Chapter 13
I wakeup feeling like I got hit by a truck.
We’d made it back to the hotel fine, of course. The truck was just Nick’s lips smashing against me and temporarily knocking me off this plane of reality. I’m not sure where I’d gone, but I do know that I’m not happy to be back. Everything seems unlevel and off-focus.
I’m not sure how to return to the world I’d known before.
I’m not sure I want to.
Nick and I are on the edge of something. Stopping him last night had felt futile, like needlessly delaying the inevitable. I’m still not sure why I did it.
I toss and turn in bed. It’s early, probably only 4 a.m. back in New York, but the sun has risen here, and my mind is active. My exhaustion from last night has abated slightly and I’m finding that what I need more than sleep is a friend to talk to.
Mickey is the obvious choice but she has to be sleeping. I reach for my phone and half-heartedly scroll through my contacts. It’s performative; I know I don’t have anyone else to call.
Just then a text comes through. It’s from Mickey. And actually it’s not a text, it’s just a GIF of a hot dog with a face, pelvic-thrusting. Across it in bubble letters is the caption, I love you dawg!
I snort and call her.
She answers on the first ring and sounds tipsy. “Am I in trouble?” she asks instantly.
“Because you’re supposed to be in the office in three hours and you sound like you’ve been up all night?” I guess, trying and failing to sound stern.
“Yeah, but psych, bitch! I did all my work yesterday after you left! So it’s a funday Monday for ol’ Mick.” She pauses for a beat and says, “Shit, I might actually be drunk.”
I just laugh. I can always count on her to add some levity to the situation. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” I say.
“Oh, no way. Kyle took me out but I didn’t stay for cuddles. I’m back at the apartment doomscrolling with one last glass of wine before I faceplant in bed for the night. But listen to me rambling on. How is Par-ee? Has Kara welcomed you into her squad yet? Has Nick swept you off your feet?”
I flop back in bed. “God, Mickey. You wouldn’t even fucking believe what’s happening.”
“I bet I won’t. I swear you’re living out a romance movie right now.”
“If I am then the script is on a downbeat,” I say. “Because guess who’s here.”
“Who?”
“Brent and Cheryl.”
Mickey makes a choking noise that would be funny if the situation weren’t so dire. “WHAT?!” she finally gets out. “Your— your ex? Is there? Is he — are they — stalking you?”
“I wish,” I say. “It’d be easier to get the cops involved. No, Brent is a sports agent. One of his clients is dating Kara, and they’re along for the trip. It’s just a fucked up coincidence.”
“I’ll say. Forget a romance movie. You’ve tripped and landed in a damn soap opera.”
“I’ll fly you in for backup if a long-lost evil twin pops out of the woodwork,” I say miserably. “But honestly it’s bad enough as it is. I was so thrown on the plane yesterday that I totally messed up our first impression.”
“Wait a minute. Back up,” Mickey says. “You flew with them?”
“Yep,” I say, already knowing what she’s getting at.
“You were wearing a blue sweatsuit, boo,” Mickey says softly, as if breaking the news to me.
“Oh I am well aware. Believe me, I wish I’d strode on there naked. It would have been less embarrassing.”
“It would say ‘I’m here and ready to party’,” Mickey muses.
“Yeah and instead I was just there, very obviously not partying. It was insane too. They were shooting a damn music video on the plane! There were like a thousand people there!”
Mickey makes a strangled noise. “My god I should have gone,” she says.
“I’m regretting not bringing you,” I say. “Someone needs to look cool in front of these people. I’m just not cool, and Nick is way too disdainful of it all to put much effort in.”
“Hey I think you’re very cool!”
“As nice as that is, Kara definitely does not.”
“What did you do?”
I sigh and roll over on my stomach, not answering immediately. From out of my window I can see the tip of the Eiffel Tower, reflecting the light of the early morning rays. It reminds me of last night, of Nick’s lips against mine. My stomach knots, and I feel the urge to jump out of my own skin.
Somehow I rip myself out of the memory and back to the conversation at hand. “I hid,” I admit. “I went in the back and hid in a closet for the rest of the flight.”
Mickey doesn’t say anything, but I can tell that she’s cringing. When she speaks she tries not to make it too obvious: “Well that’s okay. You needed to regroup and?—”
“Don’t try to make it sound better,” I say, cutting her off. “It sucked. Kara is pissed, though Nick had a good excuse. Something about not wanting his face in her music video. It kinda worked, but obviously the news about Brent and me spread through that plane like the plague.”
“Hold on,” Mickey says. “Nick stayed in the closet with you?”
