Cross Me Off Your List (13 page)

Well, that’s about as much as I know about
him. He’s from Canada, super famous in a freaking boyband, has a
queer-as-a-unicorn brother, and hates one of his band mates. We’re
pretty even.

“What do you want to know?” I ask, stretching
my legs out in the cup.

He shrugs. “I don’t know. Um…celebrity crush?
Favorite music genre? Favorite color?”

“Tom Hiddleston. Hip-hop. Pink and silver, as
a combo,” I reply, matter-of-factly. “And what about you?”

“Heidi Klum, because she’s still hot as hell,
and I’d totally walk that runway. Punk rock. Black and green, since
we’re speaking in combos,” he answers. Then he gives me that
classic Winters smirk. “Tom Hiddleston? Seriously? Over me?”

I jerk my legs down and lean forward. “Oh,
come on. You said black and green. Could you be any more Loki about
that? Jealous much?”

Noah dips his head down, shielding his face
from me. “Okay, okay,” he says, a bit embarrassed. Then he looks up
and past me, toward the carousel. “Favorite sea creature?”

Oh, what a way to change the subject. I
decide to humor him, though, and answer the question.

“Starfish,” I say. “And no, it has nothing to
do with Patrick Star, before you even go there.”

Noah is quiet for a moment. Then he slides
around in the teacup to sit right next to me.

“Did you know that the French angelfish mates
for life?” he asks. “You’ll never see one alone. Everything they
do, they do in pairs. Hunting, traveling, the whole works.”

I cuddle up closer to him and settle my head
into the hollow spot between his shoulder and neck.

“Let me guess. You’d be a black and green
French angelfish,” I say, trying not to laugh. “And I’d be pink and
silver. Then you’d spot me in the school of fish, because I’d be
the one swimming with an ice bucket, and you’d need it to keep your
strawberry milk cold.”

“That is exactly how it would happen,” he
says, resting his head against mine.

So maybe I’m not meant to be a mermaid. Maybe
I’m meant to be a French angelfish. It’s amazing what you learn
about yourself when you’re sitting in a rusted teacup.

The ocean’s breeze sweeps over us, calming
all of my reservations about being out here. The wooden sign creaks
somewhere behind us, but being wrapped up under Noah’s arm,
watching his chest rise and fall with his breathing, makes this
place feel alive again.

“Did you hear that?” Noah asks, pulling away
and sitting up properly. “Like a car door?”

I glance back across the carnival grounds. A
mass of a shadow moves across the sand. I wanted this place to be
alive, but I meant as in popcorn, funnel cakes, and unwinnable
games that are rigged – not alive as in a monster shadow.

“Keep down,” Noah whispers.

I sink into myself, tucking my legs up to my
chest. Noah puts a finger over his mouth and peeks above the rim of
the cup again.

“Fuck,” he whispers. “Someone’s here. They’re
looking at the car. I’m going to go handle it. No matter what
happens, stay in this cup.”

What happened to the French angelfish idea?
Doing everything together – hunting, traveling…What about fighting
battles together? Having each other’s backs? I feel like a cowardly
little goldfish, just waiting to be flushed away into the
disgusting land of septic tank hell. Can I have my pink and silver
back now?

I carefully slip into the floor of the
teacup, turn around, and perch back on the seat with my knees
tucked under me. I grip the edge of the cup with my hands. Rusted
metal digs into my skin. It’s not the ideal place to be, but I can
watch over the rim of the cup this way. I just hope the carnival
ghosts don’t see me in the moonlight.

As Noah approaches his car, one shadow lunges
out from the mass, screaming about sacred ground and disrespect.
The other figures move forward, closing in on the stray shadow, but
they’re too late. Noah falls to the ground, like a fish on dry
land, and I stumble out of the teacup faster than I thought I’d be
able to.

My expensive sandals hit the sand, sending it
spewing from the earth like a sandstorm while I run toward my
French fish. I want to scream but no words come out, so I push
forward until I can see the figures of three people behind the
stray shadow.

“Whoa!” one of them shouts. “I know him!”

The shadow stands still while another
approaches. I see dreadlocks.

“A.J., dude, he’s cool,” Miles says, pulling
a tattooed Hispanic guy back.

