Chapter 15
Nick’s headis between my legs, his tongue working at my most sensitive parts.
My muscles tense and relax, trying hard to hold my orgasm. It barely works. My hands rip at his hair and push him deeper.
“Right there,” I get out. “Don’t fucking change anything.”
He listens; he always does. The tongue, the fingers, the sight of his muscular bare back flexing sends me rocketing over the edge. Pleasure rips up and down my body, my eyes rolling into the back of my head as my limbs spasm and shake. It’s a long, long time before it fully subsides.
I collapse, spent, sinking deeper into the softest bed on this planet of Earth. My limbs are like jelly, and when Nick looks up, his dark eyes sparkling with mischief, a whole other feeling envelopes me. One much more serious than pure lust.
I’m afraid I might actually be falling for this man.
Nick works his way up the bed until he’s lying beside me and I run a hand up from his abs over his curved chest to his angular jawline. I lean in and kiss him and when he kisses me back I still feel the same wild mixture of intensity and peace I felt the first time his lips touched mine. It seems contradictory, but then everything about Nick seems that way — he can be hard and soft, serious and silly, boyishly flirty and porn star filthy. And he manages to juggle these contradictions with the skill of a veteran circus performer.
“One more day,” he says.
“One more day in Paris,” I remind him. “One more week of partying like eighteen-year-olds during rush week.”
His eyes are so close that we’re nose to nose. They crinkle and narrow, a sign he’s about to tease me. “Rush week?” he asks. “Don’t tell me you were in a sorority.”
I playfully roll my eyes. “What do you have against sororities?”
He considers and then says, “Okay I actually just have something against fraternities.”
“So no hazing for little Nick Madison?” I ask.
“Hell no. You couldn’t pay me to join that shit show,” he says.
“Even though they get to party with sorority girls?” I tease.
“Believe me, I partied enough in college.”
“I’m starting to think you’ve understated how fun you actually are,” I say. “Or maybe Paris has brought out your long repressed fun side.”
He kisses the tip of my nose. “Nope,” he says. “Just you.”
“Think you can keep it up in Ibiza?”
“Will you be there?”
“Of course.”
“Then absolutely.”
Sunlight is falling through the open shades of the master bedroom, splashing across my face and warming it. The hum of Paris is a distant noise; it might not even exist at all. Our flight to Ibiza leaves tonight but we’ll soak up every second of the rest of the day in bed together. We’ve earned it.
Not of course to say that partying with Kara is any kind of hardship. We’ve spent the last week eating the best food, drinking the best alcohol, turning down the best drugs. And though some of the company left a lot to be desired, most of Kara’s friends turned out to not be half bad. Tori especially has stuck by our side and joined us on the dance floor most nights. Last night even Dalton, always so harried, was dragged out of the back by Tori and me to come dance. When Kara saw him in the mosh pit, her face lit up and she played a song that supposedly had a special meaning for just the two of them. For the rest of the night Dalton walked on clouds.
I thought that partying every night, for most of the night, would wear me out… And I was absolutely right. Even though, on our second day, Nick had bought us a wardrobe that would last us through a month of engagements, the days always passed way too quickly. We barely had enough time to catch up with our virtual management of our teams back home before we had to go back to the club. As fun as it’s all been, I can’t wait to get through this last leg of the tour and return to New York.
However the status of my relationship with Nick back home is vague at best and bad at worst. Away from his company and the pressures that come with it, Nick has been like a different person.
How much will change back home? How much can I get to stay the same?
Watching Nick’s gorgeous face dappled by the sunlight, I pray that this moment will last forever, encapsulated in my heart for an eternity.
Unfortunately the real world waits out there for us. Full of real responsibilities.
And real problems.
The planethat Kara has chartered to Party Island is about half the size of the one we crossed the Atlantic in. It’s still way too big for the amount of people she’s bringing, but hey I’m not complaining.
The vibe is significantly different this time too. Instead of outsiders, Nick and I are friendly with just about everyone on board. The obvious exceptions are Brent and Cheryl, who’ve finally learned to just leave us alone. In Paris, every time they’d tried to come in with an attack, Nick and I had been ready and willing to meet them, fists raised. At this point, our only interactions are accidental and brief.
