I’m about to tell her that getting in the car and driving to Vegas, not telling anyone, no hotel room, is jumping, but Ms. Pin-Up is staring at us expectantly. Along with about a hundred other people.
“Come on up here, sweetheart,” she calls, motioning for Lisa to step forward.
“Oh my god, oh my god,” Lisa squeals softly, pulling me with her, squeezing my hand so hard I flinch.
This time, instead of blocking our way, the crowd parts, Red Sea-style, and in seconds we’re in the front of the pack. Lisa drops my hand and follows the woman, leaving me there in my conservative beige skirt and pale blue top to stare at the guy I haven’t seen in five years. The guy who has never once left my thoughts, no matter how hard I’ve tried to push him out.
My stomach rolls so painfully I feel like I might pass out. Back in high school, Rush Merrick was a shockingly good-looking kid. Tall, lean, badass attitude. Sexy brown hair, eyes so green they looked like leaves in the sun. But now he’s something else. And frankly, the photograph on the wall behind me, the one Lisa had drooled over, doesn’t do him justice. He’s utterly and totally breath-stealing. And I get the crowd now. I get the women.
As he speaks to Ms. Pin-Up, my eyes move over him, up and down. He’s even taller now, still lean, but with cords and waves of muscle that make my hands twitch involuntarily. I fist them again, inviting carpal tunnel, trying to force away the impulse to touch him. But instead my mouth starts to water.
He’s wearing really simple clothes, but on him they’re sexy as shit. A black tank top that shows off his ripped muscles and sleeves of vibrant tattoos, jeans that hang on his lean hips, black combat boots. And as I scale his hotness one more time it occurs to me that though he still has a boy’s wicked grin, he’s a man everywhere else.
Lisa steps forward, her face as pink as her miniskirt. I’ve never seen her so timid and girlie, and I kind of want to slap her. ‘What about the fucking plan?’ I want to yell. Then I hear the voice that used to make my toes curl—and my heart beat twice as fast—rise above the din.
“You my virgin skin?” he asks her, his eyes doing a sexy half-lidded thing that I remember was usually followed up by a bone-melting kiss.
I roll my eyes at my resurrected eleventh grade self.
“I may have virgin skin,” Lisa tells him, her voice shaking slightly. “But that’s the only virgin thing on me.”
He laughs, a low rumble in his chest. And my breath is stuck inside my lungs—possibly permanently.
Lisa grins really wide. “In fact, I think I might be pregnant.”
My mouth falls open, and that hostage breath is released. Okay, slapping isn’t going to cut it. Lisa is clearly having a Crazy Town moment that may require pills.
“Sorry, doll,” Rush says, glancing over at Ms. Pin-Up like maybe they should start screening the volunteer flesh. “We don’t ink anyone who might be knocked up.”
The crowd boos en masse, and in that moment I’m trying to figure out a way to get Lisa and sprint for the back of the convention center.
“Looks like we need another virgin,” Ms. Pin-Up calls. “And if you’re a true virgin, even better. No one with a bun in the oven, people, okay?”
“Wait,” Lisa calls out. “My friend’s a virgin. Hey, Addison, come here!”
Heat slams into my body and I can’t feel my limbs. Heads turn to me, eyes narrowed, and there’s nothing I want more than to get the hell out of here and plan Lisa’s very ugly, very painful demise.
What about the fucking plan, whore?
But then Rush turns, and his eyes lock to mine, and I’m rooted to the floor. Even if I wanted to move, I don’t think I could. It’s been so long, and he’s so beautiful. His lips look dark and full, surrounded by a night or two’s worth of stubble. And his hair is longer than I’ve ever seen it, the dark brown edges licking his hard jawline. But it’s his eyes—always been his eyes—that make my insides tremble. They’re so green and so filled with hostility as he stares at me.
He wants me nowhere near him.
Lisa’s on her way over, her expression wary. “Okay, okay,” she says when she reaches me. “I know you hate me right now, but that plan wouldn’t have worked. I’ll be right here. Watching you.”
“Pregnant?” I grind out.
She shrugs. “It’s not entirely out of the realm of possibility.”
“You’re going to totally suck as a mother,” I say halfheartedly as my feet are released from the invisible concrete and I walk past her, toward the guy I used to want more than I wanted a real family.
He watches my every step, his eyes moving down my body, taking in my clothes, my shoes. I know exactly what he sees and what he’s thinking. ‘What the hell happened to you? Where’s your boyfriend, Ken Doll? Why the fuck can’t you take a hint and leave me alone?’
And then we’re face to face. I’m standing in front of him, and he smells so good and looks so fierce, and I think I might be dizzy because the last time it was like this, I betrayed and humiliated him in front of an entire room full of people. My best friend. My only friend.
Rush
Mismatched eyes that have haunted the shit out of me for too many years to count—too many years to not call myself a gigantic pussy—stare up at me. They’re liquid and fearful, and they make me want to grab her and kiss her so hard she starts crying and runs away. Yeah, I want to make her run away this time. But I can’t. I won’t. I have an audience, and they’ve come to see a show.
I let my eyes do the work, move down her body, take in that crazy, garden party-looking shit she’s wearing. I have no idea what she’s been up to since high school, never wanted to know, because I might’ve gone after her. And there was no way in hell I was jumping on board that train again.
She fucking murdered my heart. It still beats, but not nearly as strong.
“What’s your name again?” I ask, then watch impassively as hurt flickers in her eyes.
“Addison,” she says.
Shit, her voice is like a fucking vise to my cock. My eyes narrow on her. “You pregnant, Addison?”
She looks around, at everyone who’s waiting, listening, then comes back to me, shakes her head. “No.”
The lights in the center are killer bright, and they make her brown hair shimmer. I notice that it’s gotten longer and lighter. Damn if I don’t remember what it feels like all tangled up in my fingers.
“Any other reason why I shouldn’t touch you today?” I ask.
She swallows, and I watch the movement in her throat so closely like it’s the best goddamn movie I’ve ever seen.
“No,” she says.
“Then let’s get started.”
I start to back up, but she reaches out and grabs my wrist. “Wait.”
My skin burns where she’s holding it. But even so, I don’t pull away. My eyes lift and I utter, “What’s up?”
“We didn’t talk about what I wanted.”
“No. We didn’t.” I swear to fucking god it’s like the two of us are the only ones in the joint now. I know there’s a crowd. I know Jane’s watching me from her perch on the chair, probably wondering what the hell’s my problem. But shit, I don’t hear anything but Addison’s voice, and I’m not seeing anything but her eyes, one blue, one green. The green one is almost the exact same color as mine. It’d been our thing. That eye of hers would only look at me. It belonged to me.
She belonged to me.
“Maybe something really small?” she says, her thin fingers still wrapped around my wrist. “A butterfly or a heart.”
My mouth curves into a grin. “You didn’t know?”
“Know what?” she asks.
“The skin doesn’t get to choose the ink. Not here. I decide what I want on you.”
Panic glitters in her eyes, and I can’t help but get off on it.
“You really asking me to draw a heart on you, Addison?” I say.
Her teeth scrape against her top lip, and after a moment she releases me. She shakes her head. “Do what you want, Rush.”