Chapter 20 Sloane
Sloane
The light coming in from my bedroom sliding door burns my retina as I squint one of my eyes open. I groan, grabbing my pillow and putting it over my head to block the light. My eyes shoot open.
Last night. Professor Riven …
Professor Riven and me. Oh my God. I toss the pillow and immediately sit up, glancing at the mattress next to me.
He’s nowhere in sight. I lean over to look at the floor, like he’d be down there for some reason.
I even hop off the bed and look under it, finding nothing.
I’m beginning to think I’ve made up the entire scenario in my head when I look down and notice my ripped pajama top. My cheeks burn at the memory.
Okay, so it definitely happened. I reassure myself that I am, in fact, not crazy, and I head to the bathroom. I stand in front of the vanity mirror as I take myself in. My hair is a mess, falling in loose strands and tangles. I move my eyes to my exposed breast, and down to where he …
An image of him under me, eyes full of desire for me, flashes through my mind.
I look up again, meeting my gaze in the reflection of the mirror.
My freckles are hidden beneath a rosy blush.
A hand flies to my mouth, and a giggle escapes as I shake my head at myself.
What in the world have I gotten myself into?
I jump in the shower, wash my hair, and change into something comfortable before heading downstairs.
On the way down, I grab my phone and notice that it’s almost noon.
I don’t know what time it was when I fell asleep, but it must have been early in the morning.
I yawn, rubbing my eyes as I head to the kitchen to make a cup of coffee.
“Hey, sleepyhead!” Lydia chirps, a little too loudly, from a bar stool at the kitchen island. I jump.
“Jesus, Lydia. Inside voices after wine nights.” I cringe, throwing my hands over my hungover and sleep-deprived ears.
“Coffee,” I say, moving to the espresso machine like a zombie.
“You mean, water, right?” She pushes an unopened water bottle over to me.
I sigh, grabbing it. “Why are you so awake and happy in the mornings?” I scowl, taking a sip out of the water bottle. The sip turns into a full-on chug. I guess I did need water, after all.
“Whoa, slow down, Lo. You’re gonna vomit.” She laughs.
“Okay. Now coffee,” I say, tossing the empty bottle into the trash.
“So, wanna talk about the elephant in the room?” she says, my back turned away from her. I insert a pod into the machine and press start as the beautiful, delicious-smelling espresso starts pouring out. Ahhh, heaven. This is probably what heaven smells like, I think.
“The … what?” I ask nonchalantly, turning to face her with a blank expression on my face. Lydia, however, is not dumb. We’ve been friends for a long time, and she knows when I’m feigning ignorance.
“Lo, come on, babe. You are a lot of wonderful things, but inconspicuous is not one of them. Plus, you’re not exactly quiet. I mean, these walls are paper—”
I gasp and cover a hand over my mouth. I’m sure my cheeks are as red as the blood that has ceased to flow through my veins.
“Lydia!” I half yell, half giggle.
“It’s okay, Sloane. Relax. I won’t tell a soul.” She winks. “And you needed a good soul-shattering orgasm, anyway. You were getting kinda crabby,” she jokes, tossing a grape into her mouth.
“Oh my God. You are the worst.” I laugh back.
“Mhmm. You love it. Anyways, was it?” she asks.
“Was it what?”
“Soul-shattering.”
“Lydia!”
“I mean, it sure sounded like it was soul sha—”
“Nope. Done. This conversation is over.” I giggle, grabbing the bottle of oat milk out of the fridge and adding some to my coffee. I take a sip and moan dramatically.
“Mmm. Nothing quite as soul-shattering as that first sip of coffee,” I say.
She rolls her eyes before adding back, “Whatever. You aren’t fooling anyone, Lo. Not me, and not the guy who had you screaming his name. Riven, was it? As in, Professor Riven?” There’s a look on her face that says she’s proud of that one.
I nearly spit out my coffee. “Wow.” I laugh, because what else would I possibly expect from her? “Way to bury the lede, Lyd.”
“Now that names are out of the way,” she says, resting her head in her cupped hands like a kid waiting for the plot twist in a story. “Are you guys like … dating now?”
