“Well, it’s not going to matter much longer.” Jeremy stalks out the door after him.
I rush after, arriving in time to see his friends holding Sterling by the arms. Jeremy moves to hit him, and I scream. The porch light goes on at the neighbor’s, and someone opens the front door.
“Hey, we called the cops. A party is one thing, but I draw the line at this shit!” A disembodied voice calls out.
Instantly, it’s chaos. The guys drop their hold on Sterling and he stumbles forward, taking another swing at Jeremy but misjudging and landing on the ground.
“Christ,” Cyrus says, tearing out the front door and skidding to a halt next to me. Everyone else at the party comes streaming out behind him as the distant sound of sirens pierce the night. “Should we leave him? A night in jail might sober him up.”
Sterling can’t afford bail or a fine, and I know it. I square my jaw and shake my head. I can’t believe I’m saving his ass.
“Come on. Let’s get him back to your place,” I say to Cyrus.
“Are you sure?” Poppy asks, as Kai and Cyrus go over to gather Sterling off the grass.
I stare at him. Boyfriend or not—and it’s definitely not at the moment—I owe him. “He wouldn’t leave me here.”
“That’s not the same,” Poppy points out. “Someone drugged you.”
“Yeah,” I say in a hollow voice. Sterling did this to himself, but that didn’t make the idea of leaving him to get picked up by the police any more appealing. “I guess sometimes you help people even if they don’t deserve it.”
And Sterling Ford doesn’t deserve it. I know that. That’s why I’m going to make him pay for his mistakes, just as soon as he sobers up.
11
Sterling
Present Day
It’s not the first time Adair has shut the door in my face. It probably won’t be the last. Ten minutes later, I’m still standing in the hallway when a harassed-looking bellhop scurries down the hall, heading in my direction at breakneck speed. He stops a foot from me and his eyebrows knit together as if I’m some sort of puzzle. After a few seconds of silence, it’s clear I’ve fried some circuitry in his brain.
“Can I help you?” I ask, leaning casually against the doorjamb.
“Miss MacLaine requested a screwdriver.” He peeks around my shoulder to check that he’s in the right place.
“She’s changing,” I explain.
“And you are…” he fishes.
“Waiting.” Jesus, I’ve seen less interrogation sitting at an Afghani prison. I hold out my hand. “I’ll give it to her.”
He looks like he’s trying to decide if that’s a good idea. “Maybe I should…”
“Do I look like I’m going to steal a fucking screwdriver?” I slip a hand from my pocket so he can get a view of my Breitling as I reach for my wallet. Drawing out a fifty, I hold it out. “For your trouble.”
His attitude improves predictably. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
I wave off the apology and tuck the bill next to the pocket square on his uniform. Then I hold out my hand. He drops the screwdriver sheepishly into my palm, and I slide it into my pocket.
“I’ll make sure she gets it.” It’s not like I would deprive Adair of a good screw.
He disappears back to the elevator, and I’m left wondering what’s taking her so long.
Finally, she emerges in the dress she wore last night. Her hair is still loose around her shoulders, artfully mussed from where I held it minutes ago. I stare for a moment at her full lips, which look even more inviting than usual. It only takes me a moment to see what she’s been up to.
“Sorry,” she says, smoothing down her dress, and I see she’s artfully pinned it to the side. “My dress is torn, and I don’t have anything else to wear.”
I tore her dress last night. I also tore her underwear, but I hadn’t given those back to her to fix. If she doesn’t have anything else to wear…
Backing her against the door, I run my hands over the soft curve of her hips. There’s definitely nothing more than one silky layer of fabric between my hand and her skin. “Fuck, Lucky. How am I going to concentrate knowing you’re walking around without your panties?”
“Maybe it will teach you not to rip them,” she says as I press the call button on the elevator.
I arch an eyebrow. “That’s what you think I’m going to learn? Hate to break it to you, but knowing you’re bare down below only provides an incentive to keep ripping your panties off you.”
She swallows, a rosy blush painting her cheeks. “Don’t get ideas. I’m hungry.”
“Me, too,” I say meaningfully, trailing a finger across her stomach.
She shudders, her eyes closing for a second, before shaking her head. “Food, Ford, unless you want me to waste away.”
“I don’t want that.” There’s always dessert, I remind myself. “Do you want to eat here or go somewhere else?”
“I’m starving,” she says. My eyes glint mischievously and she holds up a finger in warning. “Don’t even think about it, Ford.”
The elevator doors open as soon as I press the call button, and I hold my arm across the threshold. “After you, Lucky.”
“How did you find me?” she asks.
“Luca is staying down the hall from you,” I explain.
“So much for privacy,” she grumbles. Adair presses against the far side of the elevator, holding the rail like a life raft, as if the small distance can protect her from wanting me. I can’t have that. I run my tongue over my lower lip before biting down on it, hoping she can read exactly what I’m thinking in my eyes. She manages to look unfazed, but I can’t help noticing her knuckles are white.
Maybe she needs a little break before she implodes from self-denial. “I accepted a delivery on your behalf.”
“A delivery?” she repeats in surprise.
I pull out the screwdriver. “Maybe I’m wrong, but I think they have a maintenance staff to fix things.”
She hesitates, staring at it. I can tell she’s torn between explaining why she needs the screwdriver and wanting to punish me more for the misunderstanding about Sutton. Now who’s keeping secrets? She tries to take it from me, but I hold it back. “What do you need this for?”
“I have things that need screwing.” She crosses her arms defiantly.
“I can help with that.” I don’t try to hide the suggestiveness of my tone. She walked right into it.
She snorts but won’t allow herself to laugh. She swats at the screwdriver, but I hold it higher. “Get your mind out of the gutter, Ford. There’s a stuck drawer in the suite.”
“That’s all? Disappointing. Of course,” I say thoughtfully, “I wouldn’t mind helping you unstick your drawers.”
“I’m sure you wouldn’t.” Her mouth twists with the effort of holding back a giggle. She knows better than to reward this behavior, especially since she’s planning to grill me with questions over dinner. I know when Adair is on a mission.