CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
MASSACHUSETTS, PRESENT DAY
Dozens of girls had been on the back of this motorcycle with their arms wrapped around my brother’s waist. Most of them had ended up at our house, and some of them had even managed to stay the night. Yet what nauseated me wasn’t the number or the memories of listening to Luke fuck random women in various parts of the house while I locked myself up in my room with markers, paper, and very loud, very angry music.
It was that Melanie had never been one of them. She should've been the only one.
But now, it was Stormy girl. And she was the first woman to ever sit behind me on this seat, her arms wrapped tightly around my waist and her chin perched atop my shoulder.
I had agreed to give her a ride back to the hotel with all intentions of dropping her off and never allowing my path to cross hers again. I’d even quit my job and find a new city to hide in if I had to.
Except I hadn’t expected this to feel so nice, her body tucked around mine. I hadn’t expected her to smell so good as we zipped through the dark streets of Salem toward the road that stretched between her hotel and my graveyard.
I was so acutely aware of a part of me, pulsing and weeping with needs I had kept silent for a long, long time.
The need to be touched.
The need to be in the presence of a beautiful woman and remain there for as long as she wanted me.
But before I could allow that miniscule, stifled part of myself to regain too much control, I pulled into the hotel parking lot and remained silent as I waited for her to dismount. All while reminding myself that I had never had the best of luck with relationships and I couldn’t afford another heartbreak.
The last one had nearly killed me.
Stormy girl stood beside the bike, looking out of place in her Victorian gown while holding the helmet she’d borrowed from Blake’s wife. She looked like she was hesitating, holding back the things she wanted to say, and I was beginning to get nervous. I wouldn’t leave until she was safely inside, but my brain was racing with every possibility of what words were about to pour from her mouth. I didn’t want to hear any of them. I’d already let this night go too far by just attending the damn party.
“Do you think—”
“No,” I reflexively fired at her, interrupting in a way that was immediately embarrassing.
“What?” She was taken aback, and I refused to give myself room to care.
“Whatever you’re going to say, the answer is no.”
“Wow. Okay,” she replied, huffing a belligerent laugh.
She turned away, releasing a deep breath, but she didn’t walk away.
Her reluctance to leave made me groan inwardly as I tipped my head back and asked through gritted teeth, “What were you going to say?”
“Never mind, Charlie. Don’t worry about it.” Cold and distant—a stark contrast to how she’d been all night.
It bothered me. But it bothered me more that it was a direct reflection of how I had treated her.
Would it kill me to not be an asshole?
It might actually, I thought as I undid the helmet and tore it off as my heart screamed at me to stop.
“I’m sorry, okay?” I snapped, not sounding sorry at all. But it wasn’t her I was annoyed at, and now, for some reason, I needed her to know that.
“You know”—she turned around and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring down at me through eyes heavy with makeup—“this hot and cold shit is seriously getting old.”
“Dealing with people isn’t exactly my forte,” I grumbled back.
“Oh, really? Well, shit, you certainly had me fooled.” Stormy girl shook her head and rolled her eyes. “Like I said, never mind. Thanks for the ride, Charlie.”
She turned around once again, and this time, with a deep breath and her head held high, she took a few steps, walking away with purpose driving her every move. I groaned out of frustration and climbed off the bike, dropping the helmet on the seat.
“Stop! I’m sorry, all right? Seriously, I'm sorry .”
She did stop then, and she looked over her shoulder. “You know what? I might actually believe that apology.”
I shrugged and offered a single nod. “Great,” I muttered. “Now, can you please tell me what you were going to say?”
Her tough-girl attitude withered a bit as she bit her bottom lip before asking, “I was going to ask if you’d just bring me up to my room. You don’t have to come in—I’m not asking you to. I just get really creeped out, and Blake usually—”
“Yeah,” I replied, feeling more like a jackass with every passing second. “Sure. Come on.”
Her lips twitched upward in a small, grateful smile before she turned again to head from the asphalt to the sidewalk where she’d been attacked just weeks before. I followed close behind, making my presence known without walking beside her, until I heard Luke’s voice in my head.
“Dude, what are you doing? Do you like her or not?”
I think I like her.
“Then, stop being such an asshole. Jesus fuck.”
