27 #2
"I’m your babysitter, aren’t I?" I say, dripping sarcasm. "And I’m not letting you fool around with the first bitch who cops a feel."
"You’re jealous, you dumbass!"
She shoves my chest with her palm. No strength. Her knees buckle. I grab her by the arms. I hold her up, pressed close. The plastic stall creaks. I get hungry for her and regret it at the same time. It pisses me off that I want her. It pisses me off more not to kiss her.
We’re inches apart. Breathing hard. The air is hot and heavy.
Her pupils shine. My nails leave soft marks on her.
I don’t look away. The space is ridiculous.
A door that doesn’t latch right, damp walls, muffled music.
She smells like tequila and mint. I’ve got her in my hands and I hold back. I do a lousy job of it.
Then she gives me a crooked smile. Danger in her mouth. Mischief in her eyes.
"What’s the deal, Nat? All that security-guard act, all those lectures… and when it counts, you’re a coward."
"It’s not that, for fuck’s sake." My voice comes out rough. "Don’t push me, Alaska. Please."
"Of course it is." She presses in closer. "You won’t touch me and you won’t let anyone else touch me either. Jealous and a coward."
I go mute for a second. I could give her a speech.
Tell her again that her sister will have my head if she catches me.
That I’ve been sleeping like crap for weeks because of her.
That I picture her and wake up sweating.
That right here, right now, I’m shaking.
That I want her and she turns me on. That I’m trying to behave and I’m failing miserably.
She keeps going, sharp.
"If you’re not gonna fuck me, someone will. I’m not about to become a nun, you know?"
I grab her harder, pin her to the wall without hurting her. Notes of alcohol and sweat. Red lips, quick breaths. My stomach tightens. My mouth waters. I brush her wrist with my thumb. I tug her just enough so she hears me.
"Shut up, Alaska. You don’t know shit."
"I know plenty." She smiles with bad intentions. "If you don’t want me, there’ll be someone else. There’s always someone else."
"Don’t get cocky. It’s not that I don’t want you. I want to live. I need Irina’s permission."
"I don’t give a damn about her permission," she shoots back, cocky. "I want you. Now. Right now."
My discipline snaps. I look at her mouth.
She looks at mine. There’s no distance. The wall steals the space.
My hand trembles and I squeeze her harder.
She doesn’t complain. She rolls her hips into me, shameless.
Her thigh brushes mine. My brain disconnects.
Morals exit stage left. A nervous laugh slips out of me.
"You’re a pain in the ass," I whisper. "An irresistible one."
"Prove it."
I bite my lip. I close my eyes for a beat. Open them. I’m here. I’m an adult. She’s an adult. I brush a lock stuck to her temple. My mouth begs for hers. Her scent fills my nose. My pulse hammers. I lean in. I stop a breath away. I give her the lead.
"Say you want it," I murmur.
"I want it," she answers without hesitation. "I want you."
And with that word, my defenses drop. Game over for playing fair. She lets out a soft moan. She grabs a fistful of my hoodie. My hand goes to her waist.
And then it happens. No warning—she folds, clutches her stomach, goes white, and pukes. Right onto my boots.
"Fuck, Alaska." I step back, swallowing my gag reflex by sheer will.
I can handle blood, fights, bones cracking when they break, and shitstorms with a smile, but puke wrecks me. I grip the doorframe, close my eyes for a second, and loop the mantra: don’t puke, don’t puke, hold it together.
She curls in on herself, her legs shaking, mascara streaking with tears into a sticky mess. I curse under my breath. Even so, I crouch and hold her hair back with a firm hand, taking shallow breaths so I don’t inhale the smell.
"Done?" I growl in her ear. "You okay? You hanging in there?"
She sags against me, retching in a way that slices away my patience.
My heart’s going a mile a minute, skin hot, and this weird anger mixes with the urge to take care of her and the urge to slam my forehead into the wall to reset.
And yeah, through all the stench, her perfume still slips in, and I get a fucked-up urge to kiss the nape of her neck. Not the time. She’s wrecked.
When she finally gets it all out, I haul her up and out of the stall with an arm around her waist, ignoring the giggles and whispers from the girls outside. One of them is filming. Another pinches her nose. I’m red, yeah, but not from embarrassment—pure, quiet fury.
I plant her at the sink and turn the water on full blast. I rinse her face and she barely protests, just wobbles. She looks at me, drunk and wrecked, with a crooked pride that tightens my neck. I step back for a second, breathe, wet the nape of her neck again.
Water runs down her cheeks; her makeup streaks in gunky lines into the basin. I hold her and feel the vibration of her crying. My stomach is at its limit, but my body doesn’t move. I stay. I hold.
"Come on, party’s over. We’re going home."
"Home? That mansion isn’t my home."
I bite my tongue. The line hits me dead center. She drops her head and a sob slips out that she tries to cover with a smile. She can’t.
