Chapter 28
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Novalee
It’s only ten in the morning, but I’ve been up for hours, my nerves wound too tight to sleep. The mirror reflects a mask of confidence, but beneath it, I’m a fucking mess. Today has to go well. Nicholas has to show up.
I lean over the bathroom sink, carefully blending foundation over the faint bruise on my cheek as I perfect my no-makeup makeup look. Covering the reminder of everything that went down is easy, the makeup hiding the faint bruise well enough, but it’s not so easy for the memory.
I exhale, taking in the way the black long-sleeved crop top hugs my curves, showing the right amount of cleavage to be distracting, while high-waisted leggings elongate my legs. Confident but casual, that’s the look I’m aiming for, even if my insides feel like a shaken snow globe. Running my fingers through the ponytail tied high on my head, I try to push the anxiety down.
My plan to cross paths with Nicholas at Fitness First isn’t perfect. Hell, it barely even qualifies as a plan , but it seems the most natural way to grab his attention without appearing desperate. Levi said he was a himbo, and I’m counting on that. The tiny hint about where I’d be today slipped casually into a conversation he wasn’t part of should be enough of a hook.
What if it wasn’t?
Doubt tugs at me, and I pause, brush poised over my lips. It’s possible I was too subtle in my hints, or maybe he didn’t even hear me. The hours off yesterday after Sylus brought me home left way too much room for overthinking the what-ifs and spiraling. I draw in a breath, willing my racing thoughts to settle.
If Nicholas comes, I’ll flirt, play it cool, and see where it leads.
If he doesn’t, then I’ll improvise. It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve had to adapt on the fly, and I’m damn good at it.
I take a deep breath. Then another. My fingers itch for something that can steady me—a blunt, a drink, anything to dull the edge. Instead, I force my fingers to find the bracelet Koen gave me, tracing its edges. Just thinking of him makes my heart do a little flip, and I hate that it does.
Why am I even clinging so hard to this?
I could tell the twins to fuck off, walk away from this tangled web of apparent danger and deception, and continue scraping together some semblance of a life on my terms as I had been.
Kind of.
Yet, I can’t quite bring myself to let it go. The idea of a new life, a truly fresh start, dangles in front of me, so tantalizingly close that I’m desperate enough to reach for it, even if it feels like grasping at smoke.
I’m not doing this for them, I remind myself, putting the finishing touches on my makeup. I’m doing this for me. Because even if I hate myself most days, I don’t hate myself enough to keep living like this.
My phone vibrates noisily against the porcelain sink, snapping me out of my spiraling thoughts, and the screen lights up with a message from an unknown number. A small smile breaks through as I read it.
You awake, Sparkle?
Sylus.
Yet again, after he brought me home yesterday, no texts from him followed. Not a single word all day after he promised not to do this again. I think about ignoring him to make a point, but the memory of waking up to his hands on me, making me come while I was barely conscious, is still branded into my memory, casting some light on the shadows of the other ones that linger. Still, he deserves a little teasing. I save his number and grin like an idiot as I type back.
Who’s this?
The reply comes almost instantly.
Did I fuck your brain out?
You know who I am, baby.
I laugh, leaning my hip against the sink as I answer.
What do you want, Sylus?
He takes so long to respond that I get antsy, gripping my phone tighter as the seconds tick by, but then he finally responds.
What are you up to?
Getting ready.
Show me.
I snap a selfie, neck-down, making sure the crop top shows off my assets just right.
Holy fuck.
I licked my screen, you fucking goddess.
I roll my eyes, but warmth blooms in my chest.
He really is such a dork.
Did you really? Gross.
It’s not my fault you’re so goddamn delicious.
But if you’re offering a taste, I’m ready to worship.
My lips curve into a smile, and for a moment, the nerves about today fade away.
What do you really want?
His reply takes only a second.
I’m outside. Ready to take you to the Lane Building.
What the fuck?
What for?
Answers.
I stare at the screen, chewing my bottom lip. The knot of anxiety in my stomach returns with a vengeance, but I remind myself that I’ve been wanting this .