“Yeah,” I confirm. “He was actually really sweet about everything. He apologized for being an asshole earlier too, which sounds like the lowest bar imaginable for a guy to clear but it actually seems like growth.”
“Evie!” Mickey says, aghast. “Why the gloom? Fuck your ex. Nick Madison sat in a closet to comfort you for a full Atlantic flight! That’s crazy. I think you might be making the Grinch’s heart grow a size larger.”
I hesitate. Should I tell her? I barely know how to explain it; I definitely can’t put words to the tumultuous feelings inside me. But I desperately need someone to confide in and, before I can stop myself, the words come blurting out: “Nick and I kissed last night.”
“Holy. Fuck.”
After ten seconds of dead silence, I start, “I know it’s?—”
“Wait,” Mickey says, still in the same shell-shocked tone. “I need a second to process. If you say any more my poor brain might explode.”
I chuckle lightly and give her the requested second.
Finally she says, “So let me get this straight. First, you have to go to the hottest party in the world to woo a superstar. Second, your ex-fiancé shows up with your ex-best friend. Third, your hot-as-sin, rich-as-fuck boss makes out with you. Am I getting all this right?”
“Did I mention he kissed me next to the Seine under the Eiffel Tower?”
“Bitch, I don’t know why you called sounding so upset,” Mickey says. “If I had a genie lamp, this would be exactly what I’d wish for!”
“You’d waste a wish on Brent and Cheryl being here? I find that hard to believe.”
“No, idiot. That’s the best part! Or, no. Nick is the best part. Whatever. Listen — you got dumped by Brent and it sucked donkey balls, yeah? Well now he’s getting a front row seat to watch you and the actual guy of your dreams fall in love against a Parisian backdrop. I don’t care if Brent has a ten-inch cock, there’s no way he’s not going to be jealous of Nick.”
“Okay, first of all, ouch. He definitely didn’t.”
“You know what I mean.”
“But,” I say, powering through, “there’s a flaw in your plan. Nick and I aren’t falling in love.”
“You sure about that?”
A flash of falling asleep on his shoulder, cradled by that cinnamon scent that surrounds him. The look in his eye as he approached me on the Seine, so determined and handsome and strong. His gentleness at my despair. The fire in his eyes when he looked at Brent.
Still I shake my head, even though she can’t see me. “No,” I insist. “He’s my boss for god’s sake. And we’re in the middle of a major launch. It’s the worst possible time.”
“Those sound like pretty flimsy excuses to me.”
Mickey has no problem calling me out on my bullshit. And so I have to confess, finally voice the reason I’d turned Nick down last night.
“I just feel overwhelmed,” I admit. “It’s a lot. It feels stupid, but I just…” I trail off, trying to gather my thoughts. Mickey gives me the space I need. “I was kissing him and all I could see was the look on Brent’s face when he told me he was leaving me. He wasn’t apologetic. He was annoyed. Annoyed I was so upset. He said that I should have seen this coming. Why would he be with me over Cheryl?” My voice cracks on the memory, the most painful of my life.
“Oh Evie…” Mickey says. “They’re just terrible people.”
I wipe at my eye hurriedly. “I know that. But I still couldn’t stay there with Nick. I couldn’t get them out of my head. And I’m upset because I should be over them. They shouldn’t still have the power to hurt me.”
“Hurt doesn’t work like that, babe,” Mickey says. “It has a way of sticking around.”
“So what should I do about it?”
Mickey laughs. “If I had the answer to that, I’d be a millionaire with a talk show.”
I laugh shakily. “Give it a shot. I just want an idea.”
Mickey hums, thinking. Then she says, “Well you know how I live my life, right?”
“Fearlessly,” I say.
She giggles. “Hardly. I have my own hurt too. But what helps me is accepting that it’s not going to go away. That it’s a piece of me. I can’t control it.”
“Is this supposed to be uplifting?” I mutter half-teasing.
“But,” she continues, “because I can’t control it, I focus on what I can control. I decide what I want to do and do it, and I don’t allow the hurt to change the way I live my life. I can’t stop it from butting in with its opinions but with some practice I’ve learned that I can usually get it to shut up after a while.”
After hanging up with Mickey,I leave the room and head downstairs. Nick’s door is closed but I have no idea whether he’s behind it or not. The only clue is the scent of cinnamon wafting through the air, though perhaps it’s only left over from last night. I know it’s lingered on me.
After wandering through the gilded halls of the historic, luxury hotel, I happen upon a small café. I order a coffee in very bad French (high school was a long time ago), and sit where I can see the street.
