Chapter Twenty One #3
I can’t remember why I hated him. So he likes his music.
So he uses all the hot water. Cold showers are good for hair growth and opening up the pores.
He’s doing me a favor, I decide, running a hand through my glossy hair.
Reid catches my arm, pulling it back to wind around his neck.
My fingers splay into his white hair, nails dragging through the longer length at the back of his head.
In response, his mouth presses against my neck and if I wasn’t so drunk, I’d have been embarrassed at the groan that escapes me at that briefest contact.
He’s everywhere. Awakening goosebumps across my stomach and chest, drawing desire to the point of contact between his lips and his cock grinding into my ass.
Cracking my lids, Laura remains in my eye line, although her features begin to blur in my eyes. I know when she’s winning by the raise of her arms into the air, and the bounce of her yellow hair bobbing up and down. She’s happy, she’s blossoming. And she doesn’t need me anymore.
“Meet me upstairs in five minutes?” I turn my head to mumble.
Gray eyes capture mine, hazed but intense.
His cheeks are slightly flushed, his mouth parted.
Swallowing, Reid gives me a single nod and reluctantly withdraws his hands from my body.
I almost whimper at the loss, cold skating across my skin despite the heat plastered to my chest. I extract myself fully, taking a red cup with me as I move away.
One unsteady step at a time, I navigate the kitchen, then the hallway, ducking and weaving through those dancing in every available space.
The thrum of loose ambitions sinks pleasantly into my psyche, my hand trailing the railing as I climb the stairs.
Tipping the cup to my lips, I sway and almost fall back, but somewhere I manage to regain my balance and make it to the top without incident.
The hallway upstairs tilts slightly to the left, or maybe that’s just me.
The music is muffled here, reduced to a distant pulse beneath the murmur of voices and occasional laugh leaking through closed doors.
The carpet feels too soft under my boots, swallowing the sound of my steps as I drift forward numbly.
The air is warmer up here, thick with perfume, sweat and something unquestionably intimate.
I reach for the nearest door handle, twisting it without knocking, and finding it occupied.
A startled gasp meets me, followed by a low curse as I slam the door shut again.
The second door yields a similar result, although the two bodies tangled on the edge of a bed pay me no mind.
The third is actually locked. Tossing my empty cup aside, I raise my hands and applaud loudly.
Although my appreciation of drunken logic is short lived, because my options are becoming limited. Briefly leaning against the wall, the cool paint a balm against my overheated skin, I turn my head to look at the door at the end of the hall.
I don’t want to go in there. Not really.
That room holds too much history tangled between leather and dark wood.
But I also don’t want to go back to my dorm tonight, knowing my apprehension stopped me from being reckless, from feeling alive, if only for ten minutes.
That’s the whole reason I asked Thiago to take a night off from being my personal, virtual bodyguard.
Sweet, caring Thiago. He sees the best in me.
He thinks I’m worthy of his devotion, but I knew coming here would unravel that.
I knew between the versions of the popular, carefree girl I used to be and the traumatized, broken woman I am now, that I couldn’t trust myself.
Regardless of whatever other regrets come out of tonight, I couldn’t deal with his disappointment in me.
The alcohol pushes me to move, closing the distance until my hand settles on the handle and I push it wide open.
The quiet inside is almost jarring. Lamplight casts the room in amber shadows, glinting off polished shelves and the glass decanter on the desk.
For a split second, I think the room might be empty. It isn’t.
Everest is seated in the large leather chair behind his desk as if he’s been there all night.
As if this entire house exists purely as background noise to whatever private world he occupies.
His feet are propped casually on the edge of the desk, ankles crossed, a crystal tumbler of dark whiskey cradled loosely in his hand.
The liquid catches the light as he tilts it slightly, watching it swirl in lazy circles.
His shirt is loosely buttoned, the collar popped open, the fabric strained just enough across his chest to make it clear he dressed for the party but shed the formality hours ago.
The sleeves are rolled carelessly to his forearms, veins visible beneath flawless skin.
He doesn’t look surprised to see me. If anything, he looks amused.
His unhurried gaze starts at my boots and slowly drags upward, taking in every detail until it reaches my face.
My breathing stutters slightly, but I know better than to let it show.
Instead, I lock my knees and roll my shoulders back, tilting my chin up just enough to appear composed.
“Well, hello lover,” Everest purrs, lowering his feet from the desk and setting the glass down. His eyes are darker than usual, heavy-lidded and far too sensual as his mouth curves into a knowing smile. “Back for round two, after all?”