“You are shameless, you know that?” I say back, shaking my head at her absurdity. “But no. He disappeared this morning. No text, no call, no note on the pillow,” I say, although I get the feeling he isn’t a “note on the pillow” kind of guy.
“Oooh. I see. Maybe he … had somewhere to be?” she says, trying to soften a blow that she already knows is gonna hurt like a bitch.
“Eh, whatever,” I say, walking to the sofa and plopping down, cross-legged. “It was fun.” I shrug one shoulder.
“Oh, babe.” Lydia comes over, sitting down to face me. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” I say into my coffee cup. “Yes,” I say again, looking up at her. I don’t know who I’m trying to convince. Her, myself, or the two warring idiots that are having a standoff in my brain about whether this is a good thing.
“You dodged a bullet,” one of them chants at the other, halo raised.
“You’ll never find a man who can feed all of your desires like that one can,” purrs the other, leaning against a pitchfork. I roll my eyes.
“I am fine, Lydia. Really. Like you said, I needed a good orgasm, and that’s exactly what I got.
We barely know each other. We were … lost in the moment, having fun,” I say, finishing my coffee.
We don’t owe each other anything. Well, I might owe him a few things after that, but I’m not even sure he’d be interested. I still don’t know why he left.
“You know what you need?” she asks, excitedly, standing up and bouncing on her toes like a child.
“God. Do I even want to know?” I ask, looking up at her.
“A night out!” she exclaims, grinning widely with her arms stretched out. She’s got quite a flair for the dramatics. That doesn’t sound like a half-bad idea. I have been stressed with this story, the frequency stuff, and now the professor.
“Yeah, okay,” I agree, smiling back at her.
“Yes? YES? Oh my God, I thought for sure you’d turn me down. Oh my God.” She runs to grab her phone, looking something up before saying, “Tonight! It’s tonight!”
“What is?” I ask.
“Silly me, I must have forgotten to tell you last night, with all your boy drama being the star of the show,” she says, holding her phone out to me.
“Reverb is playing a private show tonight. It’s VIP, and I’m on the list, babe.
You’re my plus one, of course.” She blows a kiss my way.
A private show? I’m immediately on alert as to what Sabel might be up to. But I do need to talk to Van.
“Lydia,” I deadpan. “What do you mean you forgot to tell me this? I was trying to figure out how to contact Van for an interview. And how the hell did you manage to get pit tickets and then VIP right after?”
“I dunno.” She waves a hand in the air. “I didn’t want you trying to work at a fun event.
You know how you are. Anyways, this is super exclusive, like fifty people max.
We have a booth with free bottle service.
It’s gonna be a good time. This is exactly what you need.
The details are neither here nor there. Say thank you and enjoy it.
” She’s such a little ball of bouncing sunshine and energy, and I decide not to ruin the mood with any further questioning.
If anyone in Hollowcrest can score back-to-back ticket gold, it’s Lydia Aston.
Though something tells me a certain blonde woman is behind this.
“You’re right,” I cave. “I do need this. And I’m excited, Lyd. Thanks for the invite.”
“Of course, babe. I’m gonna head out, grab some things to get ready, and come back in a few hours, okay?” she says, walking toward the guest bedroom to grab her purse and keys. She exits the room and makes her way to the door, throwing her shoulder strap over her arm as she does.
“Oh, and Sloane?” She turns toward me. “Forget about the professor. No one worth it will walk out on someone as special as you. He doesn’t deserve you.” Before I can respond, she walks out and closes the door behind her.
? ? ?
I spend the next hour soaking in a warm tub, relaxing. Lydia’s words don’t stop playing in my mind.
“He doesn’t deserve you.”
I look down at my phone for the millionth time to see that Riven still hasn’t texted.
I’m trying hard not to overanalyze this for more than what it is.
My control freak brain wants to categorize his behaviors into “friends with benefits” and “something more” piles to help make sense of it.
But maybe there’s nothing to make sense of.
He gave me two mind-altering orgasms, and that was that.
Why does it need to be more? Can’t two equally attractive, single, consenting individuals do just that?
I sink until my head is under water and scream, only once, before coming back up.
I get out of the tub and towel off, throwing on an oversized T-shirt to get ready in.
I walk to my closet and pull out a pair of ripped black skinny jeans and a lace green crop top, my wrist cuffs, and my Doc Martens.