I furrowed my brow as I watched her move toward the hotel doors. I didn’t know what I really expected to take from this … thing , but still, I quickened my pace to walk by her side. She glanced up at me, and one side of her mouth quirked into a half smile, and still, we didn’t speak as we approached the place where I’d found her and held a blade to her attacker’s throat. Stormy girl swallowed and pulled in a sharp breath of air as we walked by, and on instinct, I lifted my hand to touch her elbow—a little reminder that I was there, that she wasn’t alone—and she settled with an exhale.
We headed into the lobby of the old hotel. It smelled a bit musty beneath a disguise of overpowering floral, and I wrinkled my nose.
Stormy girl laughed. “I know. It smells like a funeral home in here.” I lifted a brow, and her laugh escalated into a fit of giggles. “I guess I don’t need to tell you that.”
“Actually, I don’t make a habit of going to funeral homes,” I replied, remembering in an instant every moment of my parents’ final send-off.
“Oh, I thought that came with the territory.”
“Not in my position.” Then, I reconsidered and said, “Well, I guess it also depends on the cemetery. Back home, I—”
I caught myself and clamped my lips shut. I was unsure if I wanted to tell her anything about myself, especially my life before Salem.
“Anyway,” I muttered, deciding I wasn’t ready to unearth that particular grave, “duties differ depending on the cemetery. I don’t do much in the line of office work. Every now and then, I deal with funeral directors, but it's usually over the phone. My job is more physical—”
“Yeah, I could tell.” She waggled her brows and grinned up at me.
I smirked and pretended the comment didn’t faze me even though I knew my cheeks were blushing.
I never could take a compliment well.
“Well, trust me, it smells like a funeral home in here,” she continued as we reached the elevator.
She jabbed her finger at the upward arrow and stood beside me as we watched the flashing numbers count their way down to the lobby.
When the elevator doors opened, we stepped inside, and Stormy girl hit the number seven. The doors closed, leaving us in complete seclusion, and I stiffened my spine as a memory of Luke popped into my head.
“You ever fuck a girl in an elevator?”
I cocked a brow. “Do I seem like the type of guy who fucks girls in elevators?”
“No, but you don’t look like the kinda guy who would fuck a girl you don’t know against a headstone either.”
“Touché.”
“So, have you?”
“Have I what?”
“Fucked a girl in an elevator.”
“No,” I said, unable to control my incredulous burst of laughter.
Luke sighed mournfully and went back to flipping channels. “Yeah, me neither.”
I imagined grabbing Stormy girl right then and there, kissing her and hiking up that heavy-looking skirt. I imagined pressing her back against the elevator wall and wrapping her legs around my waist, all to live a fantasy Luke had never gotten the chance to fulfill.
I smiled to myself despite the heat rising from the collar of my sweater, and Stormy reached out to nudge my arm with her knuckles.
“What are you thinking about?”
I let the smile fall from my face as I shook my head mournfully. “Nothing.”
She studied me for a moment, like she wanted to ask something, but wasn’t sure she should. I could only imagine what that question might be, and thank God the elevator didn’t allow her to ask it.
We reached her floor, and I immediately stepped out. She quickened her pace to keep up, her heels echoing a hollow sound through the empty, monotonous hallway.
“I hate hotels,” she muttered, staying close to my side. “Did you know, like, roughly a hundred thousand people die in hotels every year?”
“People die everywhere every single day,” I replied.
“Well, thank you for that, Mr. Morbid,” she grumbled sarcastically. “I think what gets me about hotels is how empty and eerie they feel. Like, I’ve never stayed at a hotel that felt warm and comfortable. They’re all just … cold .”
“Well, yeah. They’re not home,” I said as I thought about my home. The house I’d left. The house that held every memory that meant something to me. The house I would never see again.
“Right. And when you think about how many people died in all those hotel rooms, it just makes it so much worse. I can’t stand it.”
I glanced at her through the corner of my eye. “You don’t like death much, huh?”
That earned me an amused laugh. “Does anyone like it?”
“I mean, I wouldn’t have a job without it.”
She snorted. “Interesting take, but okay. Anyway, no. I don’t like death. When I was in my early twenties, I watched a guy my age die.” She stopped at a door and quietly added as she dug her key card from her purse, “I never really got over that.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, not knowing what else there was to say.
She shrugged, pulling the white card out and flipping it over in her fingers. “I mean, I’m okay, for the most part. It just changes you, I guess.”