I’ve seen this guy. I saw him with Miles on
The Strip when I first stepped out there with Erin. He was bitching
about some guy named Pittman.

Noah heaves out a breath before pushing
himself up to his feet. He wipes his mouth with the back of his
hand. He’s bleeding.

“I’m sorry,” Miles says. “If I’d known it was
you, I would’ve stopped him from hitting you.” He steps forward to
check on Noah.

Kale stands back with Topher, the guy from
Drenaline Surf. They both stare at me with apologetic smiles, like
it’s not a big deal that their friend A.J. just busted Noah’s
mouth.

“You’re sorry?” I ask Miles. “You’re not the
one who needs to be apologizing.”

A.J. lunges forward again, but Topher grabs
his arm to keep him back. But that doesn’t stop him from
speaking.

“I don’t know who the fuck you think you are,
but you don’t just come out here,” A.J. says, motioning his arm
toward the carnival. “If someone steps out here, it is
my
business. I don’t care who you are. I don’t care if Miles vouches
for you. I’ve got eyes on this place, and you’re leaving – now. Got
it?”

For half a second, I want to lunge toward him
myself and roar with all that confidence and spark that Noah gave
me when we talked about Hilary. I want to pretend this A.J. guy
isn’t some tatted up badass and imagine that he’s Hilary, standing
there ripping my dreams away from me. And I want to hit him.

But that crazy look in his eyes – like
someone poured pain, anger, and loyalty into a blender and poured
it into his sockets – keeps me from going after him.

Topher steps forward. “Hey, look, we’re sorry
on A.J.’s behalf, okay?” he offers. “It’s just, this place is
really special to him, and people like to come out here and destroy
things, so you know. It’s nothing personal.”

Miles nods quickly in agreement. “It’s like
fucking in church,” he says.

Topher buries his face into his hands. “Dude,
let me handle this,” he says. He waves Miles away with A.J. and
Kale before turning back toward me and Noah with this incredibly
innocent boyish smile.

“Miles has a surf competition tomorrow,” he
says. “You guys should come out there, hang out with us, get to
know A.J. a little bit, and it’ll all be good. Theo and Jace will
be there. And if Miles wins, there’ll be a huge party out in Horn
Island. You can bring your friends.”

“Yeah, we’ll be there,” Noah says before I
can decline the invitation.

He hands me the car keys and asks me to go
ahead and crank up while he gets the details from Topher.

Thirty minutes later, I wait in room 413
while Noah steps down the hallway to talk to his brother. I lie
back on Noah’s bed, preparing to get comfortable because I know Nat
will probably have to hear every detail about Noah’s semi-swollen
lip.

“We’re good,” Noah says, coming back through
the door. He locks it behind him and pulls his shirt over his head.
“You going to sleep?”

I shake my head. “I expected you to be gone
for much longer than three minutes,” I say.

“Nah. I pawned Nat off on Benji for the
night, but Benji said
someone
deserves some romance while
we’re here,” he explains. “I’ll pay him back later. Hot tub?”

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He strips down
to his boxers and motions me outside to the private balcony – hot
tub included. He steps in and sinks down in the bubbling water.

“You look like a fish on dry land,” he says.
He points into the tub. “Now, please.”

I reach for the knot tied behind my neck on
this halter dress. My bikini is still in 322, but I figure a bra
and panties will work just the same. I jerk the knot loose and let
the dress fall to the floor of room 413. I slip my shoes off at the
door, grab an extra towel, and accept Noah’s invitation into the
hot tub.

I waste no time. I don’t bother to sit across
from him or next to him. We’re not in the car or even in a teacup.
This is a damn hot tub, and hot tubs aren’t made for sweet kisses.
I immediately straddle his thighs, push his head back, and engulf
his bottom lip with my own.

“Mmm,” Noah moans, running his hands along my
back. My fingers rush into his hair, and my mouth explores his
neck. I could seriously eat this boy alive right here and now.

“Maybe the hot tub was a bad idea,” Noah
says.

I grab his shoulders and push myself back,
absolutely floored at this statement.

But Noah smirks. “I think you had it right
all along by crawling onto the bed. Want to move this inside?”

