Chapter 45
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
boston
What was supposed to be a night in at Lowesy’s ended up being a night out at Icebox.
After the initial shock wore off, there was a need to blow off some steam.
The drinks were poured quickly and the tequila shots kept coming.
Those, I think, were for Penny’s benefit, because she miraculously calmed down once that shit was flowing through her bloodstream.
When the bar closes, nobody seems to want to go home.
Funny thing about pain, isn’t it? It lashes out and it either makes you want to hide in solitude, or cling to the people closest to you.
Since this wound involves all of us, involves a person we were supposed to be able to trust, we’re doing the clinging type of coping.
Forker’s place is closest, so that’s where we end up.
The girls have put karaoke on the television, and they’re using these light up microphones to put on grand performances for the room.
Drunk and hazy, I watch with heavy lids, laughing for most of it because none of these girls can sing.
It sounds like someone turned on a bunch of kitchen appliances at the same time and let them run for hours.
“That’s the love of my life up there,” Declan says proudly from the table, pointing at Penny. She’s singing that song from Titanic, caressing Arden’s face as she does.
Carter huffs a laugh, arms across his chest. “Mine too.”
Wyatt leans forward on his elbows, his brown hoodie bunching up around his neck as he flashes that crooked grin. “Ten bucks says she yells at me to get up there first.”
Dec scoffs. “It’ll be me.”
“Twenty?” Wyatt asks, glancing at him and extending his hand.
Dec smacks his palm into his. “I’m her husband, Wy. I have priority now.”
Arden and Ariana do a duet after that, with Penny on the couch, using her phone as a flashlight like she’s their biggest fan at a personal concert.
I don’t recognize the song choice, but it’s something from the nineties, and I’m fairly certain it’s a boy band.
I put down a card and risk a look at Saltzy, who is drunker than I’ve ever seen him.
He’s grinning from ear-to-ear, swaying in his seat along to the song.
I bite back a smile. I’m happy that these two were able to enjoy themselves after all the shit that was thrown at them tonight. Lemmy is doing her thing behind the scenes, but she isn’t God. If Morgan wants to run with this, there are other journalists and media companies who will take the scoop.
“Wyatt!” It’s a loud demand through the microphone speaker. We all whirl toward the living room. Penny’s holding out the second microphone, smiling wide. “Get up here! I want to sing One Direction!”
Wyatt’s smug grin could blind the whole table.
He drops his cards with a smack, and dramatically turns to her husband as he pushes out of his seat.
Declan glares at him, reaching for his wallet begrudgingly.
Wyatt outstretches his palm as the first notes of the One Direction song play through the speakers, tipping his chin in thanks when that twenty dollar bill is pushed right into his hand.
He dances his way toward the television with a skip in his step, and takes the microphone that Penny is holding out for him. He doesn’t miss a beat as his part begins, not needing to see the television to know his lines—like he’s done this hundreds of times with her.
“You’ve been trumped by the Wy-Guy,” Forker says with a smirk, shaking his head.
Lowesy sighs, crossing his arms in front of his chest. “I always am.”
Saltzy chuckles, placing a hand on his shoulder. He gently gives him a shake. “Trust me. We could be in the middle of a movie, a wedding, anything, and if that girl calls him—he drops everything. It’s the way they are.”
“It’s the life sentence,” Declan murmurs as he watches them. His two pieces of home. The smile that hits his mouth is clear proof that despite all of this pouting, he absolutely loves the way those two are with each other.
Saltzy slides Wyatt’s cards back into the deck, dealing him out of this round, and we keep playing. We listen to One Direction until my ears are nearly bleeding, and when Wyatt returns, a few more songs are sung equally as horribly. Eventually, a new voice takes over the microphone.
“Boston Black!”
I freeze.
Carter sighs, shaking his head as he slides his card toward Lowesy.
“Come and sing with me! Right now!”
I glance over my shoulder and meet the blue eyes that have not stopped haunting me.
She’s hopping on her toes in that baby pink dress, looking like the sweetest dream in the world.
It’s almost sinful how beautiful she is, how fucking angelic she looks being ready to lure me down to hell.
She wiggles her fingers my way, beaming from ear-to-ear.
I shake my head, which makes her push out that bottom lip that feels so damn good on every single part of my body.
I am drunk and she’s Ari. This is not a good situation.
