off. “Wait. No.”

My ears home in on that voice. Those words. Grace’s voice. Grace’s dissent . My body tightens.

Asher glances toward the corner of the house, then at me. “Was that—”

“Come on, Grace.” Whose voice is that?

Her slurred voice thins. “I’m sorry. Will you stop, please?”

“Oh come on. I’ve seen the way you look at me. I’ve heard what you like.”

Asher and I stand, making our way toward the stairs that lead to the side of the house.

Grace’s voice becomes strained. “What? I’m so sorry. I don’t want—no. Trevor, stop. I—”

Her words are smothered, and my entire life distills to two primitive desires—kill him and save her.

The cold air barely touches me as I fly around the corner, finding her pinned to the wooden fence by his body. His hands are splayed over her waist. She turns her head away as he tries to kiss her.

My hands grip his arms before I register my own intrusion. I rip him away and she stumbles to the side, tripping over her purple cloak. Asher catches her.

“Get off me!” Trevor yells and takes a swing at me, but he’s drunk. Dodging is as easy as a quick duck beneath his uncoordinated fist.

I assume he’ll stop then, but he doesn’t, and I’m forced to react. Pain explodes in my knuckles when my fist connects with his jaw. He hits the ground, cursing my name.

“What the fuck, Santini?” Trevor presses a hand to his face.

I point at Grace without looking at her. “Did you hear her saying no?”

Trevor looks up, confusion glazing his eyes. “I—what?”

“You just assaulted her.” I turn to Grace, now shivering in Asher’s arms. “Are you okay?”

She has a hand over her mouth, eyes wide, but she nods. Asher slowly releases her. The happily drunk man from a few minutes before disappears. His edges go sharp, and he approaches Trevor without hurry. The same dark anger that fills my chest glitters in his eyes.

Asher steps on Trevor’s hand. “Get the fuck out of my house and don’t ever come back.”

My aching fist clenches again as Trevor stands and cradles his hand, stumbling backward. “I—I didn’t mean—I’m sorry.”

Kill him. Slowly.

“Stay the fuck away from her,” I say. “I’ll kill you if you come near her again.”

He flees toward the gate, pulling his phone from his pocket. Once he’s gone, I turn to Asher, who nods, then to Grace.

She’s wide-eyed, her face a pale smudge in the darkness.

Asher takes one step toward her. “Are you okay?”

Instead of answering, she throws herself at me, ringing her arms around my neck so tight I almost choke. “Thank you.”

Her lips brush my neck as she speaks and every hair on my body lifts.

I meet Asher’s gaze around Grace’s hair. He’s dumbstruck, his mouth parted as he stares at Grace in my arms.

“No one has ever not listened.” Her voice is a raspy whisper. “When I said no, I mean. And I pushed, and he—he wouldn’t stop—and—”

I touch her lower ribs tentatively, waiting to see if she’ll flinch before I slide my hands around her. She doesn’t protest, so my grip tightens to match hers. Her scent envelops me, threads through me, interlaced with heat and something a little painful. My attraction to her fragrance has grown thorns, prickly ones meant to grab on and never let go. Extracting that scent will leave scars, I’m sure of it.

Asher brushes past us, his face crumpled.

I wince. “Asher—”

He ignores me.

Grace hasn’t moved from my arms.

“Why were you apologizing to him?” I murmur in her ear.

She nuzzles closer. “I felt bad. You know…that I didn’t want him.”

“Grace. You never need to feel bad for not wanting to be kissed.”

Her grip loosens and she lifts her head to meet my eyes. “I didn’t say I didn’t want to be kissed. I said I didn’t want him .”

Wait.

Does—Does that mean—

Sparkling lights turn my blood incandescent and shimmer with heat. Each pulse spreads dazzling illumination like she’s crawling into my veins and lighting them on fire. Darkness keeps her expression hidden, but the glittering reflections in her eyes dance as she takes in my face.

Her voice softens, a whispered song in the shadows. “.”

“Yeah?”

She smiles. Her hands retract to rest on my shoulders. “I was kinda hoping I’d end up in your arms tonight.”

Skrt.

What?

Did she admit that out loud? And how deep in my arms does she want to be? Because I’m dying to find out what she tastes like.

