14 Evie
14 Evie
Nha Trang, Vi ? t Nam
First, Riley kisses ?? c on the top of the head. Cherie plants a chaste kiss on Adam’s cheek. The venture capitalist blushes scarlet as Fen sticks
her tongue down his throat, then tells him loudly that he can keep her bra. For the memories. The kisses range from sultry to playful, but high on drinks and the excitement of the night, everyone is game. There’s a
kind of innocence to it all, like they really are thirteen and at a basement party again.
When it’s Evie’s turn to spin, the last of the group, she grabs the champagne bottle and gives it a forceful, flourishing
twist of the wrist. She’s the only one who hasn’t been kissed.
Riley makes a crooking motion toward the spinning bottle. “Let’s end on a high note.”
It continues to whoosh with a mind of its own. The group, excluding a broody-looking Adam, hoots gamely. But then the bottle
stops, as if jerked to a pause, right in front of Adam himself. Evie meets his gaze. The tightening of his jaw. A sharp intake
of breath.
Is her heart racing faster? Or is it just the adrenaline of the night, settling now into a place that feels decidedly un -innocent?
Everyone claps, oblivious to their discomfort. She feels as if she’s in an arena, fighting for her life. But it’s not her
life—it’s just a kiss. Right?
“Make it good, babe,” Fen tells her.
Could she refuse? Why would she? It doesn’t even have to be on the lips. Not kissing him would make it a bigger deal. She’s trying not to lick her lips. Not to blush. Definitely not imagining the rest
of the room disappearing, so it’s just him and her, surrounded by plush couches in the darkness, faraway strains of “My Heart
Will Go On” egging her fantasies.
“We’re not getting any younger,” Riley says crossly.
“Is it her first kiss?” someone whispers within earshot, much to Evie’s indignation.
“It is not! I am a champion kisser, thank you very much!” she protests.
Fen crosses her arms. “Prove it, hotshot.”
Evie crawls across the rug toward Adam. Why isn’t he budging? Does she have to do all the work here? Finally, she’s facing
him, riveted on his lips. She leans over, glad for that mint she’d snuck after the last cocktail. His eyes catch hers, sending
a flipping motion through her belly. It’s just a kiss. One little, measly, meaningless kiss.
One measly kiss that makes her lower belly tingle as if someone had released a net of pheromone-addled butterflies into it.
Totally normal, right?
And then, at the last minute, just before her lips touch his, he turns his head, leaving a column of cold air where his face
was. He stands, nearly toppling her. Her mouth meets floor instead. Carpet fuzz instead of sweet softness.
“Ugh!” she cries, wiping her lips. “Let a girl down gently, Quy ? n.”
At the same time, he announces, “This is ridiculous. It’s time to go back to the hotel.”
The rest of the group exchanges puzzled looks as Fen mutters, “Killjoy.”
But they gather their things and follow him to the front of the karaoke bar, where the cars are waiting. The mortification
seeps into Evie’s veins. Stupid, stupid. Was her breath awful ? Or was the prospect of locking lips with her just that repellent? It had seemed he was going to kiss her at the bánh mì
xíu m ? i stand. What had changed in a matter of days?
With a sinking feeling, she wonders if Adam has fallen for Talia. After all, he’s been attached to her side like a fanny pack on an octogenarian bingo player. Despite that rigid, emotionless exterior, he seems like a man with honor. Loyalty. So why didn’t he just... not play? Why humiliate her like that? She slides into one of the cars without checking to see who’s in there.
But of course, she nearly bumps into a glowering Adam on the seat, with Cherie and ?? c on the seats facing them. His hand rests an inch from hers in the tight quarters, his tall body folded over, and it’s hard
not to touch. But somehow they manage, though she feels the heat between their fingertips, the nearness of him. She avoids
his gaze, sure that he’s doing the same.
Luckily, ?? c babbles on for the entirety of the ride back to the huts. He’s detailing their upcoming flight to Hu ? , the imperial seat of the Nguy ? n dynasty, known for its deep-rooted history and sweeping landscapes. If Evie weren’t so flustered, she’d be listening. She’s
been waiting for a brush with history like that. But at the moment, she’s mostly trying to keep herself from bolting from
the car into the banks of the ocean from the sheer awkwardness of her proximity to a near-catatonic Adam.
Soon, the city lights give way to the dim stretch of the private beach where they’re staying. ?? c and Cherie are lodging closer to the north end of the beach—in separate quarters, Evie notes—so they get dropped off first.
?? c waves a newsboy cap at them before shutting the door. Then it’s just Adam and Evie, staring out opposite windows.
He breaks the silence. “I still can’t figure out if they’re siblings or lovers.”
Evie giggles. “I’m voting for siblings. Cherie can do better.”
“But his hats!”
