Escort (A Standalone Romance Novel) (New York City Bad Boy Romance) (82 page)

Every moment, he’s inside
me.

I let my hair fall to
cover my face, focusing my gaze onto the man who brought me here to this place
of trance and frenzy. As I rise and fall on his firm erection, I tense the
muscles in my center, gripping him tight.

My hips flip and rock
against him, and I can see in his eyes that he’s going to come.

I lean forward, putting
my mouth to his ear and telling him once more, “I want you to come inside me,”
and I ride him hungrily, the sun now well into the sky.

Dane’s chest expands and
contracts quicker now, and I can only hope to meet him there.

His mouth comes open, and
he gasps as I feel new warmth inside me as I skyrocket toward the stars we’ve
discovered again together.

His body is still jerking
in and against mine as I fall into him, hardly able to breathe, barely able to
move, and our muscles contract and release in a strange rhythm as I lay my body
against his, exhausted and satiated.

We lie here together for
what seems like a jilted eternity, until he slips out of me.

“
Gotta
tell
ya
,” I breathe, “I don’t know if I can move
right now.”

“Right with
ya
,” he says.

I lift my head to look
for that woman again, the shore is bare.

I’m still not sure if she
was there or if I just imagined her.

Chapter Twenty-Three

Backsliding

Dane

Tonight is Leila’s last
night before the move.

It’s not the easiest
thing in the world, but we’ll make it somehow, I’m sure of it. These last days
have been phenomenal.

After bringing one
fantasy of hers to life, we agreed to try again with another. I’m still not a
fireman, but picking her up in a bar should suffice for now.

I’ve been waiting here a
while, though.

That’s not wholly
unexpected. She said that she had some errands to run before she’d be able to
make it, but that anxiety over her leaving so soon after we really found each
other is starting to grip my veins.

“You good over here?” the
bartender asks.

“How about a tequila
sunrise?” I ask.

The guy gives me a bit of
a look, but shrugs his shoulders.

I’ve never actually had
one, but they’re Leila’s favorite. It might prove to be a good icebreaker for
when she arrives.

The bartender makes the
drink and hands it over. I pay him and take my first sip.

It tastes good, no doubt,
but it’s a little fluffy for me. I’m one of those assholes that likes to taste
alcohol when I’m drinking alcohol.

“Could I get a shot of
vodka, too?” I ask before the bartender finds someone else to inebriate.

He smiles and brings me
the shot.

I drink it down and take
a look out over the dance floor.

I’m looking for Wrigley
just as much as I’m looking for Leila.

Wrigley promised that
she’d back off, but I know better than to simply take her at her word.

I sat down at the bar
next to her and ordered a drink.

We just kind of sat there
for a few minutes, neither one of us even looking at the other. It was awkward,
but finally she broke the silence.

“What do you want?” she
asked. “Have you finally come to your senses and realized that your Vestal
Virgin doesn’t have all the appetites that you require?”

“She’s not a virgin,” I
said. “That’s really not the point, though.”

“Hold on,” she said. “I
don’t think either one of us is anywhere near intoxicated enough for this to be
a comfortable, pleasant conversation.”

“I’m really not planning
on staying that long,” I told her, but she insisted.

She ordered up a couple
of shots and, before I could start talking again, she ordered up a couple more.

We were about five shots
in when the bartender told us to slow down, but that was the wrong thing to say
to me. I have a tendency to take warnings like that as a challenge.

In retrospect, I probably
should have listened, but as soon as Wrigley told the bartender, “We’re not
children. We can handle our shit. Now, pour, fucker!” I was set on not only
out-negotiating Wrigley, but out-drinking her as I did.

The next couple of shots
came and went so quickly I don’t really recall whether there were two or three
of them.

Finally, as the liquor
started to really sink in, I decided that I’d better say what I went there to
say and get the fuck out before I started losing IQ points.

“We need to talk,” I told
her.

“Yeah,” she said, “you
mentioned that.”

“What are you doing? It’s
not very dignified, is it?”

“Dignity’s overrated,”
she said. “I’m just a woman who knows what she wants, and you just happen to be
the man that has it hanging between his legs.”

“Do you really think this
approach is ever going to work, though?” I asked. “All you’re doing is making
me never want to see you again under any circumstances.”

“Well,” she said, “we
don’t want that, certainly.”

The bartender started to
walk off, but I called him back, ordering yet another round for Wrigley and me.

“Are you really that into
her?” she asked.

“Yeah,” I said. “I really
am.”

“Then why were you so
quick to go for having a relationship with me?”

