“Allie?” She doesn’t look away from the window. “You okay?”
“You don’t have to walk me up.”
My hand reaches for hers. “I do. I’d go crazy all night wondering if you’d made it.”
With heavy-lidded eyes, she stares at me for a long moment. She takes in a deep breath. “All right then.”
Hand in hand again, we move across the sidewalk and up the stairs. Her steps are wobbly. On the landing, she almost trips, but as I reach for her waist, she pushes me against the railing, shoves her hands into my hair, and covers my lips with hers, catching me in open-mouthed shock.
Her ring presses into my lip as her mouth moves over mine. Her attack has me against, then bending over, the rail until habit and lust take over. My hands find the small of her back and my tongue the taste of her mouth. She sucks my tongue deeper—holy hell—then pulls away with a little nervous giggle.
“Gah. I’ve always wanted to do that.”
Inside a pant, I say in a low voice, “Kiss me or kiss someone on the stairs?”
Another nervous laugh escapes her. “Maybe both?” She grabs my hand and hauls me up the rest of the stairs.
Still astonished, I let her.
At her door, she surprises me again by falling forward and kissing me. Her mouth is hot and wet on mine. Her hands search under my shirt, caressing my stomach then ribs. She finds my nipple ring. Her thumb circles the metal as her tongue wraps around mine.
Holy double hell.
I grab her ass, jerk her up, and set her on my dick. Her legs wrap around me as we fall against the door. The kissing turns frantic. It sings of sex, sex, sex. Our mouths suck at each other until I pull her head back by her curls and slide my teeth along her neck. Letting out a groan, she sluggishly slides down my body, unlocks the door, and yanks on my shirt to drag me into the dark interior.
Without thinking, I put my hands on the doorframe and resist.
“You’re not coming in?” she says, her grip slackening. In the shadows of light from outside her door, her gray eyes glitter with confusion.
I want to. I want her. Bad. But I’m frozen. What the hell is wrong with me? “I can’t,” I say in a rush of air. “Need to get the truck back.”
Her fingers slowly release my shirt, and she steps back. “Oh.”
Though the living room is dark, I can read the rejection on her face. I reach for her hand and tug her closer. “I want to badly,” I say, brushing her cheek with mine and watching as her lids flutter closed. “I just…the truck,” I repeat. What I’m really thinking is that this has one-night stand written all over it, with her all buzzed up and not acting like the Allie I’m starting to know. And suddenly, even though every single part of my body is pushing me to walk through the door with her, I know I can’t. I’m not exactly sure what I want from her, but the emptiness of a one-night stand and the inevitable awkward morning isn’t it.
To avoid temptation, I’m careful not to touch her when I lean down. “But I want to see you again,” I whisper into her ear. “Soon.” I give in to the urge and let my lips slide over the skin of her cheek. She leans into me. My tongue traces her lip ring. “Let me take you to dinner.”
Her head wobbles slightly. “Huh? Dinner? No. Um…maybe coffee,” she murmurs.
This girl is trying to drive me nuts. She’ll drag me into her apartment for sex, but getting a date out of her is like pulling teeth. “Okay then, coffee.”
I give her another quick kiss and then take off, rushing down the stairs we just stumbled up before I change my mind and push her inside to take her against the back of the door to her apartment. Getting into the truck, I glance up and see a shadow in her apartment window. By the time I raise my hand to wave, the silhouette is gone.
Chapter 11
Allie
My day has been sullied by a constant headache and a lingering mortification at how I behaved last night. Then there’s the burning sting of rejection. I’ve never considered myself as an amazing babe or anything, but I believed myself to be somewhat attractive. Getting turned down by a known womanizer who has probably slept with more than half of his fans isn’t doing much for my self-esteem.
Why, oh why, did I even attempt a one-night stand?
In between intervals of cleaning, going to my parents’ for Sunday-afternoon dinner, attempting homework, and lying on the couch, I’ve found a number of things to blame my stupidity on. Maybe it was because I had the ridiculous notion I’d been serenaded. Maybe it was because everyone at work keeps telling me to get laid. I’ve also blamed it on the alcohol. But I can’t fool myself. Deep down inside I’m aware that my behavior came from the fact I’m head over heels in lust with Justin. Seeing him onstage didn’t help. His singing “Iris” to me really didn’t help. Still, the simple truth is that I attacked him not only once but twice.
I grab a pillow from the couch and place it over my burning face.
Ugh. Superslut Allie turned down by Superslut Singer.
Not my finest moment.
“Mom?”
“What?” I ask from under the pillow.
“Someone’s at the door.”
I yank the pillow from my face and listen over the TV as Ben frowns at me from the other side of the coffee table. He’s right. Someone is pounding on the door.
Standing, I step on a Lego. “Fu—” I stop myself from sounding out the ck and peel the plastic from the bottom of my foot. After one call from his kindergarten teacher about a few choice words that came out of his mouth on the playground, I’m trying very hard not to swear around him, or anywhere. Thus the swear jar at work that’s depleting my extra cash.
“Ben, if you’re done playing, please pick these up.”
The knocking grows louder.
Ben lets out a big, dramatic sigh that lifts the dark curls off his forehead. “I’m still playing. You said you would play too,” he whines as I walk around the coffee table.
“You’re right. I did. I’m sorry. I will.” Feeling like the worst mom in the world, I ruffle his curls. An adorable smile brightens the blue eyes behind the thick glasses that are held to his little head with a soft elastic strap. “Let’s see who’s out there first.” I open the door to see Trevor standing there. Dressed in a beanie, T-shirt, and jeans, he looks exactly the same as when we were young and in love. Well. We’re still young. And at least I was in love. Past tense. That part is very, very important.
Ben flies from behind me into Trevor’s arms, yelling, “Daddy!”
“Whoa, trouper, slow down,” Trevor says, lifting him and coming into the apartment.
The sight of them together twists my heart. Since Trevor moved to California, I haven’t had to deal with this. Now in the past week, this is the second time I’ve had to watch father and son together. I glare at Trevor. “Why didn’t you call first?”
He shrugs but we both know why. Because I would have taken Ben to him since I don’t like Trevor in my home any longer than necessary. I’m not against them being together. In fact, time with his father makes Ben happy, and therefore it makes me happy. Real time with his father beats Skyping, which usually happens two times—if Trevor doesn’t forget—a week. I just don’t want to be included in their father-son bonding time. And ever since he showed up suddenly from California, Trevor has been especially interested in including me, which bothers me. I’m not some booty call because he’s in town. I’m not Jazz.
I’ve refused to contemplate what his return home means because I cannot get sucked down the black hole that took me over a year to crawl out of. Ben helped me get over my depression, and I have no plans to let Trevor back into my life so he can toy with my emotions.