Dax is the one other exception to our harmony with the Krew. Nick hasn’t said anything, but I suspect something happened early on between the two of them. They only talk when absolutely necessary. I’ve tried to pry but Nick always skirts my questions. If there wasn’t an outright disagreement between the two men, I get the impression that Dax likes to be in charge and Nick obviously isn’t one to be told what to do.
Funnily enough, Kara isn’t either. She and Dax, while physically affectionate, always seem to dissolve into bickering the longer they spend talking. Other than their shared success and good looks, they aren’t the most obvious pairing.
All in all, going into the Ibiza leg, I’m feeling pretty good. Once I get back to New York I’m going to sleep for a week but otherwise, unless something goes really badly, Kara has got to be in the bag for the Seafarer. I can already perfectly picture the ad campaigns we’re going to run once she’s publicly on board. Her first concert on the ship as it circles Manhattan is going to make these past raves look like a five-year-old’s birthday party.
One thing at a time, Evie, I tell myself as Nick and I walk up the stairs to the jet. Let’s just keep things chill for now.
It’s hard to be chill with a group like this though. Nick and I stop once again at the head of the plane. Even after a week of nonstop clubbing, the entourage is doing shots and blasting rap.
“When exactly did I get this old?” Nick asks out of the corner of his mouth.
“I’m asking myself the same thing,” I say, “and I’m still in my twenties.” I haven’t done this many Fireball shots since college and it looks like I’m not getting a night off.
“You made it!” Tori shouts at the sight of us. She doubles over with laughter. “And you’re wearing the sweatpants!”
“Sure am,” I say, though I lost the top and opted for a black tank instead. Hey, I like to be comfortable when I fly. “I feel like you’re gonna regret those shoes.”
“These?” She shows them off, new designer five-inch heels Kara must have gotten her in Paris. Gorgeous for a night out, bad for a rocky plane flight. “I need the practice, gorge. If I make it through the flight without a stumble I’ve earned them.”
“And I have a hundred bucks on her wiping out in the first hour,” Kara says, appearing from behind a curtain that bisects the plane.
It doesn’t even take that long. Tori turns, obviously about to contradict her, and trips over nothing. Dalton dives forward with catlike reflexes and holds her steady before she tumbles to the ground.
Everyone who was paying attention bursts out in good-natured laughter. Even Tori has to chuckle though she’s in the process of flipping us all off with red-polished middle fingers.
“Okay, who owes me a hundred?” Kara calls out. She’s met with a chorus of boos.
“Nobody was dumb enough to take that bet,” LaToya says.
“Hey, it’s not my fault I was born with the grace of a llama,” Tori pouts. But then she flashes a grin at Dalton. “Thanks for saving me.”
“No worries,” he says.
“I’ll have to make it up to you somehow.”
Before Dalton can respond, Kara shoves herself between them, announcing, “Okay, listen up everyone! It’s a short flight to Ibiza but this is an expensive-ass plane so I want you all to be making the most of it.”
The Krew roars with approval and gets back to the party.
Then, to Dalton, Kara says more quietly. “If you’re done flirting I need to talk to you in the back. We have plans to look over. I’m not sure I love the venue for night four.”
“Really?” he asks. “We went over the plan a dozen times.”
“Well we’re going over it again!” Kara snaps and bustles toward the back.
Dalton, seeing Nick and me watching, shrugs helplessly. “The queen demands it,” he says. Then he heads off after her.
I glance up at Nick, cocking an eyebrow. “Was that…?” I start.
He flashes that lop-sided grin I love. “I think it was,” he says.
Dalton’s crush on Kara has been obvious from Day One but so far it’s appeared entirely one-sided. This is the first evidence of jealousy from Kara.
“Maybe we’d see a bit more of that if we got Dalton laid,” I muse.
Nick wraps his arm around my waist and pulls me against him. “Now don’t you go starting trouble,” he says.
“Why not?” I pout. “I like trouble.”
“Is that why you like me?”
I playfully push him away. “Who me? Who says I like you?”
“Someone passed me a note in fourth period,” he teases.
He’s absolutely adorable when he’s messing around like this. For a moment I can see the boy he must have been, fearless and tough, smart and driven.
We take a seat off to the side of the main party, neither of us feeling the need to dive in. At this point, Kara knows we aren’t lame, and besides she’s still in the back.
