My eyes lift to his, but they don’t stay long. “I should get dressed. Get back to the hotel. To my friend.”
To reality.
Rush
I take the long way to her hotel. I know it’s a completely fucked up way of keeping her close to me for as long as possible, but I don’t give a shit. Everything inside of me is raging at the idea of letting her go. And the outside’s not far behind. My skin is hardcore addicted to her. Like even now, with her arms wrapped around my waist, it’s just not fucking tight enough.
Jesus.
As we hit the Strip, I take my turns easy instead of how I like them, fast and as close to upside down as possible without getting my skin peeled off by the asphalt. Because we’re close. Too close. I don’t know what we’re doing here, what I’m doing, but I don’t want to push her. If I push her and she fucking kicks me to the curb again, I’m done for. As in, major therapy and lots of colorful pills.
When we pull into the hotel’s driveway, I don’t stop in front of the sliding glass doors. Those bozos who check bags and shuttle tourists around aren’t going to witness our farewells. Shit, I don’t want anyone to see it, especially me. Instead I park down a ways, in the shadows of the building.
I step off the bike, then help her. I think my hands are shaking, which they’ve never done—ever. But this girl, she just fucking tears me up. I watch as she pulls off my helmet and holds it out to me. Her long hair is mussed, her cheeks are pale, and those eyes—fuck me—those mismatched eyes that belong to me, well, at least the one, bore into mine. And this time, I let her. I let her look. I let her take a good, long gander inside my ribs to my newly repaired and fully-functioning heart.
What do you see, Ads? I want to ask her. Grab her by the shoulders and force her to tell me. Tell me she wants nothing else but me. But shit, that’s not fair. Twenty-four hours can’t demolish a whole life. She has friends and school. Shit, she’s graduating in a few weeks.
“Addison…”
Her eyes prick with tears and she shakes her head. Really fast, really manic. Her hands are balled into fists and she looks like she’s about to lose it. And frankly I’m not far behind.
“Call me?” she rasps out.
“Sure,” I return, my gut rolling, eating itself alive because I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I can hear her voice and not go insane. Wouldn’t it better to block her ass out, leave it here on the stained Vegas concrete and go back to real life?
She starts to walk away, but I grab her wrist and haul her back against me. She melts into me like chocolate, and I breathe in the scent of her hair. For several moments, we cling together like scared monkeys, then I release her. Our eyes connect one last time before I turn away and straddle my bike. I don’t look up as I drop my brain bucket on my head and kick start the engine. Don’t look back as I haul ass away from the curb.
Addison
“You sure about this?”
Lisa’s sitting in the passenger side of my car with the door open, grilling me for the millionth time. She’s super wary now. Of Rush, of anyone who works in that Den of Sin, as she calls it. She refuses to give me exact details of what went down when she went there last night, but I get the feeling it’s not what I thought it was. Not Vincent hitting on her hard. She did say he was a giant asshole, and had insulted her. But the thing that concerned me most was the look on her face when she said it. Like she was questioning herself, unsure of herself. And that so isn’t Lisa.
“I’m positive,” I tell her. “See you in a few days?”
She nods and gets out of the car, tosses her bag over her shoulder. I bought her a plane ticket home, back to L.A. because I’m going to need my car.
She shuts the door, but sticks her head through the open window. “Call me tonight.”
“I will. Promise.”
“Even if you’re happily being held against your will.”
“Swears.” I grin.
“You’re not missing graduation.”
“Oh, come on,” I say, all serious now. “Never. I’ll be there. You and me, side by side in our ugly gold gowns.”
She snorts. “Seriously, why did they have to choose that color?”
“Right?” I say, laughing.
She looks at me and shrugs reluctantly. “Tell Rush I said hi, okay? Then tell Vincent I said he’s an asshole, and doesn’t know anything about anything.”
I drop my chin and say pointedly, “You’re going to tell me what was said there at some point, right?”
She smiles softly and readjusts her bag. “Love you, Addy.”
“Bye, Beeyotch,” I say affectionately.
“Bye, Whore,” she returns, then blows me a kiss before she heads into the terminal.
The second she’s gone, my heart starts pounding away, bass drum-style. I pull away from the curb, and set my course for the coming sunset and the Red Rocks. I don’t know what I’m walking into. I don’t know what he’ll say or do, but I just don’t care at this point. I love the guy. Like to the moon and beyond kind of love, and I’m going to tell him so. I’m going to tell him that we belong together. Good, bad, amazing, scary, shit to work out—we’re destined.
It takes me a good thirty minutes to get to Wicked Ink, but when I pull into the parking lot and slip between a few motorcycles and a Mercedes, my heart feels close to exploding. I know what I’m doing is the right thing, the only thing, but I’m scared. I know Rush still has feelings for me. I saw it in his eyes from the second he looked up at me in the convention center. But that doesn’t mean he wants me back, wants anything more than what we had in the past twenty-four hours.
But I have to find out.
My entire body trembles as I walk through the front doors. Unlike last night, the place is littered with customers. The owners of the vehicles outside are seated and standing in the waiting area, and some of them glance my way as I head for the recep desk.
“Back again, beautiful?”
Standing behind the desk, checking out an appointment book, is Mr. Asshole himself, Vincent. He’s wearing black jeans and a distressed gray t-shirt with a picture of a snake coming out of a skull’s mouth, the sleeves rolled up to his shoulders. He’s tall and lean, both ears and one eyebrow pierced, and he’s nearly completely tatted up. I’ll admit it. The guy’s intimidating, and gorgeous. Nothing compared to Rush, of course. But, then again, no one and nothing compares to Rush.
I shrug lightly. “I think I might be addicted.”
He grins, wide and wicked. “That’s how it is with ink. You can’t have just one.”
I lean on the counter. “Kind of like women?”
His black as night eyes widen. “Who you been talkin’ to, little girl?”
I shrug casually, some of my nerves dissipating in the back and forth we have going here. “Heard you met my friend last night.”
He nods. “Cute. A little uptight, but cute.”
I bristle at the assumption that my best friend is anything but 100% awesome. “She was worried about me. I think you were a jerkoff to her.”
“Nope. Just asked her out.”
That couldn’t be the whole story. “Well, she’s not your type.”
“Sweetness, if a girl’s got tits and a warm pussy, she’s my type.”
My mouth drops open.
He laughs. “You looking for Rush?”
“Yes.” Good god, this guy. Now I’ve got to know what went down. Tonight, I’m going to force it out of Lisa.
He points behind me with one of his tattooed fingers. e“Right behind you, dollface.”
I whirl on the spot, and just like that I forget anyone else exists. I saw him only a few hours ago, but it’s like I haven’t seen him in years. Again. My gaze rakes over his face, swooning over it, memorizing it, in case this doesn’t go well. He’s wearing dark blue denim and a white tank top that shows off his tongue-tracing ink to perfection. I swallow the saliva that has quickly pooled in my mouth and force a smile. “Hey.”