“Boston!” she shouts into the microphone, and it explodes through the room with a painful echo.
Carter winces at the sound. His eyes snap to me, his shoulders jumping up to his ears. “Dear god, Boss. Please, just go sing a stupid song to put us out of our misery. She’s not going to stop.”
“Boston Blaaaaaaaack,” she sings out.
“Please,” Carter begs.
Fine.
I sigh, dropping my cards to the table and getting to my feet. I slowly make my way to the living room, shooting Ari a look that tells her exactly how I feel about what she’s doing. She just beams up at me, excitedly dancing on the spot, and hands me that second microphone.
Iris by The Goo Goo Dolls starts to play.
I go still, my eyes snapping to her face.
She smiles innocently, like this isn’t a fucking cruel move to pull right in front of her brother. The song starts, and she jumps right in, even as I awkwardly stand beside her, suddenly unsure how to use my limbs or find my voice.
I’m pissed that she thinks doing this to me is fair.
I’m still going to do it for her, anyway.
I bring the microphone to my mouth and, much less enthusiastically, start to sing the song with her.
I’m basically just reciting the lyrics, my voice completely monotone.
This is my nightmare, but I force myself to get through it by reminding myself that it’s only our friends in the room and everyone is hammered.
By the chorus, Arden and Penny are waving their phones, and Ariana’s arm is wound around my back, forcing me to sway side to side with her.
At some point, my eyes flicker back to the dining room. The boys are still playing cards, not giving us a second of their attention, but one pair of eyes are locked right on me. Hazel, serious, and with a knowing look on his face.
It’s not a happy look.
I sing the chorus as Lowesy leans back in his seat, brings his drink to his lips, and raises his eyebrows at me like I just gave him a mountain of evidence that outlines my crimes on a silver platter.
I stare at the ceiling, spread out on Fork’s couch.
Saltzy, Wyatt, Lowesy, and Penny took the two guestrooms, obviously.
That leaves me, the single idiot, to sprawl out on this giant sofa, which is similar to the one Lowesy has, but smaller and less comfortable.
It can be rearranged to a bed, which is what we all drunkenly managed to put together before everyone called it a night.
But I can’t sleep.
I know she’s down the hall. I wonder what she’s wearing.
I wonder if she still has my t-shirt, or if she is awake and staring at the door right now, unable to sleep like I am.
She’s… intoxicating. The pull I feel toward her is strong and real, and it’s making it hard to end the sentence where I wanted to.
It’s very clearly a fucking comma, or a dot, dot, dot, like she wanted it to be.
Getting her out of my system is proving to be harder than I thought.
I sigh, running a hand over my face. I’m drunk, I’m pissed off, and I am frustrated that I had to endure hours of her in that dress. Torture. Now I’m drunk, pissed off, and want to tear that dress right off her body, peel it down her frame, and kiss my way back up to her mouth.
God, Boston, you are so fucked.
I’m hard as a fucking rock, sitting here, just thinking about her. Surviving off the wisps of the memory of her. I reach down, palming myself, biting back a groan at the feeling. I’m not jerking off on Fork’s couch, but it’s going to be painful to resist.
It was the end of the sentence. That doesn’t change because I’m horny and I’m pissed off about Morgan. It doesn’t change because she looked as remarkable as I always expect her to tonight. It surely doesn’t change that her brother would be across the hall, and our friends just a few rooms away.
But I want her.
Badly.
I think of her mouth, of the way she sank to her knees in that bathroom.
I think about how she swears when she’s about to come, cursing at me like it’s my fault, and how proud I am that it is.
I think of her until my feet are on the floor and I’m slowly making my way down the dark, quiet hallway.
I hesitate, glancing at Fork’s door, my heart racing.
Bad idea. Turn around. He could walk out at any second.
Turn the fuck around, Boston.
I slide my eyes to her door, which has been left open by a tiny crack.
So I won’t have to knock.
Something tells me she did this just in case.
I push open the door to her room and slide inside, shutting and locking it behind me. It’s pitch black. I can’t see shit, and I don’t know the layout of this room. My heart is hammering so fucking loudly that I’m sure it’s going to wake up the house.
I don’t make it a single step before hands are sliding against my jaw. I sigh, leaning downward, finding her mouth in the darkness. I kiss her like I’ll die if I don’t. Like I can finally breathe now that I am. My hands glide around her body, pulling her close, relief washing over me.