I fix Nick in an evaluating gaze and stroke the side of my chin.
“Nick in grade school…” I muse. “Let me guess. All the little girls had crushes on you.”
He scoffs, looking away but the spark in his eyes tells me I can’t be that far off. “Hardly,” he says.
“Who was your first girlfriend?”
Nick hesitates, the smile fading off his face like an extinguished flame. “Marlene,” he says. “Seventh grade.”
“Pretty?”
“Adorable. I asked her out at lunch. She said yes.”
“Of course.”
He doesn’t elaborate.
“And…?” I pry. “Did you take her to a dance? The drive-in?”
Nick shakes his head, looks down at his hands. “Her parents got wind of it, told her she couldn’t date me because of my dad’s reputation.”
“Forbidden romance?” I say, wincing but trying to find the silver lining. “Secrets from parents are awesome at that age.”
He laughs ruefully. “That’s what we thought too. But then my old man found out about it and he set me straight.”
“How’s that?”
“That she’d keep me on the side until she found a guy who wasn’t trash who she could take home to her parents.”
Nick tries to keep his tone light and fails miserably. My stomach clenches at the horrible words, heard and retained at such an impressionable age.
“You weren’t trash,” I say.
“Wanna bet?” he asks, now with a bit of real mirth in his voice.
“You’re the only one who can put that label on yourself,” I say. “Look at Brent.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Don’t blame you. But he and his family have a ton of money, so do all of their friends. And they have no redeeming qualities. Only they cheat people legally, and the crimes they do commit are cleared up with a phone call.”
“Tell me again what you saw in him?”
The question might have sounded off-hand in his head but once voiced it sits heavily between us. I hesitate, and Nick hurries to say, “You don’t have to explain yourself. It… came out wrong.”
“No, it’s okay,” I say. “Honestly, I’ve been asking myself that a lot recently.”
“He’s not bad-looking,” Nick tries.
“It wasn’t that,” I say quickly. “Though I appreciate you trying to give me an out. Believe it or not, that really doesn’t matter that much to me.”
“I believe it,” he says.
“I guess, looking back, I just got complacent,” I say. “I was in a bubble, a bubble of yuppies with rich parents who all told me over and over again that a guy like Brent is who I should want. All through college the girls I knew were rabid about guys like him and when I met Brent people treated me like I struck gold. I wasn’t really that happy but then none of the people I knew were really that happy, so I figured that was just life.”
“And now?” Nick asks.
“Now I realize how little I was really living,” I say. “And how wrong I was about what friendship is. And love.”
The words slip out of my mouth and I wish I could grab them and shove them back down my throat before they reach Nick’s ears. Sadly I don’t have that power. Nick stiffens. It would be imperceptible to the naked eye, but I’m resting against him and all those powerful muscles in his body constrict.
I feel my face flush. “I’m sorry,” I say, sitting up.
Nick is looking at me oddly, probably with no idea what to say. How could I drop the “L” word so quickly?! We’ve only been sleeping together a week! We haven’t gotten along for most of the time we’ve known each other. He probably thinks I’m one of those people who doesn’t know the value of the word, who drops it on every guy’s doorstep like a goddamn UPS worker.
I stand quickly, suddenly overwhelmed by the noise of the music.
“Evie—” Nick starts, but I’m already hurrying away. The plane has long since taken off and there’s nowhere else to run other than behind the curtain. I dive behind it without caring what I might stumble upon.
I immediately wish I hadn’t. Because standing there, in the little hall, are Brent and Cheryl. He looks pissed. She’s crying. Neither are happy to see me.
Before I can turn around and run, Brent beats me to the punch. He pushes past me and back out into the party. All thoughts of Nick forgotten, I long to follow him. But before I can turn around, my pity gets the better of me.
Cheryl looks like shit. She’s ugly crying up a storm and though it would have given me indescribable pleasure to hear about, in person it’s too pathetic to hate. Unbelievably I feel a stab of sympathy for her. Brent had once made me cry in exactly the same way.
“Are you okay?” I ask.
My former best friend’s eyes flash suspiciously from behind the waterworks. She’s trying and failing to stop crying, and she turns away from me when she realizes it’s not going to stop.