Her red lips are right there, waiting. Except—

“You’re drunk.”

“I’m not drunk.” She tips to the side. “I’m falling.”

“Whoa.” I steady her by the arms.

With a hand pressed to her head and a dramatic wince, Grace’s booted feet slip on the wet leaf-strewn ground. “I think I need to go home, .”

“Yeah.” I rub her arms a few times. “Let’s say goodbye, okay? Can you walk?”

“No.” But she traipses away in a decently straight line.

I trail after her. “How much did you have to drink?”

“All of it, . All the drinks.”

She celebrates with a clumsy little jig when she makes it up the stairs to the back porch, each step a loud thunk on the wooden planks. Most everyone is crowded around the firepit now.

“Where’d you two sneak off to?” Raven asks.

“To have sex around the corner, obviously ,” Grace slurs and waves vaguely toward the dark area beside the house. “Isn’t that what everyone thinks?”

“Nope!” I yell, drawing far too much attention. She doesn’t need that rumor added to the mill. “Nope. No, no, no. That didn’t happen. Nope.”

From the shadows behind Raven, Asher scowls and disappears inside.

Drunk Grace glares at me. “It was a joke . God! Could you proclaim your disgust any louder?”

Disgust? Disgust ?

Chuckles follow her words, but most people turn back to their own conversations.

How on earth does she think that?

But right this second, maybe it’s better if that’s what she thinks. I can get a huffy, irritated Grace home with little fuss. I’ve got more than enough practice with that. It will be far more difficult to cart off a wistful, inebriated Grace who wants me to kiss her.

I shouldn’t kiss her.

Not while she’s drunk and I’m painfully sober.

So I give her my bland smile. “I could probably shout my disgust, if you’d like.”

Alesha, Maxwell and Raven huddle closer to us, eavesdropping. The fire gleaming in Grace’s eyes is fascinating. She’s plotting how to fly me to the deepest circle of hell and make it back in time for shots.

“I will destroy you,” she says in a low purr, and I can’t help it. A fantasy rips through my mind—of her climbing on top of me, forcing me to remain still while she rides me like her own personal vibrator.

I think she’s already destroyed me.

“Good luck,” I say. “You ready to go home?”

Alesha laughs and pulls Grace into a hug, whispering in her ear.

Maxwell bumps my shoulder as I shake his hand, a knowing glint in his eyes. “You finally getting lucky tonight, bruh?”

“She’s drunk, Max.”

Maxwell shoots a pointed look at Grace, who’s witch-cackling at something Alesha said. “Okay, maybe you’re right. Sucks for you.”

“Story of my life.”

I wrestle her into my truck, making sure her seat belt is buckled tight. Halfway home, Grace’s head lolls toward me. “You’re not really disgusted by me, are you?”

“No,” I say at once, glancing her way. “You’re beautiful.”

Her pleased smile hits me right in the chest, and she proceeds to do one of the best things a woman can—she accepts the compliment. No apologies. No humble disagreement. No questions designed to pull more praise from me. She meets my eyes and slurs out a warm, “Thank you. That’s really nice to hear.”

I pat her hand.

“How come you offered to DD?” she asks.

“So you could have fun.”

“We could have shared an Uber.”

My thumb kicks a steady tap on the steering wheel. “It’s—it’s just better if I’m not drunk around you.”

She sits straighter, but still slurs her answer. “That’s an intriguing statement I’d like explained further.”

I spare a surreptitious glance at her pretty face. “I tell too much truth when I’m drunk.”

“Hmm.” Her inebriated smile is both worrisome and charming. She is hammered . “Something happened tonight I wanted to remember, but now I can’t remember what it was.”

I laugh. “Was it the part when you jumped into my arms?”

An adorable crease forms between her eyebrows. “When the hell did I jump in your arms?”

We’re at a stoplight, so I stare at her. “Seriously?”

She blinks somewhere around a million times in four seconds. “What are we talking about?”

“Should I be worried about your hippocampus, Grace?”

Pleasure ignites her smile and her eyes glow. Her voice turns throaty. “You called me Grace.”

Holy shit.

She has never looked at me like this. Like she somehow wants to wrap me in a gentle hug and fuck me hard.