I blow-dry my hair and decide to straighten it today.
I’m getting ready to start my makeup when Lydia makes it back.
I hear her running up the stairs. I pull out a deep red lipstick, black eyeliner, and black mascara and place them on the vanity.
“Loooooooo. The party has arrived, and I brought refreshments,” she sings, walking through my room and into my bathroom.
“One for you.” She hands me a Jell-O shot injector filled with something blue. “And one for me.” She keeps one that’s filled with red Jell-O, setting down a bucket containing a few more.
“Jell-O shots?” I ask, looking down at it. “Are we going to a college frat party or a VIP event?”
“Fine, if you don’t want it, then I’ll take it back. More for me.” She reaches for the one she gave me, laughing, as I step back. I bring the injector to my lips and push until it’s all in. I swallow and cough at the burning sensation in my throat.
“Wow, Lo. You must want to erase Professor McDickFace from your brain, huh?”
I almost choke on the Jell-O at her new nickname for him.
“I’ll have another,” I say, grabbing a green one and injecting that one straight into my mouth, too.
“Okay, okay. Slow down, crazy pants. Point proven.” She laughs, grabbing her makeup bag.
? ? ?
We finished the Jell-O shots early in our makeup routine, and a slight buzz is starting to creep through my veins as we head downstairs to wait for our Uber. The driver arrives, and we climb in, laughing again at Lydia’s absurd new nickname for Riven.
“2653 Cedar Point, right?” the driver asks, looking back and interrupting our ridiculous laughing fit.
Lydia clears her throat like she’s been scolded by the preacher during a church service. “Yes.” She looks back over to me, and we giggle some more, leaning into each other.
The venue isn’t far from my apartment, and we arrive with plenty of Lydia-approved time.
No lines are wrapped around the building today, and we are escorted directly in and to a closed-off booth with a sign on the round table in the center that reads “Aston.” The guy escorting us opens the chain and lets us in.
“Wow,” I whisper, leaning into her. “So official.” Lydia slaps my arm.
“I told you. Being a hair stylist in this city has its perks. One of my clients left me the tickets earlier this week. Though there was no sender on the envelope, and my boss said the person wanted to remain anonymous,” she says as we move toward the middle of the booth.
“Ms. Aston.” The voice belongs to a shorter, pretty woman with brown hair and honey-brown eyes.
She’s wearing a long-sleeved, white button-down shirt that’s tucked into a black skirt.
Her name tag reads “Shelby.” Shelby carries a bucket of ice with a champagne bottle in it and two glasses on a round serving platter.
She sets it down on the table in front of us.
“Enjoy,” Shelby says, before walking out of our booth.
We both look at the table and then at each other, smiling. Lydia grabs the bottle and pops it in one swift turn. Before filling up our glasses, she takes a sip straight from the bottle.
“Ahhh. I love VIP,” she says, looking at her champagne glass like it’s a long-lost lover. I grab my glass and take a sip, the ice-cold tingling sensation hitting the back of my throat and causing my eyes to burn.
“I do love a cold glass of champagne,” I say back.
? ? ?
We sip on our champagne for the next twenty minutes or so, chatting about some of her most recent clients.
She has so many stories from working with high-profile clients in the city.
Like she always tells me, “They’re some prestigious bitches, but they pay well.
” She’s going on about one of her recent clients when the lights overhead dim, and the stage lights come on.
Reverb walks out, and the crowd cheers. This VIP crowd seems more controlled than the first two.
A part of me wonders whether that’s because it’s an exclusive crowd or because they’ve altered the frequency for it.
I feel the hair on the back of my neck rise, and I find myself scanning the room like someone is watching me.
When I don’t see anything amiss or any threatening-looking blonde women, I refocus my attention to the center stage.
Van stands there, his large hands that once held my throat encircling the mic stand.
He’s wearing his usual beautiful stage mask and black cloak.
Tonight, he’s wearing a looser-fitting pair of black pants that leave very little to the imagination.
I swallow. His pants are tucked into a pair of lace-up shoes that reach to mid-shin.
His legs are parted a little further than hip width.
When I bring my gaze back up to his mask, he’s staring right in my direction.