Their laughter, sudden and so very welcome, cuts through the thick wedge of awkwardness between them. Why can’t it always
be this easy with him?
The driver pulls up to their row of huts, and Adam slides a tip over the seat rest. He grips Evie’s hand tightly as he helps
her out of the car. The pitch-dark night is studded with hazy clouds that obscure the stars and moon. Even the cabin lights
seem sparse and muted. There are few reflections on the water, and the air is still, almost as if it’s braced for a storm.
Something about being alone in the dark with Adam sends a thrill up Evie’s spine. His nearness draws her closer, even as she tries to slide away. She feels like she has to actively restrain her hand from reaching for his again. After just a few steps on the uneven ground, Evie manages to trip on a piece of kelp.
“Rude,” she mutters, kicking it with her sandal.
“Hey,” Adam protests, picking the stringy vegetation off his pants. “You threw seaweed at me. Talk about rude.”
“Sorry.” She doesn’t sound a bit sorry. “At least it wasn’t a hermit crab.”
“Small mercies.”
“Shoot, watch out for that dip in the sand. You’d think they would have motion-sensing lights or something. This is a hazard.”
“Let me walk you back to your hut.” She begins to protest, but then he says firmly, “Your shoes are ridiculous.”
“They are Louboutins,” she says haughtily at first. Then uncertainly, “Is that the one with the red soles? Fen let me borrow
them.”
“Yep, that’s the one.” Is that a hint of a smile on his shadowed face?
“Regardless, I can walk myself the few feet to my hut. I have a great sense of direction. Well, except for that time I confused
Indiana with Iowa and ended up on a very unexpected road trip to Muncie.”
“What did you find in Muncie?” Now he’s definitely smiling.
“A cheese shop that served olive-flavored Havarti.”
“Sounds delicious.”
“It was ! And there was this streetside troubadour who tried to hitchhike with me.”
“The beginning of a great love story?”
“Would have been, had he not been tempted by the all-you-can-eat mayonnaise festival one town over. I did make it to Iowa...
eventually.”
“And that was in your home country. Here you’ll probably wander into Thailand, which would really screw up the tour schedule.”
“As ever, a gentleman,” she says sarcastically.
In the faint light, she can see him stretching his hand to her. She starts to protest, but then his palm is flush against hers, fingers intertwined. Did he just rub her thumb with his? There’s an electric tingling in her hand now. Like the start of a fire, hot and wispy. A sensation that
makes you pay attention.
More , she wants to insist.
Though her hut isn’t far, the walk is slow going. He leads her along capably, and she just barely resists melting into the
solid strength of his body, his purposeful gait. He’s like the pied piper of clumsy, semi-inebriated women—only less creepy.
Stop it, Evie , she thinks sternly. You are not thirteen. You do not need to make out with just any Tom, Dick, or Adam.
“I’m not just any Adam,” he puts in, his voice tinged with amusement and just a touch of umbrage.
Evie clasps a hand to her mouth. Not again. She can’t seem to resist voicing whatever is on her mind around him. At first,
it was because she’d wanted to needle him. But now? He makes her comfortable enough to unleash even her strangest thoughts.
Somewhere in her mind, she hears Auntie H ? o’s mirth-filled chuckle.
He goes on. “Though maybe I need to hear more about this making-out thing.”
They’ve arrived at her hut, eyes searching for each other in the dark. She snatches her hand away, remembering the way he
humiliated her at the karaoke bar. He couldn’t even give her a demure peck without literally running from the room. And now,
when no one’s watching, he’s flirting with her like she’s going to fall all over him at the first flash of that (devastating)
smile? Cocky son of a weasel.
“No, you clearly do not want to hear about making out with me,” she says in a whispered hiss, trying not to disturb the other
guests staying nearby.
“I don’t?” There’s something behind his words now. Hot and sensuous, like a breath evaporating down her neck.
She snorts, ignoring the effect he has on her. “Don’t use that cheesy Leonard Cohen voice on me. You couldn’t get away fast enough in the karaoke bar.”
“That wasn’t—”
“It was just a game! I wasn’t expecting us to reenact that smooch from The Notebook or anything.”
“Good scene,” he says, sounding a bit distracted now. “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.”
Did he just step closer to her? She steps pointedly away. “Not that I care, but I saw that look on your face. You were disgusted.
It’s very clear you have no interest at all in—”
In an instant, his lips are on hers, interrupting her words, and it’s then that she really does melt. His kiss starts off tentative, exploratory, a kind of consent-taking. Are his lips really this soft? she thinks absently. He could be sponsored by ChapStick.
More. More of this.
He leans away, leaving just enough space to say, “I wasn’t disgusted. I just didn’t want to kiss you like this in front of a whole room. I didn’t want anyone but you to witness this. To see how much I wanted it.”
