Never Say Never, page 10
Skylar lowers herself hesitantly until she’s settled back against the creaking leather. The chairs feel like they’ve been used only a small handful of times. Funny how people waste so much money on things they don’t even use.
“Just relax,” I tell her. She’s sitting back in the chair, but her hands are folded neatly in her lap and her back is rigid. “You can relax.”
“I don’t usually make myself at home during showings.” Her voice is low, a whisper almost, as if she thinks we’re being watched. I’m quite certain the place does come with a state of the art security system and cameras in every nook and cranny, but I could give two shits.
“You’re a careful person, Skylar. In every facet of your life,” I say. “I can appreciate that.”
She says nothing, but I’d kill to hear her thoughts.
“You’d be careful too if you were me.” Her eyes fall to the quartz book ends flanking an upright stack of classic literature on a nearby coffee table. I recognize the expression on her face and the hurt in her eyes; it’s the kind only people can inflict. A flash of silent rage floods me for a second. I want to find whoever hurt Skylar and toss them from the balcony of this beautiful apartment we’re occupying. “Anyway…”
“I don’t have a lot of friends, Skylar,” I say. I’m going to go first. “I never thought a city with millions of people could feel this lonely.”
Her brown eyes track my way, and she shifts her body in my direction. “It gets incredibly lonely.”
I trace my hand along the front of my jeans, the ones she picked out the weekend before. “I had a brother once.” I clear my throat. “I mean, we weren’t blood brothers, but it didn’t matter. He was my brother.”
“What happened?”
“He slept with my fiancée.”
Skylar winces, and her eyes fall to my hands. I’m picking at a thread poking up from a seam in the chair, and I don’t even realize it.
“He did you a favor.” Her words are gentle, landing softly upon delivery. “Someone who’d cheat on you doesn’t deserve you.”
“I realize that now.” My teeth grind and clench the way they do when I think about that night. The vision of Amber’s ass, her dress pulled up to her waist, and her face twisting as Mac shoved his cock into her with quick, desperate thrusts still haunts me all these years later. “You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” I say.
“There’s someone else out there for you, Theo.”
“Well aware.” I swallow a painful lump in my throat. The night that changed everything caused a ripple effect, shooting me into a state of laser-like focus where all that mattered was starting my company and becoming successful. People. Relationships. Everything else took a backseat. “Doesn’t make it any easier to trust most people.”
“Do you trust me?”
I snap toward her sweet face. Her brows are arched as she waits for my response.
“You’re the most genuine person I’ve met in a long time, Skylar. I trust you.”
A soft breath escapes her lips, as if she’s relieved, as if my trust means a lot to her.
“This conversation’s getting heavy.” I stand, smoothing out my t-shirt, which happens to be from the batch she picked out. “I need a drink. You want a drink?”
“I think I’m dressed for wings and beer today,” Theo says as we stroll down 54th street.
We approach Tarantino’s and my heart stops. A cool sweat glazes my forehead under the midday sun as I pull in a breath.
“This okay?” Theo points to the sign, his forehead wrinkled. “We can go somewhere else if you want.”
“No, no, it’s fine.” I don’t want to explain my aversion to this place, and I sure as hell don’t want to rehash that horrid night. Maybe if I go in here with Theo, it’ll overwrite those awful memories. “Wings and beer sound good.”
He pulls the heavy door open and we enter a place that feels like Friday night. A sign instructs us to seat ourselves, and we find a high top table with an unobstructed view of a daytime tennis match playing on a wall-mounted big screen.
A waitress comes and delivers two waters before taking our drink orders. Theo requests some exotic beer I never knew existed. I order a blended, top shelf margarita. I need something smooth and potent.