Already tourists are out with cameras, clogging up the sidewalk while French people walk to work or go about errands. I’d like to see some sites while we’re here, but realistically this is a trip for work, not for pleasure. It’s another point against trying to make a go of things with Nick: a ton of people are counting on this cruise going well. Hundreds of millions are on the line. Dan is eagerly awaiting my updates. Isn’t it selfish to be mucking around with romance and my personal life when I have a job to do?
Another excuse. There are plenty of them. I sip my espresso glumly. Really it does all come back to what Mickey had said. I need to accept what had happened, believe in myself regardless, and continue to do what I want without letting past trauma affect my decisions.
Easy peasy.
At least I can enjoy a quiet moment to myself to contemplate all this. Though there are a lot of people I’d rather not run into staying at this hotel so maybe it would have been a better idea to move further down the street. It would really suck if?—
As if summoned by my thoughts, I suddenly sense a presence at my elbow. My stomach clenches with dread and I turn to look up into the bright blue eyes of my former best friend in the world.
Cheryl is dressed chicly in black, her blonde hair in a high ponytail, a latte in her manicured claw.
“Can I join you?” she asks.
I want to shout fuck no and maybe throw the rest of my espresso at her. It would be what Mickey would do. Maybe it would even be what I’d do if Mickey were here to back me up. Instead I nod stiffly and she takes the chair in front of me.
Cheryl fusses with her latte for a moment, adding sugar and stirring it until she’s absolutely sure that none of the crystals have settled at the bottom. It’s only when she’s exhausted all other distractions that she looks up at me.
“Obviously this was a surprise to us too,” she says.
I blink and say nothing. What is there to say that I didn’t already scream at them several months ago? I wait for her to continue. Brent had done most — if not all — of the talking that fateful day. This is the first time we’ve been alone together since. Maybe Cheryl does have a heart capable of feeling regret or shame. Maybe she’s come to apologize.
Instead she throws what shouldn’t be a curve-ball but still manages to surprise me: “I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to stay in Europe.”
My eyes narrow. I still say nothing.
Cheryl pauses, waiting for me to speak, and becomes visibly irritated when I don’t. She flicks a crumb off the table and then sits back, crossing her arms.
“It’s just that Kara and Dax know about how you attacked Brent when he ended things with you. They’re pretty freaked out.”
My face is frozen. Disbelief ices over my features.
Cheryl gets tired of waiting for me to speak. “Now I’m sure you don’t want to be embarrassed by being asked to leave…”
“I didn’t attack Brent,” I say flatly.
“The ski pole?—”
“Went into the television,” I say. My anger, barely suppressed through calming thoughts of kittens and my meditation app, is starting to melt the ice. “Believe me, if I had attacked him, he would still be in the hospital.”
Cheryl’s face pinches. “So you’re threatening him now? That’s not a good look, Evie. God, I never knew you were so?—”
“Delusional?” I cut her off again. Idiotic? Naive?
“Unhinged,” she says with a curl of her lip. “You managed to hide it pretty well for a while, but you’re a real freak. I don’t know how Brent managed to stay with you as long as he did.”
“Whereas I’m well aware of how you two are able to stand each other,” I say. “You’re so alike.”
Cheryl clenches and unclenches her fists and then somehow manages to sit straighter. “Whatever. So you’re going to go then?”
The audacity of this bitch. I have to laugh. “Are you crazy?” I say.
“No I?—”
“Do you think you can just order me to leave and I will?”
“Stop interrupting me!” The words burst out in a piercing shriek that attracts the attention of everyone in the café. Cheryl lifts a hand to block her face and then says low and through gritted teeth, “Look. Just get out of here. Nobody wants you around. You’re embarrassing yourself. We’re all laughing at you.”
Her words threaten to tear at my heart. Not too long ago, they would have been enough to bring tears streaming down my face.
But then I picture Mickey. Mickey would tear this chick a new asshole if she were here. She’d have my back.
And I think about Nick. He wants me around. He doesn’t laugh at me or call me names. He apologizes when he makes mistakes. When the hell did I start putting more stock in the words of people I hate than the ones I care about?
I push my hair out of my face carefully and say, simply, “Well I don’t want you around. So maybe you should be the one who leaves.”
“That’s not going to happen.”
I shrug. “And I’m not going either.”
Cheryl’s face screws up in frustration. She leans forward suddenly. “Look this is a very important trip for Brent and me,” she hisses. “And you’re completely harshing the vibe.”
“I thought Kara was scared of me?” I say. “Or did you really mean that your new friends maybe don’t think it’s that cool that you and Brent ditched me at the altar? Is that a little embarrassing for you, Cheryl?”
Cheryl flushes and stands up. “It’s only embarrassing for you,” she says. “You’re the one that got left.”
