Chapter 14 Rodriguez #2
“Trust me?” I ask Juliette and I see her eyes widen but I don’t give her time to answer, I just tilt her face up and kiss her.
Her entire body goes still. For a second I think I’ve massively miscalculated, she’s going to shove me away and this whole thing’s going to blow up in my face.
Then she kisses me back.
Her hands find my chest, slide up to my shoulders, then around the back of my neck and I feel her nails dig into my hair. Her mouth opens under mine and suddenly this isn’t about Garrett or performing or any of the reasons I told myself it was okay to do this.
It’s just us.
Someone bumps into us hard and we break apart. She’s staring at me, lips swollen, chest heaving against mine.
I’ve kissed girls before. A lot of girls. None of them made me forget where I was.
“Is he still looking?” she asks breathlessly.
I don’t even check. Don’t care. “If I say no, do I have to stop kissing you?”
Her eyes search mine for a long moment. Then she pulls me back down and kisses me this time.
This one’s different. Deeper. She presses her entire body against mine, every line of her flush against me, and I back her up against the nearest wall because I need something solid or I’m going to forget we’re in public.
This is—fuck. Fuck, this is stupid. We’re so screwed.
I don’t care. I don’t care at all.
My hands slide down her sides, pulling her closer. She makes a sound against my mouth, not quite a moan but close, and it takes everything I have not to completely lose it right here.
Someone wolf-whistles nearby and reality crashes back in.
We break apart, both breathing hard. Her hands are still in my hair. Mine are still on her waist, and we’re just staring at each other like we’re trying to figure out what just happened.
She reaches up and wipes the corner of my mouth with her thumb, realizes what she did, laughs nervously. “Sorry, I—lipstick.”
“Don’t care.”
“That was—” she starts.
“Yeah.”
“We should—”
“Probably.”
Neither of us moves.
Then Olivia appears, squealing. “Oh my god, you guys are so cute! I totally just got that on video!”
Juliette steps back like she’s been shocked. “You what?”
“Don’t worry, it’s super romantic.” Olivia’s already walking away, phone in hand.
Great. There’s video evidence now. Perfect.
“We should get some air,” I say, because if I stay on this dance floor I’m going to kiss her again and I need to get my shit together first.
She nods, not quite meeting my eyes.
We push through the crowd to a side door leading to a patio. It’s freezing out here, but I need it to clear my head.
“That was—” Juliette starts again.
“For Garrett. Yeah. Had to sell it.”
“Right. Selling it.” She’s hugging herself against the cold. “We were pretty convincing.”
“Yeah. We were.”
The silence is loaded with everything we’re not saying.
“We should probably practice,” she says suddenly. “Kissing. We should practice. In case we need to do it again.” She’s still not looking at me. “For the wedding. To make it believable.”
This is a bad idea. This is the worst idea. Say no. Save yourself Rodriguez, my mind is screaming at me.
“Yeah. Okay. Practice.”
We head back inside and I order a car because if we stay here any longer I’m going to do something really stupid.
She’s quiet on the ride back to the hotel. Every time the car hits a bump, Juliette’s leg presses against mine and I’m aware of every single point of contact.
In the elevator, she finally looks at me. “That was pretty quick thinking. The kissing.”
“Yeah. It was.”
“So you agree, we should practice right?”
“For sure. Definitely don’t want people to think we’re not good at this.”
We walk to our room in silence. My hands are shaking when I pull out the keycard to unlock the door.
Inside, we both just stand there for a moment.
“So,” she says, finally. “We should probably—”
I kiss her. Just go for it before I can talk myself out of it.
She responds immediately, pressing into me, and I back her against the door, one hand braced above her head, the other on her waist.
“Just practicing,” she murmurs against my mouth.
I tilt her head back, deepen the angle, and she melts against me like she’s been waiting for this. Her hands slide under my shirt, nails scraping lightly against my skin. I groan and she makes that sound again, the one going to haunt me for the rest of my life.
My hands find the hem of her dress. Start sliding up her thigh, feeling the smooth skin, the muscle underneath.
She breaks away, breathing hard. “Wait.”
I freeze immediately and step back. “Too much?”
“No. I just—” She’s looking at me, chest heaving, lips swollen. “Is this real for you?”
“What?”
“This. Us. Tonight.” She’s not letting me look away. “Is it real or are we still pretending?”
Oh.
Oh shit.
“JuJu.” I step closer, frame her face with both hands. “I haven’t been pretending.” I swallow hard. “Not since—maybe not since we got on the plane. I don’t know. Maybe longer.”
“Rodriguez—”
“I’m serious. I’ve wanted this, wanted you, since September. You think I’d fly across the country and fake-date you through your sister’s wedding if I wasn’t—” I stop. “If this didn’t mean something?”
She’s staring at me, processing what I’ve just admitted to her.
“So yeah. It’s real for me.” I brush my thumb across her cheek. “Is it real for you?”
She opens her mouth then closes it. Her eyes are searching mine like she’s looking for the answer there.
“It could be,” she finally says. “I think—I think it could be.”
Could be.
Not is. Could be.
That hesitation, that tiny gap between what I feel and what she’s ready to feel—that’s everything.
I let my hands drop and step back.
“Then I’m going to wait,” I say.
“Wait for what?”
“For you to catch up.” I pull off my shirt and toss it aside. “I want this, JuJu. I want you. But I want you to be sure. Not ‘could be’ sure. Actually sure.”
“Rodriguez—”
“When you’re ready, when you know it’s real for you too, I’ll be here.” I sink to the edge of the bed, looking up at her. “But I’m not doing this until you’re all in. You deserve better and I’m not settling for anything less than you being absolutely certain about this.”
She’s standing there, still against the door, looking at me like I’m speaking another language.
“You’re serious.”
“Completely.”
“You’re going to, what, just wait? While we share a bed for five more nights?”
“Yep.”
“That’s—” She stops. Looks at the floor. “What was I saying?”
“That I’m insane.”
“Right. That’s—that’s actually kind of insane.”
“Probably. But you’re worth waiting for.” I lie back on the bed, hands behind my head, trying to look more relaxed than I feel. “Now come here. I’m exhausted and you’re still in that dress.”
“I need to change.”
“So change.”
She comes out of the bathroom ten minutes later in sleep shorts and a t-shirt, makeup off, hair down. She looks younger like this. Softer. More like herself.
She climbs into bed, staying on her side at first. Then, slowly, she moves closer.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
“For what?”
“For waiting. For not pushing. For all of it.”
I pull her against me, her head finding that spot on my chest where she ended up last night, like her body knows where it belongs now. “Anytime, Ice Queen.”
We lie there in the dark and I try not to think about how much I want her. How much it’s killing me to be this close and not closer.
But this is right. She needs time to figure out what she wants. And I need her to choose me, not just fall into something because we’re playing pretend and got carried away.
“Rodriguez?” Her voice is small in the darkness.
“Yeah?”
“I’m glad you’re here.”
“Me too, JuJu. Me too.”
She falls asleep first, her breathing evening out against my chest. I lie there staring at the ceiling, feeling the weight of her against me, the softness of her hair under my chin.
We crossed a line tonight. Not a huge line, but a line.
And we still have to get through days of touching and kissing and pretending in front of her family.
Except now we both know it’s not entirely pretending anymore.