“You’ve been quiet since we left the apartment,” Theo says, slicking his hand across the glass top of the table. He leans forward on his elbows, his aqua gaze holding mine. Even in this cheesy sports bar, Theo stands out. He’s not a guys’ guy, and I don’t care how many jeans and t-shirts he stocks his closet with. He’s a millionaire, maybe a billionaire for all I know, and he belongs at Tavern On The Green eating goat cheese salads, not at Tarantino’s drinking beer.
“Just thinking,” I state the obvious. I don’t tend to share much with anyone beyond Addison and Nina, and I know once I tell Theo a fraction of my issues, they’re going to come flooding out all at once and he’s going to go running in the other direction. I won’t be able to stop the flood of word vomit, and I’m not ready for him to look at me in any other light. I’m quietly enjoying how he looks at me, like he’s in a constant state of being two seconds from crushing my mouth with his.
Would it change if he knew I’m not entirely who I claim to be?
I don’t know if I’m ready to find out yet.
“About?”
“Work,” I lie, and his face tells me he doesn’t believe me for one second. In my mind, I’m telling him everything.
I used to be three hundred pounds...
I used to go by Whitney…
I used to hate myself…
I’m still not comfortable being me…
I don’t know if I ever will be…
I’m so lonely it physically hurts.
I want someone to want me for me and not because what I look like now.
“We ready to order?” Our waitress returns, flips to a clean page in her ticket book, and readies her pen. I correct my arched posture and close my menu.
“I’ll take ten wings with Carolina sauce,” Theo says. “And she’ll take the grilled chicken sandwich. You wanted a side salad with that, right?”
I nod. He orders for me like he’s my boyfriend, and he doesn’t even think twice about it. He takes care of me, and it could be dangerously easy to get used to something like that.
The server jots down our orders and skips off, returning with our drinks on a tray.
Thank God.
I slide the sweaty, cactus-shaped margarita glass my way and lick some salt off the rim before taking a sip.
“She’s false advertising, pal.” My eyes snap in the direction of a familiar voice behind me. You’ve got to be fucking kidding me. “You’re not going to get any pussy with this one.”
It’s Ryan.
This must be his regular place. That, or lightning is striking twice.
My cheeks burn as my body stiffens. I swear I can feel his fingers inside me, and I can taste him all over again.
“Excuse me?”
Theo moves from his chair and toward Ryan, who’s attempting to slip out the door as if he didn’t feel the need to be held accountable for his words.
“Where’re you going? Get back here.”
Oh God.
I’m waiting for Ryan to hurl a few more insensitive remarks, to tell him about my bait and switch. He widens his stance as Theo approaches him, and from my angle I can see veins popping along the side of Theo’s neck.
“What the fuck did you say?” Theo’s voice is a low growl, but I can still hear it above the collective roar of the TVs.
“Chill, man,” Ryan leers. His arms are crossed over his chest as if they’re just a couple of dudes hanging out. “Chill the fuck out, dude.”
Ryan cocks his head toward a couple of guys who must be his friends and flashes an arrogant smirk that hardens my stomach. I want Theo to clock him across the face. I want Theo to body slam him and throw him outside.
But I don’t expect it to actually happen.
Without warning, Theo lunges toward Ryan, body checking him into the wall with enough force to topple over two high top tables and three chairs. An empty beer stein flies and skids across the floor, and the room goes silent. Our server runs across the restaurant and disappears behind swinging doors into the kitchen. Ryan’s friends puff out their chests like miniature gorillas and amble up behind Theo.
“Don’t fucking talk about her like that. You understand me?” Theo’s teeth grit together, and he spits his words through clenched teeth.
I’m paralyzed. I haven’t moved an inch. No one’s ever stood up for me like that before.
Ever.
Theo grabs Ryan by the popped collar of his purple polo and pulls him back into a standing position before shoving him toward the door. “Get the fuck out of here, you piece of shit.”
“You! Out!” a burly bartender with a Brooklyn accent waddles out from behind the kitchen. He’s wearing a black, grease-stained chef’s coat, but it’s obvious he serves double duty as Tarantino’s one-man security team.
