Chapter 18
Eighteen
Nothing New (feat. Phoebe Bridgers) — Taylor Swift
CALLIOPE
I was drunk.
That was why someone was knocking at the door of my hotel room.
Because I made bad decisions when I was drunk.
Like calling Jasper to come to Jupiter those months ago, thinking he was still welcome in my bed, letting him know exactly where I was, where my family was.
Yes, he could’ve known before I called, could’ve found out with a few taps of a keyboard or one phone call.
But willingly letting him set foot in Jupiter felt like a sin.
And I’d already sinned enough when it came to Jasper Hayes.
But it wasn’t him I was bringing into my bad decisions.
“Hi.” I gripped the door, taking in Elliot. He was in another sweater, a cream one this time, cargo pants, and his beloved Birkenstocks. His eyes ran over me much the same way I had him.
My hair was down, my signature bun hurting my head unlike it ever had before.
I’d kicked off my heels and the blouse I’d been wearing, so I was in a silk camisole and a skirt which was unzipped partially since it felt uncomfortable against my midsection.
All of my custom-made clothing suddenly felt suffocating.
Likely, I didn’t look great.
But Elliot drank me in like I was a Victoria’s Secret model.
He clutched the back of my neck, tugging me in for a quick, hard, close-mouthed kiss.
I sank into his embrace without thinking, all the reasons I had solidified into my mind for staying away from Elliot were gone in a puff of smoke. To be fair, they had been nothing but dust by the fourth martini.
After four martinis, I was nothing but a hedonistic beast, driven by selfish needs without thought to the consequences.
Hence why I was pressed against a hard body that smelled of the ocean.
And because I was four martinis deep and horny and I wanted to escape anything beyond sex, I tried to deepen the kiss.
Elliot didn’t let me.
He gripped my shoulders, pulling me back to rake his eyes over me.
“I haven’t been shot again.” I was being smarmy, not slurring my words because I wasn’t a lightweight. I could’ve put together a board proposal for a Fortune 500 right then if I’d needed to. I had in the past.
“You’re drunk,” Elliot deduced, as though I didn’t betray the outward signs beyond a disheveled appearance. I could’ve tasted like vodka too, I supposed. But it wasn’t uncommon for me to taste like vodka.
Okay, so there were a lot of signs pointing to the conclusion that I was drunk. It wouldn’t take more than a curious glance to pick up on that. And Elliot looked at me with a fuck of a lot more than a curious glance.
“Yeah,” I admitted, not seeing the point in lying. “Well, not technically. I don’t get drunk. I have an excellent constitution.” My point was weakened by the large hiccup I punctuated the sentence with.
I frowned at such a pedestrian gesture. It normally took at least four more martinis to get me to that level. I tried to remember the last time I ate. Even on my meager diet, I usually lined my stomach with some kind of protein before drinking more than two martinis.
Elliot didn’t argue with me, which was wise. Instead, he closed the door and led us into the suite.
Even though it was just me, I’d checked into the nicest room in the hotel. Because I was a snobby bitch, used to buying the best, thinking that all the opulence I surrounded myself with would make the ends justify the means.
Spoiler alert: Being alone in a penthouse was just as lonely as being in a room at a Motel 6, if not more.
All of the loneliness I’d felt while being in the empty suite while alone dissipated as Elliot glanced around it.
He didn’t seem overly impressed, though his gaze lingered on the view before he led me over to the hotel phone.
He hadn’t let go of me since I’d opened the door, as if he feared I was going to go somewhere. I wanted to tease him about it, but I felt as if I might very well float away into nothingness if he did let me go.
I didn’t even ask him who he was calling when he put the phone to his ear, I was too busy studying the contours of his profile.
Everything about him was perfect. Even the rough stubble covering his jaw, the perfect shade, not too light, not too dark.
No bald patches. If I squinted, I could catch a couple of grays, somewhat camouflaged by the dirty blond.
“I’m looking to order room service, please.” His low rumble punctured my thoughts, along with the accompanying good manners that didn’t surprise me. I hadn’t even realized that he wasn’t holding the room service menu.