I stare coolly up at her. “Well I wish you’d leave again. I was having a quiet morning.”
“Just wait until tonight,” she says. “You could hide on the plane but I know you, Evie. You’re not fun. You’re not a good time at all. And when you show up wearing another stupid sweatsuit know that all the whispering you’re hearing is about you.”
She whirls on her heel and stalks away, completely abandoning her latte.
The other customers glance at me curiously. I look away, back out the window, but I can’t go back to the nervous calm I’d felt just ten minutes ago.
It’s been replaced. Replaced by fury. And suddenly Mickey’s words make a whole lot of sense.
And I know exactly what I want.
I shoot the rest of my espresso like a shot of vodka and head upstairs.
I fling the hotel room door open with the force of a runaway train. Nick is standing by the mirror, adjusting his tie, and he whips around, ready for anything, before realizing it’s just me.
“Jesus, what’s going on with you?” he asks.
In answer I plunge across the floor, take his face in my hands and kiss him.
He jerks in surprise but in an instant he’s just as hungry as he was last night. His tongue darts into my mouth and his arms wrap around me, snaring me against him. He’s so strong. It’s difficult to tell under those suits but pressed up against him I can feel thick, straining muscles. I work my hands against the hardness of his body, then grab his tie in my fist, my lips mashing to his.
This time it’s Nick who pulls away first, though his reluctance is obvious.
“Okay what the hell happened?” he asks. His tie is fucked up, his hair mussed. Those bewitching eyes travel up my body, as if he’s only half-hearing the question he himself asked.
“Cheryl,” I say.
His brow furrows and he comes back down to Earth. “What?” he asks.
“Cornered me in the café,” I say. “Told me that I’m embarrassing myself and need to leave.”
“And instead you’re…” he trails off, still not making the connection.
“I’m doing what I want to do,” I say, echoing Mickey’s words.
A hunger like a lion’s passes through Nick’s eyes. He grabs my upper arms in his powerful grip but then stops himself one last time. “Are you sure?” he asks seriously. “Is this what you want?”
“Absolutely,” I say without hesitation.
He moves like a viper, striking to sweep me off my feet so quickly the world spins. But I feel safe all the same in his arms. He doesn’t even waste time heading to the bedroom. We fall together onto the sofa in the center of the gorgeous living room. His mouth is on my neck, his hands reaching beneath my t-shirt.
I groan as a finger works on my nipple. It’s as stiff as he is; I can feel him jutting through his pants. I reach down, press against his cock. The sound he makes fills me with want — to touch him, to taste him, to feel him inside me.
His mouth is by my ear and he whispers into it, “I’ve wanted to do this since the moment I laid eyes on you on that train.”
I want to respond, but his mouth again finds my neck, my jawline, my mouth. He’s fast and strong, touching everywhere, overwhelming me. I’m powerless against him. Initially so full of agency now reduced to a jumbled tangle of raw nerves as his hand reaches between my legs, grinding one of those long fingers against my clit.
Even through the thick fabric it’s enough to make me jerk and buck.
As if reading my mind, Nick realizes the clothes need to go. Immediately. He sits back, leaving me gasping and whips off his suit jacket so quickly I hear it tear.
“Be careful,” I manage to get out.
“I have plenty,” he says. As if to prove the point — or maybe just because of his eagerness — he rips his dress shirt off, not bothering to undo the buttons.
I shriek playfully and he falls on me, his forearms on either side of my head, his forehead pressed to mine. “Save that,” he says low in his throat. “In a minute I’m going to give you something to scream about.”
God, he’s so hot when he lets himself go like this. Buttoned-up Office Nick is out the window. This is the passionate man I’ve gotten glimpses of so many times but rarely for long. This is the man I’m falling in love with.
He sits back up, still straddling me, and I can finally see his bare chest, his rigid abs, the powerful muscles brushed with dark hair. He looks more like a dock worker than a white-collar professional, rugged and masculine and sexy beyond words.
I rip my own shirt off as he stands, working on his suit pants and then helping me pull my jeans over my hips. He stops for a moment once I’m laid bare before him. He shakes his head, his eyes traveling the length of me.
It’s been a while since I’ve had sex. Unsurprisingly Brent and I were in a dry spell, something I’d stupidly thought getting married might fix. In the past months, I’ve sometimes stared at my naked body in the mirror, wondering what it was that made Brent go searching for something new. My breasts aren’t as large as Cheryl’s. My hips curvier, my stomach not flat as a board from dedicated spin classes. But the way Nick is looking at me now makes me feel like the hottest woman on the planet, like every part of me is perfect.
“Better than I even imagined,” he growls. “So fucking hot.”