Or, rather, I realized I wanted this when I was overthinking yesterday.
Answers.
So, why not get this over with? I have the time before I need to be at Fitness First, anyway. I pull the ponytail holder out, letting my hair fall down my back, knowing I’ll have to wear a helmet.
Grabbing my gym bag, in case this conversation drags on, I sling it over my shoulder and then push my matchbox into the pocket of my leggings, a little piece of emotional armor. Then, with everything in place, I head out the door.
Sunlight greets me, warm against my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat that flares inside me when I see Sylus leaning against his motorcycle.
He looks annoyingly good in a black leather jacket, ripped jeans, and that cocky grin. His eyes light up when he sees me, and he straightens, his gaze dragging down my body in a way that makes my heart race.
“Damn, Sparkle,” he says teasingly, eyes still raking over me. “Did I mention how much I love this outfit? Or how I’d love even more to see you out of it?”
I roll my eyes, and he steps into my space before I can come up with a comeback. His hand finds my waist, and his lips brush close to mine, but I instinctively lean back, shooting him a glare.
“Seriously, make up your mind…” He chuckles, his grin widening. “You’re giving me whiplash over here.”
I huff, crossing my arms between us. I can’t exactly tell him I’m annoyed, again, that he didn’t text me after I explicitly said I needed space. But I am.
It’s complicated , and I’m shit at this.
His laughter dies out. His expression softens as his hand cups my face, tilting it so I’m looking right into his beautiful gray eyes, and butterflies take off in my chest .
Fuck.
“Yes, no, maybe so? ” he whispers, his eyes holding and searching mine. When I don’t answer, he leans in and presses a slow, deliberate kiss to my lips, ignoring the barrier of my crossed arms. My heart skips a beat, and despite trying to keep my walls up, I melt into him, my arms unfolding and wrapping around him, unable to fight that magnetic pull.
“Trust me,” he murmurs, his lips ghosting over mine as he speaks. “Pulling me closer is way more fun than pushing me away.”
I shiver under his words and his warmth as I reply, “You think so?”
His voice drops, his grin turning wicked. “I know so.”
I bite back a smile and take a breath, but when the scent of his cologne hits me, I’m unable to resist brushing my nose along his neck with a deep inhale.
His whole body tenses, and he groans. “Honestly, Sparkle. If you nuzzle my neck like that, shit is going down. And we don’t have time for me to carry you upstairs and lick your pussy for the rest of the day.”
Fuck. His words go straight to said pussy, and I press my thighs together instinctively. “How much time do we have?” I answer teasingly, but he only smirks as he searches my face.
His thumb brushes over my cheek, and when I flinch slightly, his eyes narrow in concern. “Still sore?” His gaze traces the spot that Ezra marked. The sudden shift from teasing to tenderness makes something twist in my chest.
“It’s fine.” I try to sound dismissive, but the softness of my tone betrays me.
He frowns slightly, still brushing his thumb over my skin as if he could erase the sting with his touch.
“Yeah, well, if I could undo it, I would. ”
“It’s not your fault.” I try to shrug it off again, but the way he’s looking at me continues to make it hard to keep my guard up.
Damn him and those stupid gray eyes.
Sylus has this way of looking at me that makes it feel as though he’s got the whole world in the palm of his hand, and he’d trade it for one more second with me.
He moves that gaze away from me as he reaches for one of the helmets from the back of his bike. In a move that’s starting to feel routine, he slides it onto my head, then grabs his and pulls it on, mounting the bike.
“Get your pretty butt up here,” he commands, patting the seat behind him.
I climb on, arranging my bag on my back, and he scoops his hands under my thighs and pulls me flush against him. I let out a laugh at his way of helping me adjust. As soon as I’m settled with my arms around him, he revs the engine, and we take off, the world blurring past us, my nerves easing as the wind rushes by.
The unmistakable strains of Backstreet Boys filter in through my helmet, and Sylus sings along, his off-key notes making me smile as I do the same.