“Like you care,” she says. “Leave me alone.”
There’s a door in the hallway and I push it open experimentally. Kara and Dalton must be in another room further down as this one is empty. I tap Cheryl on the shoulder and nod at the room when she glares at me.
“Come on,” I say.
“No way,” she spits back. “I’m not being alone with you. You’ll probably try to kill me.”
I snort. “If I wanted to kill you, I’d kill you and Brent at the same time and stage it like a murder-suicide. Definitely not on a crowded plane with so many witnesses.”
She stares at me.
“Yes, I’ve thought about it. Sue me,” I say. “Be happy it’s stayed in my fantasies. Now get in this fucking room and tell me what the problem is before I lose my sympathy.”
“I don’t want your sympathy,” she snaps.
“Yeah, you do,” I say. “Because I know you better than anyone, and I also know exactly what you’re going through right now. He cheated on you, didn’t he?”
Cheryl’s eyes are unable to meet mine. Instead, after a pause, she walks slowly into the room. I follow and close the door behind us.
“I suppose you want to gloat,” she says sullenly.
“Just tell me what happened.”
After a beat, she whispers, “I walked in on him with someone back at the hotel.”
She doesn’t continue and I wait.
“That’s pretty much it,” she says at my silence.
“There’s always more to it than that,” I say softly.
For the first time Cheryl meets my eyes and there isn’t anger or suspicion behind her bright blue eyes, just pain and sorrow. “It isn’t the first time I’ve caught him,” she says. “He promised me it wouldn’t happen again.”
“How many women have you caught him with?” I ask, stunned. It’s only been a couple months since they ran off together.
“Two others,” she says.
“That you know about,” I finish for her.
She nods miserably. “I suppose I deserve it.”
I don’t mince words. Nobody’s that nice. “Yeah,” I say. “You kinda do.”
“I thought you weren’t going to throw it in my face,” she says.
“What? You want me to deny it?” I ask. “What did you expect me to say to that? ‘Poor baby, how can people be so mean?’ Fine, nobody deserves to get cheated on, but maybe some people do need to experience it first hand to know just how shitty it is to do to another person.”
“I knewit was shitty,” Cheryl says, anger flashing in her eyes. “Why do you think I did it?”
For the first time I’m speechless. Finally I manage to get out, “What?”
“You think it was easy being best friends with you?” Cheryl cries. “Straight A’s all through college. Top pick at your ad agency. The most handsome, richest guy at school to get engaged to. How the hell do you think I felt? Every single one of my boyfriends was a complete loser!”
“Because you went out of your way to date assholes!” I say. “And you were definitely smart enough to get A’s. You just would rather party.”
“You made it all look so effortless,” she shoots back. “Ms. Perfect. Perfect job, perfect guy, perfect life. So yeah, I burned it down. And I hated myself but at the same time it felt pretty nice to see everything fall apart for you.” She’s crying again, her makeup streaming down her cheeks. “And now look! Better job, better guy! Seriously, what the hell makes everything go so well for you?”
I’m truly stunned. I’ve always been aware that I’ve been fortunate to go to college and have a good job, but Cheryl’s had all of the same opportunities that I’ve had. Besides, my life has certainly not been this rose-colored paradise that she’s describing. Brent was not a good boyfriend. College was stressful as hell. And everything that’s happened since Nick came into my life has been just as frustrating and confusing as it’s been exhilarating.
“Why didn’t you ever tell me you felt like this?” I ask. “I had no idea.”
Cheryl shrugs. “I don’t know,” she says. “Maybe it was just too hard to put into words.”
“So instead you blew my life up,” I say. My sympathy for Cheryl is fading, if not completely nonexistent at this point. She’d acted childishly and selfishly. I never would have even considered doing such a thing to her.
But then Cheryl’s big blue eyes turn up to me and she says the very last thing I expect her to. “I’m so sorry, Evie. I’ve felt terrible for months. And not just because Brent keeps cheating on me. I can’t believe that I did that to you. I miss my best friend.”
I don’t really want to be gracious. The hurt is still too fresh. But it is nice to hear an apology, and Cheryl does seem genuinely broken up about all of it. I just can’t keep my anger alive.
It helps that she’s getting a taste of her own medicine.
