Thirty-Seven
Ayla
* * *
“Is your number still the same?” I ask as I’m getting ready to slip out of his hotel room before the sun comes up Sunday morning.
He let me stay last night. Progress? That has to count for something. Or maybe he was just too exhausted to try to get me to leave.
“Don’t call me,” he says.
“So we’re back to this?”
“I’ll break you,” he promises, striding toward me. Or is it a threat? Either way, I don’t care. My heart refuses to listen. His hand lifts to my jaw, his thumb grazing my lower lip as his stare penetrates.
He smells like me—like us. He didn’t wash me off of him the second time.
“A little late for that.” I hold my breath, I let his mouth crush mine, and I allow myself fall knowing there will never be a safety net at the bottom. “You broke me a long time ago, Rhett. And you’re the only one who can put me back together.”
“Never mind. I found her. She just walked in. I’ll call you later.” Seth is pacing our hotel room when I return Sunday morning. He exhales, relieved, when he sees me, ending his call and placing his phone on the dresser. “Where the hell were you? God, I was about to call the police.”
“I’m so sorry,” I say. “I ran into an old friend last night. Got a little swept up in the moment. And then my phone died.”
“You could have found a way to call,” he says. I’ve never seen him so angry with me. “I thought something bad had happened, Ayla.”
“I’m sorry.”
He moves closer to me, and I wonder if he’ll be able to smell Rhett.
“Rosalie called this morning,” he says. “She was trying to get a hold of you. Called the hotel room.”
“Yeah? What’d she say?”
“Keep in mind, this is not official. But. She says her contact at Cutler and Bagby is saying Hard Hearted has sold fifty thousand copies this weekend alone,” he says. “And we won’t know until Wednesday, but we’re pretty sure you’re going to hit the New York Times bestsellers list.”
My hand clamps over my mouth. “Seth! Are you serious?”
He nods, smirking. He’s happy for me. Genuinely happy. I throw my arms around his shoulders, and he squeezes me tight, spinning me around the room.
And still, for some bittersweet reason, my mind goes to Rhett, wishing it were Rhett swinging me around, smiling for me and congratulating me, and knowing it will probably never be him.
“Flight leaves this afternoon,” Seth says, releasing me. “Want to hit the Museum of Modern Art before we go? They’ve got a Carolee Schneeman exhibit I’d love to see if you don’t mind.”
“Yes, of course. Give me a little bit to get ready?”
I grab my clothes from my suitcase and hit the showers, soaping my body until remnants of Rhett swirl around the drain. It’s only when I’m drying off and standing before the bathroom mirror that I see the bite marks along the top of my shoulder. I run my finger along them. They’re light and they’ll fade soon.
They didn’t hurt at the time, but my senses were overwhelmed by the sheer fact that his hands and mouth were claiming my body in ways they hadn’t in so long.
I was starved for him.
I was so famished for his touch, I took him any way I could, even cold and raw.
Thirty-Eight
Ayla
* * *
“You want to dance?” Seth comes up from behind me at Viv and Fernando’s wedding, his hand grazing my low back as I order another drink from the bar. The DJ spins an Al Green song from across the room and couples are shuffling toward the dance floor, surrounding the bride and groom.
Love is in the air. Literally. The newly minted Mr. and Mrs. Almeida haven’t stopped smiling since they took their first walk down the aisle, and they’ve been joined at the hip all night. It isn’t much different from any other day in that respect, but today has truly been something special. So. Much. Love.
I couldn’t be happier for them.
“I’m a terrible dancer,” I tell Seth.
“Yeah,” he says. “I know. And I don’t care. Dance with me.”
He runs his fingers down my arm until he catches my hand, and then he pulls me toward the music, spinning me into his arms once our feet hit the parquet dance floor. I laugh. He’s grinning. And Al’s voice serenades everyone about staying together.
It’s been a week since I left New York, and in two days, I’ll head out to my second stop. I’ll be coming and going, coming and going for the next two months. It’s going to be exhausting, and I’ll probably never want to so much as look at the inside of a plane again when it’s over and done, but my hope is that I’ll be so busy traveling I might be able to stop obsessing over that night with Rhett.
The song ends, and Seth spins me one last time before wrapping me in his arms. Stayin’ Alive comes on next, and a bunch of Vivian’s aunts and uncles rush out the dance floor in a fit of nostalgic laughter.
“I’m going to grab that drink I never got …” I tell Seth, letting him go and making my way back to the bar. The bartender sees me immediately and slides me my champagne. I slip a tip in the jar and head back to the bridal party’s table, which is now empty. Viv had eight bridesmaids, which seemed a little overkill. I was number five, after her sisters and cousins and before her college roommates.
“Hey.” Seth takes Cousin Emily’s empty seat.
“Hey.” I love Seth. I do. But he’s been clinging to my side all night, and I’m beginning to get annoyed. Yes, he’s my date tonight, but it doesn’t mean we’re dating. “What’s up?”
I take a sip of champagne and he takes me in like I’m the prettiest thing he’s ever seen. He’s been doing that all night, ever since he saw me glammed out in my strapless pink chiffon bridesmaid dress with full hair and makeup.
“Can’t get over how beautiful you look tonight,” he says. “Forgive me for staring.”
I roll my eyes. “Anyone would look beautiful with contouring, fake lashes, and a little Chanel lipstick.”
Seth smirks, dragging his teeth along his bottom lip. “Don’t be so modest. You’re beautiful either way, but tonight ... Tonight you’re making me want to do things I shouldn’t do.”
I take another drink, bigger this time. “Don’t get all weird on me.”
“Weird?” He laughs through his nose. “Since when is honesty weird?”
“When it’s coming from my best friend.”
Seth’s smile fades. “Maybe I don’t want to be your best friend anymore.”
“Seth.”
“I mean it, Ayla. I’ve been waiting, patiently, for you to see how perfect we could be together,” he says. “I’m with you almost every day. You text me in the middle of the night when you can’t sleep. I let you drag me to chick flicks. I always let you pick the restaurants. I always make time to read what you’re reading so we can talk books because I know you love talking books but you don’t like the kind of books I like. Anytime you need anything, I’m there. IKEA bookshelf? I’m there with my Allen wrench. Garbage disposal won’t work? I’m calling my plumber guy for you. A string of break-ins on your street? I’m there sleeping on your couch with my baseball bat. Need a ride to the airport? I’m there. I’m always. Fucking. There.”