"I don’t have a home, Nat. Never have."
She pulls halfway away and pushes me with shaking hands.
"Alaska, enough. Let’s go, period."
"Don’t tell me what to do! You’re not my girlfriend!"
I hate seeing her like this, but I hate watching her lose herself even more. I grip her arms harder. I dig my fingers in just enough so she feels me.
"No, I’m not your girlfriend," I say, right on the edge. "And it fucking kills me. But I’m getting you out of here in one piece. Even if you tell me to fuck off."
She struggles, whimpers, sways. The brunette from before pokes her head in with a bad-joke smirk. I shoot her a look and she vanishes without a peep. Around us, phones up, limp giggles, cheap gawking. I don’t care.
"Let go of me!" Alaska yells, booze-rough. "I don’t want to go, I don’t want to! Fuck!"
I haul her up and pull her into me. She kicks and curses between sobs, thumping my shoulder with soft fists.
"Enough, Alaska," I whisper right in her ear. "Stop, please."
I feel her hot breath against my collarbone and a shiver runs down my back. I could kiss her forehead, I could tell her I’ve wanted her since the first night, I could lose myself in her mouth and let the bathroom explode. I don’t. Not today. Not like this.
I get her out and people step aside. The music is thundering out there and I barely register it.
I only hear Alaska, faint, dozing against my chest. I take her straight to the exit, dodging busybodies, shoving hands away, fending off cameras poking in.
I stop at the door, shift her weight, sweep her hair back.
"Easy, shorty," I say, gentle. "Tonight: shower, water, two ibuprofen. Tomorrow we can argue, tomorrow I’ll smile at your sister and pretend I don’t want to sink my teeth into your mouth."
She huffs, half laugh, half cry, fingers digging into me.
"You’re a pain in the ass, Nat."
"And you’re a terrible temptation," I whisper.
We bail. Party’s over—the drama, the sweat, the bangers.
At the club door, I’m grateful for the quiet; the pre-dawn air hits me and clears my head a little. Luna pops up instantly, phone up, hawk-eyed. She sees Alaska half hanging off my arm and lets out a whistle.
"Holy shit… what a sight."
"I’m taking her," I tell her, straight. "By taxi. The car’s in Vallecas. Tomorrow we’ll figure out who goes to fetch it."
"Okay. I’ll close up here." She taps my shoulder like a friend who gets it. "You got this, boss."
Her eyes cut right through me. She clocks everything. She doesn’t say anything else. Good.
I hoist Alaska as best I can. She hooks herself around my neck, warm, heavy, gorgeous. I drag her to a cab. The driver side-eyes me, that jackpot-night look, but shuts up when I give him the address. I slam the door with relief. Silence. Engine, neon, Madrid blurring by without shame.
The ride drags on. Almost an hour of sweet torture.
Alaska collapses against me and takes over my side, my chest, my life.
Her breathing is off; she smells like booze, hot skin, and club air.
She curls into my shoulder without asking.
I give myself permission and wrap her up.
Firm. I hold her. My hand shakes and I still stroke her hair, slow, hungry and tender.
She was so close. I was close. If she hadn’t thrown up, I’d have devoured her right there. I’m not going to last much longer. I don’t want to. My body wants her. My head slams the brakes. Goddammit, Alaska.
I lower my mouth to her ear. I speak soft.
"Alaska… I love you. I’m going to try. I swear. I need time."
She doesn’t answer. She’s asleep. She breathes and warms my neck. I keep going, because it burns inside me—either I say it or I burst.
"I’m loyal to Irina. I owe her a lot. I don’t want to fail her. I want her to accept it, to approve it, to celebrate it. I need time for that to happen. But I promise you one thing..." I squeeze her arm. "Nat never lies. Never."
I close my eyes for a second. It stings to say it and it calms me at the same time. I let it out and I’m breathless, but more alive. The cabbie coughs and I laugh to myself. I lift Alaska’s leg a little to unhook her heel and press a silent kiss to her temple.
We get to the mansion. Almost four. Silent garden, massive door, lights low. Julia opens the door in a silk robe—eyes cold enough to cut, hands soft enough to heal. She looks at me, looks at Alaska. She doesn’t ask. She eases her out of my arms with care.
"I’ll take care of her," she says, curt and steady.
She disappears with her down the hall. I stay in the foyer, unmoving for a few seconds. My words buzz in my throat. Time. That’s what I have. That’s what I’m missing. That’s what I’m going to fight for.
I send Luna a voice note: "We made it. Go me. Don’t let me fuck this up." She replies with three hearts and a little devil. I smile. I breathe. I touch my wrist where I can still feel Alaska’s skin. It burns. I’m into it. It scares me, and it makes me feel alive.
Happy birthday, Alaska. I owe you a whole night—no cabs, no secrets, no brakes. And I’m going to collect with you.