I hold out my arms and she hugs me, shaking once again with sobs. My eyes remain dry.
But then I’m thrown back to all the times we’ve spent together. Cheryl was my very special best friend of my twenties. And with no hope of reconciliation, I do feel a deep sadness at the finality of it all. I’m getting older, hopefully wiser. Ready to move on to a new stage of life and a new (better) circle of friends.
I just wish it didn’t have to end with so much hurt.
Cheryl pulls back, wipes at an eye. They’re very red but she’s finally stopped crying. “Remember that night in college,” she says, “when Danny dumped me and we sat on the floor of our dorm room and drank two bottles of wine?”
It was the night our friendship had solidified. I nod. “Of course. Up until that point neither of us knew what to think of the other,” I say.
“I thought you were an uptight bookworm.”
“I thought you were irresponsible and annoying.”
We grin at each other, remembering.
“I don’t think I would have graduated without my bookworm,” she says.
“And I definitely wouldn’t have had so much fun,” I reply.
The silence extends between us, filled with memories of happier times.
Finally, I say, “You know being with Brent wasn’t as great as it looked, right?”
She nods softly. “I’m starting to figure that out.”
“And no matter how things look from the outside, I’m still figuring stuff out myself. Nick and I are far from a sure thing.”
She snorts. “I don’t know about that. I’ve seen the way he looks at you when you’re not paying attention.”
How does he look at me? I want to ask, but I also don’t want to twist the knife. Besides, my own heart is conflicted enough without Cheryl’s theories.
Thankfully, she doesn’t linger. Instead, she asks, “What should I do about Brent?”
At least that’s a problem I have an easy answer for. “Dump him,” I say. “Dump him immediately. He’s a cheating asshole who gets sloppy drunk constantly. The only upside is his money, and that’s definitely not enough to be worth the drawbacks.”
Cheryl bites her lip. “There is another guy I’ve had my eye on,” she says.
“A rebound is perfect,” I say. “Just as long as you’re happy.”
Cheryl looks at me for a long time and then before I realize it she flings herself into my arms one last time. Into my ear she whispers, “I didn’t deserve a friend like you.” Then, before I can say anything else, she bolts out of the door and back to the party.
She leaves me feeling stunned. Of all the things I’d expected out of this week, closure with Cheryl was absolutely nowhere on the list. I don’t quite know what to make of it. The emotions are too complicated to fall firmly into good or bad. I have so much history with her, and so much baggage.
Maybe I should get a therapist when I get home.
There’s a sharp knock on the door and then it opens a crack. Nick’s searching brown eyes appear and I almost melt in their gaze. Then I remember that I’d come back here in the first place to escape him.
“Evie—” he starts, coming into the room and closing the door behind him.
I cut him off. “No, wait. Let me explain.”
He looks like he wants to talk but he stops himself, allows me to go.
I open my mouth, still unsure of what I’m going to say. But as I start talking my words to Cheryl come back to me and pour out in a way I didn’t anticipate. “I’ve been really happy this week,” I say.
“Me too,” Nick agrees. His expression is unreadable and even though I don’t immediately continue he gives me time.
“I like you a lot. The sex is amazing.” I could do this forever. I stop the words before they escape this time. “Things are going really well so what’s the point of putting any labels on it?” I pause and he continues to stare at me with those eyes like melted chocolate.
“I didn’t mean to freak you out earlier,” I finish lamely. “It was a slip of the tongue.” Another long pause. “So casual?” I ask, my chest tight. The words sound flimsy but the question is now finally out there.
Nick’s expression remains the same. And then, like someone presses play on the remote that controls him, he reanimates. The corners of his eyes crinkle, his lips tug upward.
“That sounds good to me,” he says.
Of course it does. Nick isn’t a man who makes wild commitments to girls he barely knows. He’s definitely not one to fling around love. Maybe all along he’d only intended this to be through our wild European adventure. He’s certainly never said anything to the contrary.
Nick walks across the room slowly and wraps his arms around me. He kisses me once on the lips and then just holds me, as if sensing this is what I need right now. I rest my head against his powerful chest and settle for breathing him in. I’ve been going too fast, rushing forward, making assumptions.
The only thing I should be certain of is that this feels nice in the moment.
And that next week we’ll be going home.