Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
MAYBE THERE’S SOME TRUTH TO THE RUMOR THAT THE B-LISTER AND HIS CO-STAR ARE MORE THAN FICTIONAL EXES.
GREER
“Wake up, siren.”
I blinked a few times, my vision focusing in the dim car lighting to see Tripp hovering above me.
Tripp Carter.
My boss.
World famous actor.
And certified eater.
I can’t believe I did that.
We did that.
I might’ve been surprised by how the night had gone, but I didn’t regret it. Not even a little. Maybe that would change when I was awake enough to think, but right then, I was too relaxed to care.
At least I was until I looked around Tripp and didn’t see my building.
My eyes narrowed. “I thought you were bringing me home.”
“I did.” He gestured behind him. “I didn’t specify whose home.”
I should’ve demanded he take me to my apartment. We’d already blurred more than enough lines for the night. A night that was a one-time occurrence. Stretching it out any longer was a bad idea.
A terrible, very bad idea.
Yet my mouth remained pressed closed.
Tripp must’ve expected the protest I didn’t voice because he was already geared with his justification. “My place is closer to Gilded. It’ll be quicker in the morning to drop you at your car from here.”
“Okay,” I said because I was too tired to argue, and it was a logical reason for me to stay.
And my brain was all about logic.
His brows lifted, but he gave a firm nod as he echoed, “Okay.”
He helped me from the low car, and my exhausted steps were slow and trudging as we walked inside.
I expected him to ask if I wanted to watch TV or something, and then I would have to explain that I was a loser who was usually long asleep by that point.
But he didn’t. He steered me right up the stairs, not stopping until we were just inside the bedroom.
His bedroom.
“Tripp,” I started, and his shoulders went back as he stared down at me. I thought he was going to chide me for not calling him Sir.
And, honestly, I kind of wanted him to.
If any other man had demanded to be called an honorific like that, I would’ve laughed in their face as every bit of moisture in my sex disappeared. But Tripp was different. It felt good. Natural. And naughty since he actually was my boss.
I’d never gone through any sort of wild or rebellious phase, but apparently, it wasn’t too late.
Or I was sick in the head, but I was too tired to dig into that right then.
It was for nothing anyway. His brow lifted expectantly as he waited for me to speak.
Which I would.
As soon as I remembered what I was going to say.
Oh.
Right.
I hooked a thumb over my shoulder. “I can sleep in a guest room.”
“Those mattresses are basically new and still hard as shit.” Moving across the room, he opened the double doors to a closet that was twice the size of my whole apartment—and that was just what I could see from my vantage point.
He returned with a tee and handed it to me.
It was buttery soft, and I twisted it as I looked up at him.
I wondered if he was going to sleep in the bed with me.
I wondered if I would let him.
Or if I would beg him to.
I opened my mouth, unsure what was going to spill out.
I didn’t get the chance to say anything when he gestured over my head. “There’s an extra toothbrush in the bottom left drawer. I’ll be three doors to the right. The same room I was in Saturday.”
God, has it really been less than a week?
So much has changed.
“Tripp—” I tried.
“Good night, Greer.”
And then he stormed away like I’d cornered him to talk about a nice timeshare in Hell’s armpit.
I stood there for a few long seconds, staring at the empty space where he’d been. It was amazing to me how his presence had made even the massive room feel cozy. And how empty it suddenly felt with him gone.
Ohhhhkay then.
With a deep inhale that turned into a yawn, I moved to the bathroom to clean myself up and change into the oversized shirt he’d given me. When I returned to the bedroom, there was ice water waiting on the bedside table.
I looked toward the door, wondering for the millionth time if I should insist we switch rooms. Or that we both sleep in his. The bed was big enough. We were adults.
He’d had his tongue in me.
But he’d also seemed determined to get away. He hadn’t even used that charming flirtation to jokingly suggest he stay. And I would’ve folded like a cheap card table if he had.
I climbed under the lush covers, expecting my brain to do what it always did. To run a thousand miles an hour. Faster than that, actually, since I now had the night at Gilded to overanalyze.
But with my body still shockingly loose from the mind-altering orgasm, I was asleep within minutes.
Ineed a break.
Or, technically, a break from my break.
I set my laptop down and stood. And then I sat. And then I stood again, that time going to the fridge to pour a glass of cucumber mint water. And then I put the glass into the fridge because the thought of taking a single sip churned my flipping stomach.