“Yeah, death has a way of doing that. It never leaves you the same as you were before.”
Her eyes met mine with a touch of intrigue and a dash of sadness. “Is that what happened to you?”
“I’ve never died before, no,” I countered with a smirk while avoiding a question way too personal for my liking.
Stormy girl murmured a contemplative sound, those green eyes holding mine for just a moment before she turned to swipe her card above the door handle. It clicked open, and I contained my relieved sigh as she stepped inside.
“So, can we see each other again?” she asked.
I shook my head and diverted my gaze. “I don’t date.”
She lifted one side of her mouth. “Who said I was talking about dating? What if I just want to be friends?”
“Nope. Sorry.” I stuffed my hands into my pockets as I took a step back from her door, bringing my eyes back to hers. “I don’t do friends either.”
A grin broke out across her face as she laughed, shaking her head. She brushed a few strands of her long black hair off her forehead, then let that hand fall heavily against her side as she blew out a breath.
“Okay, then how about if I just stop by every now and then to annoy you? Would that be okay?”
Somehow, we'd both turned rejection into something flirtatious, and I found my own reluctant grin tugging at the corners of my mouth. I heard Luke telling me to go for it. To let her in, let her shake me up a bit before setting her free.
Luke had always been right until the day he wasn't, but I knew in my gut that he would've been right about this. Even if I wasn't sure I was wrong in resisting either.
So, as I took another step back, I found my head nodding. “I guess I could deal with that.”
Her smile softened as she leaned against the door. “Cool. Then, I'll annoy you soon.”
“Can't wait,” I grumbled, my tone sarcastic as I stared at her in that corset, accentuating the depth of her cleavage and the length of her neck and the delicate curvature of her collarbone.
God, Luke would've kicked my ass for leaving her to spend the night alone in her room.
“Neither can I.”
She smirked with those deep red lips. There was a dare in her eyes. A come-hither glint that beckoned to me every moment I stood in the middle of that hotel hallway. But I was stubborn, my resolve firm, and I ignored every desire that coursed between where she and I stood.
“Have a good night,” I concluded, bowing my head like I wasn't of this century before turning on my heel and walking as fast as I could to the elevator.
“You too, Charlie,” she called to me. “Thanks for keeping me safe.”
Don't turn around. Don't turn around , I silently commanded, my eyes set on the bronze doors at the end of the hall. Let her close the door first. Let her get inside .
I jabbed my thumb at the arrow and tapped fingertips against my thighs as I watched the flashing numbers above the doors roll around to the seventh floor. But it was too slow, and Stormy girl never closed the door.
Why didn't I ask for her damn name?
The thought pulled at my mind until I turned, glancing over my shoulder to find her leaning against the doorway. Her smile had disappeared, leaving room for a lonely, longing sadness I was too familiar with. Her eyes met mine, and her lips quirked for the briefest second before the little glimmer of a smile faded again.
The elevator arrived. The doors opened.
“What the hell are you doing, man?” Luke's voice said. “ Are you out of your fuckin' mind?”
Maybe , I answered, glancing at the empty elevator car and swallowing against the lead ball in my throat. I don't want to go .
“So, don't, you idiot .”
What if she doesn't want me to stay?
“Her door's still fuckin' open. She's still standing there. God, have I taught you nothing?”
“Fuck it,” I muttered aloud.
Then, with a puff of my chest, I turned on my heel and barreled down the hallway with only one thing on my mind. Stormy girl pushed off the doorframe, leaving her arms loose at her sides, curiosity and expectancy burning like chaotic wildfire in her emerald eyes. A warning sounded from down the hall as my palms framed her face. She tipped her head back, and my neck craned to bring my mouth to hers in a moment of uncharacteristic spontaneity.
“The elevator,” Stormy whispered breathlessly, her eyes fluttering closed as her hands wrapped around my wrists.
“Okay,” I replied.
But as my lips met hers and our mouths simultaneously opened to lick and taste and savor, she dared to take a bold step backward into her room, taking me with her …
I knew I wasn't leaving anytime soon.
And you know what?
Nothing told me it was the wrong thing to do.
Not my intuition. Not my tormented brain. Not Luke's disembodied voice.
For once, with Stormy girl in my webbed grasp, everything felt okay.