Hard Beat(44)

I try to spin her out one last time as the final chords to the song hit our ears, and even though we are still laughing out of control – welcoming the stress relief from both the hours of waiting and the sexual tension that’s slowly building between us – we actually manage to keep our hands joined. When I pull her back into me, I do it with too much force because she lands against my chest, our bodies connected from shoulders to knees, breaths panting in unison as she looks up at me.

And something happens in the moment when the song fades and a new one starts, because neither of us moves. We remain motionless, but the way she looks at me changes somehow. It’s the craziest thing too, because as we stare at each other, chests heaving, the rest of the makeshift party going on all around us, my mom’s infinite wisdom chooses to flicker through my mind and take residence.

She used to always tell Rylee and me that she fell in love with my dad’s eyes first and foremost and that was how she knew he was going to be the one. According to her, eyes are the one thing on someone that never changes, so if you can look into someone’s eyes and see tomorrow, then you’ve found your forever.

Right here in this random moment with music fueled by spontaneity and the heat of her breath hitting my lips as she gazes into my eyes, I’m momentarily spooked by what I see there. And I think she feels it too, because even though we stay in the suspended state of inexplicable intimacy a beat longer, she pushes away from me seconds later, breaking the moment.

With enough distance between us, I can see the surprise I feel mirrored in her eyes. Right then there are so many things I want to tell her, and yet I have no clue where to start. It’s like we’ve both been stripped of that false bravado we had last week when she said she refused to touch me again and I told her I’d control the reins. It’s almost as if the moment were too raw, too real, and holding too much certainty that once we step over that edge, we won’t be coming back.

Beaux takes a step backward, her head shaking ever so subtly, but her eyes never leave mine. “I’ve got to…” Her voice fades off as she motions with her thumb over her shoulder. “I’ve got some pictures to edit.”

“Beaux?” Concern laces my voice as I ask her if she’s okay.

“I’m gonna go do that.” Her voice is anything but certain as she takes another step backward. “Now. Then bed,” she says as she grabs her camera from the table, turns on her heel, and strides out of the lobby.

I begin to go after her, feeling energized that she just proved to me her emotions are running as haywire as mine are when it comes to us. When I catch Pauly’s eye, my feet falter, and I know there’s no chance in hell I’ll chase her now and let him know that I care. He just nods once in understanding before throwing his head back and laughing over the beat of the music; then he approaches and pats me roughly on the back.

“Good luck with that,” he says as he tilts the neck of his beer in the direction in which she left. “You lucky bastard.”





Chapter 12





T

he sound of a car’s horn shocks me awake and scares the crap out of me. I reach over to the nightstand and grab my phone with one hand while I place my other arm over my eyes to block out the harsh morning sunlight coming in through the curtains I forgot to close. I peek at the time on my phone and curse the early morning hour after staying up and shooting the shit with Pauly long after the lobby dance party subsided. There will definitely be a lot of hungover journalists in this hotel today, and thank God I’m not one of them.

Between talking with Pauly and the image of Beaux’s face just before she’d gone upstairs, I decided to forgo the drinking. Besides, I had a hunch that if I drank, I’d be knocking on her door when I promised myself I wouldn’t do that again. And Christ how I wanted to do that again. But as I climbed the stairwell to my room last night, I hesitated before opening the door to my floor because every damn nerve in my body was begging me to keep going up a few more flights to her floor.

So now my dick is hard as a rock with thoughts of her on my mind. And they’re all indecent ones. I’m faced with a decision: hot shower and jerk off, or go hit the gym and work out this frustration in the hope that maybe I’ll get the real deal sometime soon. It’s sad that this is my dilemma of the morning, but f*ck, I’ll take it.

Maybe jerking off, then the gym and then the hot shower. It definitely doesn’t hit the same pleasure spot, but at least something’s getting hit. Besides, taking one for the team doesn’t mean I can’t still get lucky later.

Thoughts of Beaux are still front and center as I shove up out of bed and get ready to work out. I’m out of my hotel room and in the stairwell within twenty minutes of waking, earbuds in, and muscles tense with my mind running in a million directions, but sexual frustration front and center. When I’m three flights down, I turn on the landing and come face-to-face with Beaux.

Déjà vu hits, and although we’re standing apart this time, I still feel as if my body has slammed into hers. And what knocks the air out of me is not just catching her like this when the images of all of the ways I want to f*ck her have owned my thoughts. Not hardly. It’s the look of shocked surprise in her eyes mixed with the realization that I’ve noticed she’s wearing the same clothes as last night, camera slung over her shoulder, hair piled on top of her head.