I’m struck dumb and all the blood leaves my brain to pool below. I would spell your name over your clit with my tongue if you’d keep looking at me like that.

A horn honks behind us and I jump. The green light flares over her ecstatic face. I remind myself where I am, what I’m doing, and don’t dare look at her again until we’re safely home.

In the complex’s parking lot, she sways as she walks, her purple cloak sweeping the damp ground. Cold air laces around us, scented of woodsmoke and rain. The place is busier than normal, people in costumes heading to and from parties.

At her landing, she turns, leaving me a step beneath her. “Thank you, Kylo Ren. The First Order lives another day.”

The glimmer of humor in her hazel eyes makes me chuckle. “It’s Ben to you.”

She giggles. “You know, I’m finally running out of bad guys for you.”

I take the last step, crowding into her space. “Maybe you’ve just realized I’m not the bad guy.” I give in to the perpetual urge and let the soft waves of her hair sift through my fingers. Bending closer, I breathe in the soul-destroying fragrance of her skin. “I want to kiss you.”

Her smile stretches, glows. “It’s about time.”

Huh? “Have you been waiting for me?”

She gives a slow nod, still smiling. “I think about it way too much.”

I stare at her tempting mouth and the desire to close the distance nearly mauls my restraint. “Would you even remember it?”

She shrugs.

I can’t help the frustrated groan that crawls up my throat. “I really want you to remember it.”

Her tiny hum resonates in her chest, like a purr. “Then you should probably wait.”

A couple emerges from a nearby apartment and we move to let them down the stairs, ducking into a dark corner.

“If I wait, you won’t want it.” My fingers slide deep into her hair. “When you’re sober, you despise me.”

That’s not true, but I want her to say it. Admit it.

Tell me how you feel.

“You think so?” She touches my chest. “Then I guess you’ll have to work harder for it.”

Cocking my head, I meet her challenging stare. “You want me to work for it, Grace? I will if you can admit right now that you don’t hate me.”

A wickedness gleams on her face as she leans toward me, instilling a fresh shot of blood below. “If Sober Grace hated you, , then Drunk Grace—” she takes hold of my hand, lifting it to eye-level as she weaves each of our fingers together “—wouldn’t want this gifted hand under her dress.”

My fingers clench on hers.

She doesn’t mean that, does she? Am I not just the nerdy boy upstairs who studies with her sometimes?

And she wants my hands under her dress.

She wants my hands on her body.

She’s drunk.

What the hell kind of torture is this? How drunk is she really?

Drunk enough, obviously.

I doubt Sober Grace would ever have the courage to say these things to me, but suddenly, I’m craving it, longing for it—her clearheaded words, declaring she wants me.

God, I want to fuck her against the wall behind her. Just hike that dress to her waist and wrap her legs around me. Dirty and gritty and hot. I release her hand instead. “You’re going to regret saying that in the morning.”

With a secretive smile, she stretches to her tiptoes and devil-red lips press a kiss to the corner of my mouth. “Good night, .”

Her scent lingers as she draws away, curling around pleasure centers in my brain. My heart stops because there’s no blood left for it, and my world laser-focuses on the woman walking away from me. I want to go after her. I want to run away.

I want her.

It’s been stalking me. For months, the fascination has shortened its leash, grown tighter about my neck. I’ve told myself she’s annoying, judgmental and so high strung she probably wouldn’t climax even with my best moves, but it’s all bullshit. Lies I tell myself because she’s climbed her way onto some pedestal in my head. One I’ll never rise to. It lingers above my reach, untouchable.

She’s too good for me, but she still wants my hands on her body, and one day soon, I’ll convince her to admit it.

She wants me to work for it? I’ll work for it.

Cold showers are the devil’s favorite torment, but I refuse to jack off to Drunk Grace, and that’s exactly where my mind will go, so I settle for lukewarm. I torture my toothbrush with excessive toothpaste and violent brushing, pausing when I catch my reflection in the mirror.

Devil-red lips have survived my shower, tattooed across my cheek, a brand for all to see. I pull out my phone and snap a selfie, then hide that picture in a locked album because someday, I’ll want proof that Grace Rose dropped her guard enough to touch her lips to my body.