My body was jittery. Anxious.
Needy.
I blamed my research.
After class that morning, I’d gone to the library to try to lock in on my paper. It was usually my favorite place, but every drummed pen, muffled cough, and flipped page had grated on me. I’d packed it in to try again in my apartment, but my thoughts kept returning to Tripp and Gilded.
My experiment the night prior had been a failure. It hadn’t shown me that I had no interest in the club beyond naughty curiosity. If anything, it had stoked the flames.
And by stoked, I meant it added a small amount of kindling and gently blew.
And then it doused the fire in gasoline.
And chlorine trifluoride.
I thought that reading up on the specifics might temper some of the obsessing I’d done since waking up in Tripp’s bed that morning. If I treated it like research, it might become as boring as schoolwork.
I was wrong.
Each article led down a different rabbit hole of depravity. Some of it didn’t appeal to me in the slightest. Other things terrified me.
But some intrigued me more than I wanted to admit.
In theory, at least.
In practice was a different unknown.
One that would likely remain that way for a long time since I’d made it clear to Tripp that it was a one-time thing.
And he’d been right when he said that exploring Gilded required a level of trust. We hadn’t done anything too extreme—especially considering that no one had actually been watching us—but it wouldn’t have worked with anyone but him.
I would still be teetering on the edge of orgasm and insanity.
Drinkless and restless and all the other -lesses, I returned to the living room and closed out of my explicit searches to return my focus to my paper. I lasted all of ten minutes.
I grabbed my phone and brought up my texts with Maddie.
Me: Hey.
Her response came immediately in the form of a finally GIF.
Mads: I mean, hey. Hi. What’s up? Nothing here. Super chill. Was very relaxed and not at all staring at my phone while I waited to hear from you.
Me: Sorry, I would’ve messaged earlier if I’d known you were awake.
Mads: I’m always up early now. It’s an unfortunate side effect of going to bed at a reasonable hour.
Me: And waking up to toasted marshmallow iced coffee probably helps.
Mads: That doesn’t hurt. Neither does the good…
Mads: Breakfast burritos.
Me: Riiiight.
Mads: So. Uh. How was your night?
I didn’t even have to think about it.
Me: Eye-openingly amazing. Yours?
Mads: Anxiety-inducing but overall, an extreme relief. Well, halfway. It’ll be even better when I talk to Wren.
Mads: At some point.
Mads: Unless you’ve already told her.
Me: Nope.
And I hadn’t considered doing so. Once the shock of seeing Maddie on her knees in front of Easton had worn off—or at least lessened by a tiny percentage—I really hadn’t been that surprised.
Like I’d told Tripp, she’d always seemed underwhelmed with dating and sex.
She wasn’t opposed to it, but she’d been happy hanging out with friends instead of a significant other.
I’d known Easton was different because of how much time she spent with him, and now I knew just how different he really was.
How different they were.
Our sweet friend Wren had a filthy sense of humor and a sex-positive attitude, but the idea of explaining my tiny foray into the wild side was still daunting. And telling her about Maddie wasn’t my place at all.
Mads: I should probably do that soon.
Mads: Think the surprise discovery of Gilded could happen twice?
Me: I wouldn’t bank on it.
Mads: Damn. So, are you going to put me out of my nosy misery by telling me what happened when you disappeared?
Me: I am not.
Mads: Double damn.
Me: Not yet, at least.
Mads: I’ll be patient. I guess.
Mads: If you weren’t messaging me to fill me in on the dirty details(and I really wish you were) what’s up?
Me: You mentioned asking Tripp for a copy of Old Flame. Did you ever do that?
Mads: No. I figured I’d buy it when it releases. Why?
Me: I want to watch it.
Mads: I’m sure he’d be happy to send you a copy.
Mads: Unless something bad happened last night…
No, just an incredible orgasm and a night in his bed.
Alone.
Me: Stop fishing for info, there’s no scoop. I don’t want him to know I’m watching it in case I hate it.
It was a valid concern. If Maddie was entertained by a movie, it didn’t matter how many flaws it had.
She gave it a good review. I wasn’t exactly a harsh critic, but it was harder for me to sink in.
My brain stayed too active, noticing mistakes and inconsistencies.
Suspension of disbelief was unsuspendable most of the time.
Mads: Good point. I just texted him to ask.