“Why not?” she asks in a small voice.
He growls. “If I started kissing you, I wouldn’t be able to fucking stop, Evie Lang.”
And he’s back, pulling lightly on her lower lip with his teeth, running his tongue across the seam of her lips. When she pulls
his head closer, pressing their faces together, the whole tempo of the kiss changes, like an ocean suddenly turned stormy.
He roughly backs her against the side of the hut. She can feel the knot of the wood, the press of his body. His lips are hot,
breath tasting just faintly of mint and sea breeze. Every inch of him, though she can’t see any of it, feels firm and muscled.
He just feels right .
Without thinking, she slides her tongue into his mouth, tangles it with his. It makes her breathless. They can’t stop touching,
kissing, letting their fingers explore the contours of each other’s face.
“Goddammit, Evie,” Adam rasps.
His hands tangle in her hair, pulling gently so her head falls back slightly, and her neck is exposed to him. With slow and deliberate movements, he runs his lips down the column of her throat, licking a trail of salt and sweetness that makes her belly clench.
“You taste so good,” he murmurs. “I want to lick you all over.”
She makes a sound somewhere between a sigh and a mew, and when she does, he presses her harder into the wall. She lifts one
leg, curling it around his hip, which makes him growl again in the most primal, intoxicating way.
“Yes,” she sighs, not realizing she’d said anything until it comes out. “Don’t stop.”
Don’t stop kissing, touching, making those animal sounds that melt every ounce of control she has left. Don’t stop holding me , she wants to say.
One of his hands presses flush against the side of the hut, next to her ear, while the other roves down to her hemline, where
the crimson dress rides up her curves. With an impatient movement, he lifts the hem of the skirt above her butt and begins
tracing the line of her thong, from its near-nonexistent back to the front, into the apex of her thighs. His fingers are so close to the molten wetness inside of her that her legs open involuntarily. Welcomingly. She’s panting for the release of
his touch. All he has to do is just slip his finger a little to the left, past the thin fabric of her underwear... One
tiny centimeter between this desperate moment and the release that only he can give.
He mutters, “I knew it would be like this. From the second I saw you, I knew that you would destroy every single ion of control
inside of me. I can’t get enough of you, Evie Lang.”
A surge of hot lust beats against her thighs. She hisses, half as a challenge and half as a plea, “Then take me. Take as much
as you want.”
He groans again, louder this time. She’s wild with wanting, each inch of her pleading for more. Her body feels like it’s taken
flight, and his touch is the only thing centering her, even as it frees her. He shifts and rips the fabric of her thong, and
then—
“Hey, watch out!” a distant voice calls.
A few feet down, there’s a slamming door. Loud noises fill the air suddenly, like a party is just letting out, a cacophony
diffusing into the night. There’s the clang of shattered glass, followed by laughter and shouting.
The spell breaks.
All at once, Evie and Adam look around them, finally taking note of where they are. The night is dark, but their eyes have
adjusted and they can see silhouettes of trees, lights flickering from other huts where guests are moving from room to room.
Anyone could have come out. Anyone could have witnessed them making out. And more. Abashed at the thought, they pull apart.
Evie can’t help the feeling of loss once his body heat separates from hers. It’s more primal than blocked lust. It’s as if
she’s lost a part of herself.
He backs away. His eyes shut down, turning from hers. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Oh.”
“You can get the rest of the way on your own?”
“I can?” She stares up at him with lust-fogged eyes.
“Home, I mean.”
What the hell? That’s it? How can he go from a smoldering demigod of dirty talk and unexpected tenderness to this cold, businesslike robot?
It’s like a switch has flipped and the world has changed around her.
Not trusting herself to speak, Evie nods slowly.
He clears his throat and gives her one last, unreadable look. “I’ll see you tomorrow, then.”
In a few long strides, he stalks away, his hands now clenched tightly at the sides of his body, his back rigid. He doesn’t
look back at her.
Evie fixes her dress. Gathers her torn underwear. Her heart won’t stop thudding. It’s so loud that she hardly hears anything
else as she walks into her hut and falls onto the bed, thinking of nothing but Adam’s hot breath, his tongue on hers. How
far they could have gone together. How far she still wants to go.
And for a second, it had seemed as if he felt the same. I can’t get enough of you, Evie Lang.
That lasted for all of a minute before he was running. Again. A wave of embarrassment makes her cover her face, even though
she’s alone.
Why should she be lusting after a damn coward? Unfortunately, her hormones haven’t gotten the we-hate-Adam-again memo. They’re
still singing with frustration, primed for release. Too bad that he seems entirely unequal to the job.
With a groan, she pulls a pillow across her face and wills her breath to slow down. But she’s afraid she can’t fight this
feeling anymore. The desperate, maddening wanting of him.