Theo stands up, smooths the wrinkles from his disheveled t-shirt, and places his hands in the air as if to indicate he doesn’t want any more trouble. I slide off my chair and run to him as we head outside.
His shoulders are heaving and he’s walking two steps ahead of me. “Theo, wait up.”
He stops next to an empty bench and plops down, his legs spread wide as he rests his elbows on his knees. I can only imagine the amount of adrenaline working its way through his system.
“Thank you,” I say, taking the spot beside him. I place a hand on his shoulder. “Thanks for sticking up for me. No one’s ever done that before.”
He bends his head to the left, acknowledging me, his eyes shifting to the ground.
“I’ve always wanted a big brother.” I’m half-teasing, but when Theo scrubs his hand across his jaw and releases a tense sigh, I know I’ve said the wrong thing. He pops up and keeps walking. “Theo?”
I chase after him, taking two steps for each one of his.
“Theo, wait.”
“Is that how you see me? Like an older brother?”
We stop, and I hesitate.
Now’s your chance to be honest about something, Skylar.
The words are right there on the tip of my tongue, and all they need is a little bit of air and a whole lot of courage to come out. I’ve been rebelling against my attraction toward Theo since the moment we met.
It’s a losing battle, but I’m a stubborn general with a die-hard agenda to protect the most vulnerable part of me: my heart.
“No.” No truer words have ever been spoken. “I don’t think of you as a brother.”
“Good.”
I don’t breathe another word before he pins me against the wall of a nearby cigar shop. His lips graze mine - a tease and a threat all at once, while his fingers lace behind my ears and thread into my hair.
We’re not kissing. Not yet. Though if he wanted to kiss me, like he did that day, I probably wouldn’t put up much of a fight.
My heart strums reckless, and I forget how to breathe. I’m suspended, rendered powerless by the way his body possesses mine with a heat that burns right through to my core.
“Skylar.” His voice vibrates through his chest and right into mine. “Why are you fighting this?”
If he only knew.
I glance up at him through my lashes, biting my lip so it doesn’t betray me. A hundred thousand thoughts threaten to come out all at once if I don’t stifle them.
“Is it him? That pencil dick trying to get into your pants and sending you flowers?”
I shake my head.
“Is it me?”
Yes and no.
“When are you going to accept the fact that I’m exactly what you need?” He means every word. I know because I can feel it. Only he’s not the first guy to say that to me, nor is he the second or the third. Everyone thinks they’re what I need, but how can they be so sure when they don’t know me? “You need a real man, Skylar. Not someone who pretends he isn’t looking at your breasts every time you look away. You need someone who’s passionate about what’s inside.” His hand releases my hair and slides below my collarbone as he presses his fingertip against my pounding heart. “Someone who understands what it’s like to be treated like the person you’ve been struggling not to be your whole life.”
“You.” I don’t know if I’m asking or stating the obvious. There’s a small chance I’m doing both.
“Yes.” He swallows, his gaze holding mine hard. “Me.”
“Come back with me,” I insist. My breaths are steadying. The heat, the adrenaline, all of it is draining out of me when I focus on the warmth of her stare. “Come to my hotel.”
“Theo,” she shakes her head, as if she thinks she knows where this is going.
“No,” I stop her. “I’m not going to try to fuck you, Skylar. I’m not going to wine and dine you. I want to get to know you – the real you.”
Her nose wrinkles as she thinks, and she tucks a strand of blonde hair back as she glances up the street.
“I don’t want to go back to that cold hotel room alone. I know I’m going to miss you the moment I step foot in there.” My fingers trace the length of her side before stopping at the bend in her hip. “Let’s talk. Get a movie. Order room service.”
I know I’m playing with fire. Taking Skylar back to my hotel room and not fucking her brains out is going to be the biggest challenge of my life.
Our eyes lock, and her resistance is melting. I can see it in the way her posture releases and in the way she licks her lips ever so slightly.
