Frayed (Connections, #4)(9)

“What do you say we grab the boy and all stop for ice cream at that place he likes with all the toppings?” Jason says to Serena.

“I don’t eat that shit anymore,” Trent says, joining us.

I try to hide my smile but can’t. Instead I cross my arms and watch.

“Trent Holt, that’s enough of the potty mouth!”

“Mom, I’m not four. You don’t have to say potty mouth.”

“Son, let’s just humor your mother and leave the foul language for your uncle.”

I shake my head and laugh. “Have a good night, everyone.” I hug them all good-bye and watch as they head out the door, hoping that this time maybe they really can be one happy family.

With the room almost empty, I stare at the buffet tables that have already been broken down.

“Can I get you anything else?” the bartender asks.

I shake my head no and toss a fifty on the bar. “Have a great night.”

My fingers curl around the base of the crystal typewriter with the words California’s Journalist of the Year scripted across it. Despite the glamorous surroundings, a sudden wave of loneliness floods me as I exit the now-empty Crystal Ballroom. I can’t shake the feeling as I make my way out. I consider stopping in the lobby bar when I see the cocktail waitress in there but decide I’d better go home. I don’t want to do something I’ll be kicking myself for tomorrow.

Next I take my time wandering the corridors of the grand hotel and by the time I find an exit door, I notice I’m in the staff parking lot. Just as I’m about to turn around, I spot S’belle’s car. The little cabriolet sits among a few other stray automobiles. My spirits suddenly lift at the sight and I have a driving need to see her. Thoughts of her—her smile . . . never forced but always bright, her hair . . . red like fire, her body . . . hot and sexy—have flooded me with need all night, yet it’s her attitude . . . sassy but somehow innocent . . . that has made me burn for her.

For the longest time I stare up at the abundant stars in the clear night sky. I undo my bow tie and take it off, shoving it into my pocket as I question whether I should even be attempting to talk to her. Just then the sound of the side door opening startles me and I stand up straight. I nod toward the two guys wearing white server jackets and black pants, each carrying large silver trays. The taller one is the one who came to get S’belle earlier.

I relax back against the brick wall and consider just going home. But when the door swings open again and I spot that distinctive curtain of red hair, it’s too late. Her arms are loaded with smaller-sized pans and her attention is focused on the two guys, so she doesn’t notice me. I stand back and Caleb’s words echo in my head—leave well enough alone. The parking lot lights cast shadows over her as she walks farther away from me into the darkness. That’s what I decide to do—leave well enough alone.

“I’m parked over to the right,” her sweet voice calls to the guys ahead of her.

She fumbles in her purse while trying to balance the load in her arms. She seems to be losing the battle. And then without thinking, I rush over toward her, trying to grab what I can from her hands, but I’m too late and it all crashes down. Pans bounce off the blacktop, denting and skidding as they land, but our eyes aren’t on the fallen items—they’re on each other.

“Hi,” she says in a voice that screams innocence.

“Hi there,” I answer back.

The faint freckles on her nose are something I don’t remember. But the warmth of her breath whispering against my cheek makes my body come alive—need instantly floods me. Her smile gleams and I smile back. I study her. Her eyes are a liquid green that reminds me of emeralds; the color’s richer than I remember. Her red hair seems brighter than I recall it being and her curls are gone, but her mannerisms, her quirkiness, they’re all still the same.

“Need help?” one of the white-coated guys calls.

“I got it,” I yell back.

With the moment broken, we both squat to pick up the items and when we grab for the same tray our fingers touch and I feel it—electricity bolting through my body. She yanks her hand away as if electrocuted and I know she feels it too. And this time when our eyes meet, I am certain of what I see—desire. It’s then that my confusion fades and I know what I want.

? ? ?

Knowing what I want and getting it have usually gone hand in hand for me, but I’m not so sure that will be the case when it comes to the spitfire in front of me. Our history is sordid, maybe even tainted, but in this one moment of clarity I don’t give a shit. The attraction between us can’t be denied. And really what does it matter that we spent one night together when I was with someone else, or even that her brother is now married to that same girl? After all, two consenting adults should be able to have sex without the past being an issue.

Her fingers are shaking as she busies herself grabbing at the trays.

“I got them.” I cover up her hands with mine.

She stands quickly while I stay crouched gathering the last of the silver dishes from the ground. I’ve thought about being with her again for so long, and the attraction only grew when we worked together this past summer. And right now I’ll do whatever it takes to have her. I’m on my knees and I consider groveling, apologizing for my lack of morals when I messed around with the bride whose wedding I was reporting on and she was coordinating, but with two dudes watching over me, there’s no way in hell I’ll ever do that.