He hasn’t removed his briefs yet and I sit up, push him back a step while looking up into his eyes. Then I pull them down, freeing the monster from its cloth confines.
Holy shit. Is there such thing as a perfect dick? I suppose its individual. In my life I haven’t seen more than a few in the flesh, but I instantly know there isn’t another for me. It’s long and thick and slightly curved, pulsing visibly before me. I plunge forward, taking him in my mouth.
The noise he makes is indescribable and it only makes me work harder. He’s solid steel beneath me, musky, delicious. I swirl my tongue around his head and try to take him deeper. His hands are threaded in my hair and I look up for a moment, catch his strained face, the eyes clenched tightly shut. Every muscle on his body is defined, taut. Mine.
He rips back with a grunt, forcing himself away.
“Everything okay?” I ask. He coughs, shakes himself.
“Too early,” he says.
“Sure about that?” I ask, reaching for him.
He sidesteps me, intent on regaining control. Then his eyes narrow and they train on my pussy. “I’m sure,” he says. “Now it’s my turn.”
One of those massive hands presses gently but firmly against my shoulder until I’m lying flat against the couch again. He kisses my mouth, looming over my body. Warmth emanates from his cock and strikes my thigh. Then he moves and the throbbing shaft grazes my skin. We both seize. Nick’s hand, grasping my hip, squeezes sharply and I gasp.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says, ripping his hand away.
“It’s okay,” I say. The skin is tender and his powerful hand traces the mark he’d accidentally left.
“I was trying not to come,” he says with a slight laugh. Then his mouth finds the spot. He kisses it, pressing slightly and the pleasure mixing with the pain makes the scene become even more alive around me.
Nick doesn’t linger long. His mouth inches across my hip until it’s between my legs. I can feel every breath he takes on my clit. The sensation spikes up my spine and back down again like an amusement park ride. Bells and whistles ring. But none of it compares to how I feel when he finally takes the plunge.
My eyes roll back in my head, my hips buck. His mouth suctions to my clit, tonguing the sensitive nub until galaxies explode behind my clenched-shut eyelids. The pleasure is immense, otherworldly.
“Nick,” I gasp. His hands are gripping my thighs, pulling himself deeper into me. That tongue is magic, it has to be. No normal man has these kinds of skills.
“Evie,” he replies, muffled by my pussy. The sound is orgasmic, even as my real, impending orgasm hurtles closer.
He’s willing to take me all the way, but now it’s my turn to stop him. It takes superhuman strength and now I can sympathize for his own self-control. I shift to sit up. He tries to keep me there but I rest both my hands on his cheeks and turn his head up to meet my eye.
“I need you inside me right now,” I say.
That boyish smile brightens his face. Eager and willing, as ready as I am. He reaches to the floor, fumbling for his ripped jacket, finding the condom in his wallet. It’s out of one package and onto the next in a flash.
And then he’s on top of me, knocking at the door to come in. I press against him as he adjusts to my entrance and then finally he’s inside me. We’re together at last.
I’m filled to the brim and then just a little bit more. His cock pulses red hot inside me. Every plunge seems to go deeper. Every breath is cinnamon and sweat. I’m hypnotized by the passion on his gorgeous face, the intensity of it. And all of it combined with the work his tongue had done means that I’m barreling toward the edge far sooner than I would like to.
I try to hold it off but there’s no hope. My orgasm rockets over me, and I clench and spasm and squirm and come like I never have before. My pussy squeezes the life out of his cock, and it must be enough to finish him off because I’m still in the last throes of bliss when Nick also becomes a jittering mass of pleasure. He jerks and grinds inside me before finally falling on top of me, a panting heap.
We sit there for a moment. He’s still inside me, softening but still warm. Still amazing. We breathe and collect ourselves. I’m shell-shocked, partially from my orgasm but mostly from the realization that I’ve had twenty-seven years on this planet and apparently never had good sex until this very moment.
Finally Nick slowly and reluctantly rolls off me and onto his side.
“That was fucking incredible,” he says.
“Unbelievable,” I reply. “If I had known it would be like that I would have fucked you right in that train bar.”
He grins devilishly. “And I would have let you.”
Another long pause.
“I hate to ask,” he finally says. “But what now?”
Does he mean in general? Is he talking about the moment? The day? Us as a couple? All of them have different answers, and I’m not one hundred percent sure of any of them. I think back to what Mickey said again. What do I want?
I lean forward, plant a kiss on his cheek, and say, “We have to go shopping.”
His confusion is obvious.
“We have a party to go to tonight. And not only do I want to look the part, I want us to be the stars.”
Nick presses his forehead once more to mine and says, “That shouldn’t be too hard.”