I don’t give myself time to think. I nod my
head and push myself off of him. I wish I was tipsy, just a bit,
because it’d make this easier to swallow in the morning. I don’t
like one-night stands, and after the friends-with-benefits
relationship I had with Adam, I’m not quite sure I want to go back
there. Seeing him at the club that night would’ve ripped me apart
had Noah not been with me. I don’t want to be someone’s spring
break fling.

Then again, he isn’t just someone. He’s Noah
Winters. Boyband or not, he’s an international celebrity, and he’s
closing the patio door of his hotel room behind us right now.

“You sure about this?” he asks, pushing me
back toward his bed.

I toss the towel away and fall into the
sheets. This time, Noah straddles me and pulls me up toward him. He
reaches under my back and swiftly unclasps my bra, just like a pro.
I wonder how many fangirls have had their bras unhooked by him
before in hotel rooms on tour. I sort of want to ask, but I don’t
think I can handle the answer.

He stops before pulling my bra off of my
body. “I don’t want you to regret anything,” he says, more
hesitation in his voice than I expected.

I sit up and look him directly in those
pretty green eyes. I slip my finger under the left strap of my bra
and slide it down my arm. Then I mimic that action on the right arm
and hug the cups to my boobs.

“French angelfish don’t regret,” I tell him.
I throw my bra onto the floor with my dress.

Tonight, French angelfish even roar.

Sunlight pours through the glass door of the
balcony. I pull the covers back and squint my eyes to look for a
clock, but then realization jolts through me, buzzing throughout my
entire body. My hotel room doesn’t have a balcony.

And that makes sense because I’m in room 413,
not 322. Because I slept here last night. Because I had sex with a
guy in a freaking boyband. Who am I again?

“Morning,” Noah says from the table across
the room. He sips strawberry milk from a plastic hotel cup. His
hair is wet and he’s in his boxers.

“What time is it?” I ask, burying my face. I
don’t want him to see me with bed hair and makeup remnants. God, I
hope I at least have remnants.

“Twelve-thirty,” he answers. “Not exactly
morning but you know, close enough.”

“Oh my God,” I mutter. I don’t know what time
I fell asleep or anything that was really said after I threw my bra
on the floor. I hope I didn’t say anything stupid in the heat of
the moment.

Noah stands, chugs the last bit of his milk,
and then slams the cup down. “I’m going to see my brother,” he
says. “He’s called me twice in the last hour. You can stay here,
but I may have used most of the hot water. You’ve been warned.”

“Thanks,” I say, wrapping his top sheet
around me. “I may go back to my room for a shower then.”

After he slips out, I gather my things from
the floor, fish out my room key, and say a quick prayer that no one
sees me in the hotel elevator wearing a bed sheet. I know – enter
at my own risk – but hell, I’m not putting on last night’s fancy
dress when I know I look like the morning after.

I stare at the floor so I won’t see my
reflection in the elevator’s mirrored wall. I cringe when it dings
and keep my head down as I pass a couple in the hallway. Hopefully
they’re old people who just think I’m some drunken college kid who
was out partying all night. I really don’t want anyone within a
decade of my age seeing me like this.

I swipe the door key quickly and drop all of
my belongings onto the floor of room 322. Then, still wrapped in
the sheet from Noah’s bed, I fall back onto my own hotel bed and
laugh. Hilary should’ve put “wear a bed sheet in public” on our
list. I actually wish this could count as an item. However, I’m
crossing number twelve off the list. Last night definitely counts
as “disturbing the peace.”

Today, we’ll conquer number fifteen – watch a
sporting event. If I know Hilary, she’s probably on the beach
watching some hot guys play volleyball and considering that her
sporting event. I doubt I rank any higher since I’ll be on the
beach watching hot guys surf, but at least my event is a
professional sporting event.

I quickly shower, dry my hair, and reattach a
new face that isn’t just smeared mascara and foundation flakes.
What do you even wear to a surf competition?

I dig through my wardrobe and settle on a
strapless silky shirt in hues of pink, orange, and purple. It
reminds me of a sunrise, before the blue clouds take claim to the
sky. I grab a pair of short denim shorts and my white and pink
wedge sandals. I may be overdressed, but it’s not like I spend much
time watching surfers. I cram a few necessities into my beach bag,
hoist it over my shoulder, and head back up to the fourth
floor.