“Fine. Just as friends. Just to talk.” She steps out of my space and walks toward the hotel, and I resist the overwhelming urge to take a victory lap around the city block.
***
“Make yourself at home.” I switch on the lights before making my way toward the drapes. I swipe a stack of hotel brochures off the desk and hand them to her. “Here’s a pay-per-view list. Pick whatever you want. Oh, here’s the room service menu for later tonight.”
She falls back into my bed, lying on her stomach and flipping through the menu. Her chin rests against the top of her hand and her feet twist behind her. She pouts her full, fuckable lips as she reads, pulling in and releasing the tiniest of sighs. Skylar is a far cry from the uptight girl I first met. We’re making progress. She’s slowly letting her guard down.
Still, we’ve barely scratched the surface.
“Okay, I’ve decided,” she declares. She points to a slapstick comedy and hands me the remote to order it. She sits up and scoots back against the headboard, adjusting some pillows behind her back and stretching out as the opening credits begin to play.
“I thought we could talk first,” I say, pausing the movie.
Skylar sits up. “Okay. What do you want to talk about?”
I shrug. “Anything. Everything. What were you like a kid? Let’s start there.”
Her lips pull wide and her laughter fills the room. “Okay, Dr. Phil. Why do I get the feeling you’re trying to psychoanalyze me?”
“Maybe I am.”
“Don’t. It’s creepy.” Her hand slides down her stomach as her laughter dulls down into nothing.
Fuck. I don’t want to be creepy.
I take a step back and readjust my approach. I’m not familiar with girls like Skylar – girls who don’t throw themselves at me and morph and meld until they become exactly what they think I want.
“What are you thinking about?” she asks. Her cheeks still hold a flush from her fit of hilarity and she tilts her head back, letting her hair drape down her back and shoulders. “Let’s start there.”
If I tell her what I’m really thinking, she’ll hate me.
I’m thinking about how badly I want to get to know her.
And if I’m being honest…
I’m thinking about that fuckable pink mouth.
Those fuck me heels she always wears during showings.
I’m thinking about how hard I get when I lay in bed at night and think about her.
And I’m thinking about how good it’s going to feel when she finally gives in to what we both know is only a matter of time.
God, I want her so badly I can hardly think straight half the time she’s around.
“Theo?” she asks. “Awful quiet there. What’s that big, beautiful inventor’s brain of yours thinking right now?”
I shake my head. “You don’t want to know.”
“You can tell me anything.” She traces the outline of a flower along the bedspread. She leans forward, her cleavage spilling out of her top. “We’re friends, remember?”
Fuck me. This is hard.
“I don’t want to be your friend, Skylar. That’s what I’m thinking about.”
I take the spot next to her and lean back into a group of pillows. My hands sweep behind my head, and I’m convinced if I stare up at the ceiling I won’t be tempted to stare at the way her body curves and angles and beckons me to have my way with her.
Trying to prove I’m not a red-blooded brute with caveman tendencies is a lot harder than I expected.
The bed shifts as if she’s closing the space between us. I turn my eyes her way to find her lying on her side, her head resting on her elbow.
“I dated someone once.” Her words hold a wistful regret in them. “He was exactly like you.”
Impossible.
“The way you walk. The way you carry yourself. Even some of the things you say,” she says. “The promises you make. The way you make me feel. Everything about you is…him.”
“I’m not him,” I huff.
“He was my first love,” she continues. “My first everything.”
“Why are we talking about exes?” I cut her off. I have to. I sit up and turn toward her. My words bubble up to the surface. “I’m not him. Don’t punish me for what that jackass did to you.”
She retreats. I’ve offended her.
Shit.
“It’s much more complicated than that.” She sits up, crossing her legs. “It’s easy for me to boil it all down to having been hurt before, but the pain is deep. There’s more to it than that. I can’t talk about it.”
