Chapter Sixteen Adam #2
Loyalty. That’s what Billy prizes above everything else. And I have his.
I ignore the painful blisters my six-dollar boat shoes have given me. Pieces of the past day and a half skip around like a scratched record in my head.
The moment I walked into that restaurant and saw Eleanor sitting with Freddie and the guys, I remember thinking, Fuck me.
Partly because, you know, it was less than ideal for the person I was competing with to be one of the best A&R managers I know, never mind that she had a personal vendetta against me.
But also because she looked so fucking flawless in the low amber light that I wasn’t sure I’d be able to form coherent sentences around her, let alone make a decent pitch.
Finally getting to kiss her again outside the shoe store felt like the kind of moment people more talented than me write songs about. And it might be the last kiss I ever get from her.
The thought settles at the front of my mind with a certainty that suggests it’s nothing new, but something my subconscious has known for a while now:
I don’t want it to be our last kiss. I don’t want to have a last kiss with Eleanor at all.
I’m back on the Strip, close to my hotel but even closer to Eleanor’s.
I don’t overthink it, just let my shitty boat shoes carry me through the lobby of her hotel and into the elevator.
I’m disoriented for a moment when I reach her floor, trying to retrace my steps from this morning.
I hesitate in front of the door I’m only 90 percent sure is actually Eleanor’s.
After a deep breath, I knock.
“Hang on!” Eleanor’s voice calls from inside. Relief and nerves battle it out at the confirmation that I’m exactly where I need to be.
After a few moments of waiting, I lean a little closer, turning my ear toward the heavy hotel door. I can hear rustling, and then what I think is a muffled curse, and then footsteps.
“Adam?”
“Yeah.” I straighten and stuff my hands in my pockets, waiting for her to open the door. It occurs to me that she’s probably watching me through the peephole, and I don’t know where I’m supposed to look. My gaze flicks up to the little circle in the door, and I lift a brow.
The door swings open, revealing a wet-haired Eleanor, fresh from the shower. My gaze involuntarily scans her body, noting the way her T-shirt sticks to her damp skin, the way her nipples show through the fabric, and the thought pops into my head unbidden: No bra.
I clear my throat and gather my senses, focusing on her face instead of her bare legs.
“Hi.” It’s the best I can manage.
“Hi,” she says, a lilt in her voice that almost turns it into a question: What are you doing here?
“I, um.” My brows pull together. I’m a fucking idiot, and despite having ample opportunity to do so, I didn’t think through what I would say once I was actually standing here in front of her. “I sent a picture of my ID to Tyler, and he said we’re all set.”
She nods. “Yeah, he texted me too.”
Right. Of course he did. “Good. Yeah. I just wanted to make sure you were in the loop.”
Oh god. That doesn’t even make sense. I could’ve called for that, could’ve texted. Could have waited a couple hours and told her in person at the show.
“I sort of figured you’d still be at the brewery,” she hedges.
I shake my head. “I bailed pretty soon after you left.”
Her expression shifts into one I can’t name—somehow calculating and wary and pleased all at once.
“Actually, could I come in for a sec?” I ask before I lose my nerve completely.
“Yeah, sure.” Eleanor steps back, holding the door open. It’s moderately reassuring that she doesn’t hesitate, though I have to swallow thickly when the door snicks shut behind me.
Housekeeping has been through since this morning—the bed is pristine, the floor no longer scattered with discarded clothing.
The ends of Eleanor’s hair are still dripping, getting the shoulders of her shirt all wet. “I’m sorry—you were getting ready and I randomly showed up.”
She sticks her hands in her back pockets. “That’s okay. What’s up?”
I drag a hand over my jaw, scratching a bit at the scruff. I drop my hand and shake my head. “Look, I’m really glad we’re not going to be married much longer.”
Eleanor’s brow furrows. “Uh… yeah. Me too. That’s what you came here to say?”
“No. Hang on, shit.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and shuffle a half step closer to Eleanor. “What I’m trying to say is, I’m glad, but I’m also… I don’t want to go back to LA and pretend it never happened. I don’t want us to act like strangers. Or never see each other.”
Eleanor considers this for a moment. “You want to see each other?”
“I really liked getting to know you better today,” I tell her. “I want… more of that. I want to know you. And I hate to be the guy who waits until his fake marriage is over to finally admit how he really feels—”
“Right, everyone hates that fucking guy,” Eleanor says faintly.
“—but I kind of can’t stop thinking about you.”
Eleanor is standing close enough she has to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact with me, which makes her eyes look huge, especially the way her lashes are still wet and clumped together from the shower.
Her breath has gone shallow, chest and shoulders rising and falling faster than I’ve seen all day.
Her mouth twitches into a teasing smile. “Not sick of me yet?”
Slowly, I shake my head. “I missed you the moment you walked away.”
My gaze flickers around Eleanor’s face, taking in every microscopic shift in expression. I catch the moment her lips part, the flutter of her lashes. I brace myself when she draws in a deeper breath, tongue flashing out to wet her lips like she’s gearing up for something.
Still, it catches me by surprise when she swiftly closes the distance between us and presses her lush mouth to mine.
She lifts a hand to cup the back of my neck, drawing me closer.
One of mine slips into her still-wet hair, while the other finds her waist. The scent of her shampoo surrounds me—floral and intoxicating.
This kiss is more urgent than the others we’ve shared, and I feel a tug of arousal.
Neither of us pulls away, instead we move together, Eleanor stumbling backward until she bumps against the wall.
She gasps against my lips and my grip on her waist tightens.
My tongue slips into her mouth and finds hers and I drink in the soft sounds she makes on her exhales.
We kiss until we’re both a bit breathless, until Eleanor tips her head back, giving me an opportunity to drag my lips along the column of her throat and nip gently at the sensitive skin under her jaw.
Short nails dig into my back before she turns her head to catch my mouth in another kiss, looping her arms around my shoulders.
A groan is punched out of me when she arches her back, pressing her hips firmly against mine.
She must like that reaction, because she rubs herself against me again, a bit slower this time, and I lose my goddamn mind.
I grab on to her thighs with both hands and lift her up, which is not a move I’ve ever pulled off before, or frankly even been bold enough to attempt, but the impulse pays off when Eleanor wraps her legs around my waist and mumbles, “Fuck, that’s hot,” against my lips.
I voice my agreement with another low groan.
“Can we—” Eleanor cuts off when my teeth graze against her ear. She taps my shoulder, quick and eager. “Bed. Let’s go.”