Just for Tonight
EASTON
It’s been twenty-four hours since the kiss, and Riley has practically vanished. She skipped dinner last night and never came down for breakfast this morning.
I told myself she’d missed breakfast because she slept in. Yet, the truth was there, just beneath the surface.
Regardless, she’s had a hell of a week. She’s been trending across every gossip site in the country, and those photos were clearly the final straw. She cried herself into the kind of exhaustion that only sleep can fix.
The kindest thing I can do is leave her alone.
At least, that's what I tell myself at eight in the morning.
By two in the afternoon, I’ve stopped buying my own bullshit.
Of course it’s because of the kiss. The kiss I can’t fucking stop thinking about, by the way.
She has not come down for water, or even for her morning coffee. The woman who has spent two mornings making me coffee before I'm out of bed has not made a sound.
I go up around four. My heart races the closer I get to the door.
Maybe it’s the wrong time? I should give her some space to process what happened. What should have never happened.
But even with these harrowing thoughts, my legs still move forward. The need to know she’s fine is far greater, and more punishing.
I knock once, lightly. I hear nothing, so I knock again.
No response.
The fear is immediate and stupid. She ran. She found a way.
But I’ve been home all day.
“Riley…” Her name leaves my lips in a broken plea, my fingers curling around the door knob.
I push the door open.
She's there, on the floor. At first, I heave a sigh of relief. My heart slows, and my eyes watch.
She’s sitting on the rug with her back against the foot of the bed, headphones in, the James Hadley Chase paperback open on her thigh, a notepad on her knee that she’s been writing in.
Oblivious to my presence, she keeps scribbling and I stand there, just watching.
She’s in another of my t-shirts. One I last saw in the laundry room, and some tiny knitted shorts she picked at Valentina’s. Her hair is in its usual messy bun, a few stray strands about, and she slowly but casually bobs her head to whatever she’s listening to.
I find myself smiling before I register it.
She looks good. Too good to not be happy. Too good to be locked up and denied the beauty of the life she wants.
Fierce rage hits me, and my palms ball into fist.
But I’m caught off-guard when she stretches, revealing her curvy toned legs, and when she raises her arms, the tee slips off one shoulder, showing off the smooth creamy skin.
I’m instantly lost in the sight.
My throat bobs, and I’m tossed into the moment for the umpteenth time since it happened. The way her hands had rounded my neck to pull me closer, my nostrils flooded by her sweet floral scent.
I’m still lost in my fantasy when she looks up. Our eyes lock.
She pulls one earbud out.
“Hi…” the loveliest smile follows.
Okay. So maybe she hasn’t spent every waking second obsessing over that kiss the way I have.
Good.
That’s good.
Exactly how it should be.
I’m relieved.
“Hi.”
She sees me hovering by the door and waves me in.
“How long have you been there?”
My eyes roam her entire being, subconsciously.
“Just a few minutes.”
She takes off the second headphone. “Sorry, about this. Found them in the drawer and wanted to escape reality for a bit.”
I’m sitting beside her now, our shoulders a mere inch apart.
“You good?”
She closes the book over a finger. “Much better.”
She looks up at me, and that radiant smile appears again, bright enough to warm the entire room.
A minute later, it fades.
Something flickers in her eyes. Not regret exactly. Something softer. More complicated. An emotion I can't quite identify before she looks away.
“I’m making dinner,” I announce, suddenly needing to steer us toward safer territory.
One eyebrow lifts. “You can cook?”
“I can grill chicken without poisoning anyone.” I shrug. “Mostly.”
“That’s right.” Her mouth twitches. “Remind me to keep 911 on speed dial.”
I shake my head and rise to my feet.
“I love a good challenge. Dinner will be ready by six. Come down when you’re hungry?”
“Sure.”
I walk towards the door.
“And Easton?” I’m looking at her before I can think twice. “Thank you.”
A nod is all I can manage before I close the door behind me.
***
I'm pulling the chicken off the heat when I hear her on the stairs.
I plate the food.
“This looks edible.”
“Think I could impress Gordon Ramsey?”
“Man, don’t get ahead of yourself.” She lightly taps my shoulder and brushes past me.
She takes her plate, and I watch the first taste with bated breath. A smile consumes her face.
“Ouu… you did good. Freaking surprised me!”
She goes for another taste, beaming. I take the seat across from her and dig into my plate, but I can’t keep my eyes off her.
“If we’re going to be indoors for the week, we need to find something to keep you occupied, don’t you think?” I say, and she lifts her head.