This mouth. I could write fucking poetry about this mouth.
Her fingers slide into my hair, her tongue in my mouth. I sweep my hands under the shirt she’s wearing, pissed that it isn’t the one I left her in. I feel my skin against hers for the first time in weeks and it’s as potent as the type of drug you take a single hit of, and get addicted to for life.
She melts against me. Even as I guide her back toward her bed, she never lets go. I reach down, yanking that shirt off her body, and she tugs impatiently at my briefs while I pull my own shirt over my head.
She drags me onto the bed, pulling me on top of her naked body, and I kiss down her neck, spreading her legs open with my knees. I reach down, sliding my fingers through her.
Soaked.
Biting back a groan, I bury my face in her neck, treasuring the way her breath hitches with each stroke.
I push inside with my fingers and slap my free hand over her mouth when she moans. My adrenaline spikes at the feeling of being with her again, at the notion that we can easily be caught and it would ruin everything. It would destroy my life.
She has to force herself to be quiet this time. She has to. This is the riskiest thing I’ve ever done. Riskier than the plane. Her brother is right there. There is no room for mistakes.
She nods, like she understands what I’m thinking, and so I kiss her as a thank you. A thank you for getting it. A thank you for letting me back between these legs. A thank you for leaving that door open a crack.
I position myself between her legs now, hurriedly slipping on the condom that she tosses at my chest. I slowly breach her, ignoring the slamming of my heart against my ribs. She sucks in a big breath, and I slam my hand onto the mattress, dropping my head to keep my groan muffled.
Fuck, there is nothing like the feeling of her. Nothing.
Her hands find my jaw, thumb brushing my mouth. I lean down and kiss her, thrusting deeper.
She breathes a moan into my mouth as I pull back, slowly fucking her. Quietly fucking her. We’re hidden in the shadows. We’re a secret, being whispered in the dark. Her body moves with mine, her teeth nipping at my bottom lip, and we ride the slow wave of this—nothing fast or hurried about it.
The urge to come arrives quickly. I can only make out the outline of her, but I can feel the lines of her body, the softness of her breasts. I feel every inch and dip of her mouth as it moves against mine, and I’m lost in the warmth of her body. I’m lost in her.
She rips her mouth from mine and sucks in a breath, moving her lips to my ear. “I’m almost there.”
I press my forehead to hers. It takes a few more deep, slow strokes before she lets out a tiny, little moan and I press my mouth to hers to smother it. The way she tightens and shakes in my arms rips a groan from my throat that I force myself to swallow.
I follow behind her with the deepest, most difficult breaths that I’ve ever taken. I deserve an award for staying quiet through that. That was the hardest thing I’ve ever done—no question. Harder than winning that fucking cup.
I drop my hand, catching my breath.
Her fingers find my cheek. A request. I lean down to find her, our noses brushing against each other until I slant my mouth over hers.
Softly. Slowly. Trying to say all the things I wanted to say tonight while I can’t speak a single word.
She glides her fingers through my hair, pulling back and dropping her head to the pillow.
I kiss her again because I want to, and I don’t feel like stopping quite yet.
“You have to get back out there.”
She’s kicking me out.
That feels great.
I sigh, lowering my head with a nod.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers, tracing her fingers down my beard. “I’m following your rules.”
Technically, my rules say I’m not even supposed to be here.
“I know,” I murmur, pressing my mouth to hers one last time. I stand, discarding the condom and searching for my clothes, slowly pulling them back on.
She reaches for my hand before I can leave.
I pause at the feeling of her fingers, turning back to the bed.
She pushes herself to her knees and wraps her arms around my neck.
I slide mine around her waist, kissing the side of her head.
We just hold each other, like there will never be enough time to touch one another.
“I’m sorry today sucked,” she says.
I pat her butt, kissing her temple again. “It got better by the end.”
That makes her smile.
“Good morning, Boston Black,” she whispers, kissing my mouth.
“Good morning, sweetheart,” I say quietly, letting her go.
I sneak back out of her room the same way I entered it. Silently and carefully. I try not to let it get to me when I hear that small click of her lock sounding down the hall, like my invitation ended with her orgasm.
I leave before anyone wakes up, afraid that they’ll see the marks from her hands all over my skin, terrified of hazel eyes that have been looking a little too closely at her impact on me lately.
More terrified of matching sets of blue looking my way.