“Yeah, one of everything, please,” he continued with that pleasant tenor, those manners.
Since when did I find manners sexy on a man?
“Yep, everything.” He nodded. “And some waters, and a Diet Coke, please.” I watched his long, sandy eyelashes during a pause. “Room 531, thanks.”
He hung up, and I stared at him.
“ Everything on the menu?” I scoffed.
He nodded. “I wasn’t sure what you felt like, and I don’t have a crowbar handy to pry it out of you. I’m hungry too.”
I pursed my lips to swallow my smile. “Do you know how wasteful and not to mention expensive everything on the menu is?”
“I’m aware of how wasteful and expensive it is.” He gave me an even look before deliberately casting his gaze around the suite. “But I’ve got a hunch you can afford it.” His tone was airy, teasing.
“It doesn’t bother you that I make more money than you?
” I was feeling brazen, my tongue loosened by the martinis.
Not that I wouldn’t have been brave enough to ask the question sober, I might’ve warmed up to it a little more first, though.
Avoided it for a little longer because I didn’t want to know the truth if it colored my perception of Elliot, if it led to the chance that he was indeed like all other men.
Elliot laughed. The sound was pleasant, genuine.
“No.” His expression became sober when he locked eyes with me.
“It doesn’t bother me that I’ve managed to convince an insanely smart and successful woman to spend her very expensive time with me.
For free.” He looked around the room again.
“Well, not entirely for free since I plan on enjoying this room and that food and not paying a dime.” He winked.
I searched his attractive face for anything that might prove that he was lying.
Nothing. Not a hint. And I was adept at telling when people were lying. Either Elliot was the best liar I’d ever come across, squandering his talents as a small-town fisherman, or he was telling the truth. I didn’t know which was more digestible for my cynical brain.
“I’m guessing you ordered all the food because you wanted to get your—or rather, my—money’s worth, and because you have some kind of code against fucking a drunk woman?” I asked instead of trying to probe him further.
I was going to do the unthinkable with Elliot… I was going to take a man at his word.
Elliot stepped forward, hands clasping my hips, the playful look slipping from his face and being replaced by one I felt everywhere.
“I do have a code against fucking drunk women.” He proved yet again he was good, noble. As if I needed convincing.
He tucked a hair behind my ear with practiced gentleness that made me shiver. Then his hand circled my neck, not tenderly. His grip was powerful, a little scary.
“But I don’t have a code against fucking you drunk, Calliope,” he murmured, lips against my neck. “In fact, it’s on my very long list of ways I want to fuck you.” His finger trailed down my collarbone, featherlight against my skin.
His lips ghosted over the underside of my jaw. The dichotomy of the tenderness of his lips and the borderline violence of his grip was exhilarating.
“It’s taking considerable self-restraint not to fuck you with your hands pressed against that window there.
” He nodded his head behind me. I didn’t look, couldn’t.
I didn’t want to be separated from the expression on his face.
I knew he was nodding to the floor-to-ceiling view that looked out on the wide expanse of the troublesome ocean.
I didn’t need to look to see the mental image his words conjured. I felt it. Everywhere.
“Why don’t you?” I asked. Or maybe I begged.
I wasn’t embarrassed at the plea in my voice. I was beyond that.
His hand on my neck flexed. “Because, Calliope, I will take a highly educated guess and say you haven’t eaten today.
Because you were too busy running, making calls, trying to wrestle control of this situation.
Then you went straight to martinis. And as much as I want to lay ruin to your body, what is most important to me is that you fuel it, nourish it.
Treat it with the care it deserves. Because you need your strength for what I have planned for you. ”
Due to the martinis, I wasn’t as sharp as I liked to be. But I still heard every word in stark detail, as if they were sharpened blades.
They cut through me like a hot knife through butter. I could practically feel the lust in his tone. That was nice, to be sure, but it wasn’t what tore through my very insides. It was the true care in them. The concern.
He was putting my needs above his own.
Such a simple thing, him wanting me to eat. So benign, which was why it was unfathomable that it caused my eyes to blur, and then worse, leak.