“Well, I’m open to exploring. But you’re right.” She tilts her head looking around.
“What are your interests? We can start from that.”
She sets her fork down. “I don’t…” She licks her lips. “I don’t have any…”
I see it in her eyes. She’s still letting him control her mind. So I rephrase it.
“Before Preston. What did you do that was yours?”
“Photography.” The response is fast and so is the instant switch. A fond smile spreads across her face. “I had this camera in college that my brother had gifted me. I shot everything. I was even going to do it for real at one point.”
Now, that’s what I’m talking about. Riley Brooks in her element. I’m intrigued by her excitement over the topic.
“What happened?”
Just like that, we’re back to the part of her still trying to escape the mental captivity he held over her for so long.
“Preston called it cute.” She picks up the fork and stabs a piece of chicken on her plate but never raises it to her lips. “I don’t even remember the exact conversation. I just remember that one day I was working on a portfolio and a few months later I was not.”
I don't say anything for a second. When I speak again, it’s with the conviction of a man who has seen this woman and has utmost trust in her abilities and what she can build for herself.
“You should pick it back up.”
She looks at me, and slowly shakes her head. “It’s been… years, and I’m rusty. Can’t handle a camera anymore. It’s…” she smiles faintly. “It’s too late.”
“It’s never too late, Riley. And who says you have to be professional about it? Explore it as a hobby. You have the whole week indoors. You have your phone. If you ask me, I’ll say that’s enough to begin.”
She looks at me for a long beat and doesn’t say anything. She brings the fork to her lips, and I watch the soft supple flesh wrap around the cutlery. And just like that, my line of thought assails me. All I see… remember, is the feel of her soft lips against mine.
The gasp, her hands around my throat…
“Movie after dinner?”
“Umm… y-yeah,” I’m pulled back to the present to see her plate is cleared, and she’s taking it to the sink.
In no time, I clean up my plate, and she insists on doing the dishes while I rinse.
Half an hour later, we end up on the couch.
She pulls a blanket from the chair and arranges it across both of our laps without asking. I queue up some old action movie I have seen seventeen times so I don't have to follow it.
She tucks her feet up. The side of her thigh ends up pressed against mine, and the movie begins.
A few minutes in, she looks at me.
“Do you mind if I turn off the lights?”
“Whatever you want, sweetheart.”
She’s on her feet and crossing the room before I can say another word.
The overhead light clicks off, plunging the room into a soft darkness broken only by the glow of the television.
A moment later, she returns and settles beside me on the couch.
Her hand finds the blanket, pulling it up to her chest. She shifts to get comfortable, and her fingers accidentally brush mine.
My gaze snaps to her.
She doesn’t seem to notice. Her attention is fixed entirely on the movie.
I tell myself to look away.
Instead, I keep watching.
In the dim light, she looks relaxed in a way I haven't seen before. At home.
She leans farther into the couch and carefully tucks her feet in. One foot brushes against my thigh, and I instinctively reach for it.
She tries to pull it away.
“It’s okay. Just be comfortable,” I stretch her foot until it’s across my thigh and she leans closer, her head now an inch away from my shoulder. Her eyes return to mine with a light smile.
“Much better?”
She nods.
I let her be, still holding her foot. My attention finally returns to the movie, and the last thing I recall is Riley’s leg twitching again. Sleep whisks me away.
I don’t remember closing my eyes. All I know is, I wake up to her weight resting on me, her addictive fragrance wafting into my nostrils and I greedily inhale.
The movie has come to an end and the credits are rolling. The room is lit only by the blue wash of the television, and there is a woman in my lap.
Riley.
Straddling me. Both hands on my chest.
The blanket gone, the t-shirt I gave her riding up on her thighs to reveal the tiny shorts she has on. Her palms are resting on my shoulder, hair now blanketing her face as she tries to shake me awake. She’s very gentle with it, saying my name in a quiet, apologetic voice.
“Easton. Hey…”
“Hey…”
Our eyes meet in the darkness, hers glowing.
“Sorry. You fell asleep. I was going to walk you upstairs, but you are very large and I'm very small, and I think I overestimated my logistics.”
I laugh. It’s groggy from sleep, and tired too but I can’t help it.
The image of this woman, who weighs about a hundred and fifteen pounds, attempting to haul my six foot two ass up a flight of stairs, is the funniest thing I have heard in a week.
She rolls her eyes. The corner of her mouth twitches.
“Well, you’re awake now.” She taps my shoulders once more. “Come on, it’s bed time.”