“I was confused,” I said.
“I didn’t think that Leila even liked me, much less felt the same way that I
did. After you stormed out of the car that night and went down on the cab
driver in my rearview mirror, I went home and found her making out with a
friend of hers. Then, while you and I were doing it on the roof, I don’t know,
I guess I was just overwhelmed. Look,” I said, “it’s not that I don’t like you,
and it’s nothing personal. Leila’s just who I really want to be with.”

“What I don’t get,” she
said, ordering another vodka, “is why that means you can’t be around me
anymore.”

“It’s not that I can’t be
around you,” I tell her, “it’s that I can’t be
with
you, not in the way we used to be.”

“Come on,” she said.
“You’re not married. You’re hardly even with her. Besides, I have pussy
seniority.”

“You come up with some of
the weirdest phrases,” I told her.

I tried to order another
shot of vodka, but the bartender informed me that we were both cut off.

After he walked away,
though, Wrigley leaned over the counter and grabbed the nearest bottle. It was
dark rum, but hey, it was alcohol.

After a stolen shot, I
continued.

“You’re a beautiful
woman,” I told her. “You can have any guy in the city. I bet there are a ton of
guys out there who are into the things that I’m not. That has to have crossed
your mind.”

“It’s not the same,
though,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Like I was telling your
roommate, it’s a sexual compatibility thing. You can be with someone—”

“When did you talk to my
roommate?” I asked. Leila hadn’t told me.

Wrigley shrugged and
said, “You can be with someone who technically does all the things you want to
do, but if you’re not sexually compatible, it’s never going to feel anywhere
near as good. You, for as much of a pussy as you are, rub me the right way, if
you’ll pardon the expression.”

She poured a couple more
shots and we drank them.

The bartender, though,
noticed and that’s when we got kicked out.

For a while, we just
walked and talked.

I told her, “I’m not the
only person you’re going to be sexually compatible with.”

“I know,” she said, “but
until I find someone else who is, I don’t think it’s fair for you to just leave
me hanging in the breeze.”

“I’m sorry,” I told her,
“but that’s just the way it is, and that’s the way it has to be.”

We talked some more after
that, and I do remember her apologizing for coming on so strong with Leila,
though she didn’t really go into too much detail about what that meant.

It wasn’t looking like I
was going to make any headway until my liquid brain spat out an idea.

“You know,” I told her,
“Leila’s moving out of the city, and there’s a good chance that we’re going to
break up when she does. I don’t know that for sure, but things aren’t looking
like they’re going to last. If you keep doing what you’re doing, I’m never
going to want to be around you again, much less back inside.”

“And what if she leaves
and the two of you stay together?” she asked.

“If that happens, then
that’s what happens. Truthfully, I hope that
is
what happens, but if you don’t back the fuck off, I can tell you
right now that you and I are never going to be an option again, even if Leila
and I do break up.”

She thought about it for
a minute.

“I had all sorts of shit
planned, though,” she said.

“What do you mean?”

“Never mind,” she said.
“Just some ways to convince you that you were going to bed in the wrong
vag
, you know.”

“Wrigley…”

“Just tell me two
things,” she said.

“What?”

“Is it love?”

“Yeah,” I told her. “I
really think it is.”

She nodded.

“What’s the other thing?”

She looked at me. “What’s
that like?”

I smiled. I very clearly
remember smiling.

“It’s the most wonderful
feeling in the world. Everything is better. It’s like being on ecstasy all the
time, minus the comedown and health implications. It’s something you never want
to let go of, and it makes everything else in the world seem so small, so
trivial.”

“Huh,” she said. “That
sounds nice.”

“Have you ever been in
love?” I asked.

She scoffed. “No.”

“You should try it
sometime,” I told her. “Find someone who drives you insane in the best possible
way, someone who you drive insane in the same way. There’s really nothing like
it.”

“Maybe I will,” she said.

We walked another half
block before she spoke again.

“All right,” she said.
“You’re off the hook.”

“Thank y—”

“For now,” she said. “But
if you and your little honey biscuit end up going
splitskies
,
I want to be the first one you call. I’m seriously getting blue ovaries over
here.”

I laughed so hard I lost
my balance. That, of course, only made Wrigley start laughing.

We spoke for a few more
minutes before I hailed a cab. I thanked her for finally understanding, and we
actually shook hands before I got in the taxi.

I look at the clock.

Leila said she wouldn’t
be any later than eight o’clock, but it’s already nine-thirty.

I pull out my phone and
call her number, but it just goes straight to voicemail.

Maybe we miscommunicated
somehow and one of us ended up in the wrong bar.

I don’t know, but I don’t
like what I’m feeling. It’s the kind of heaviness that makes it a little hard
to breathe.

The thought crosses my
mind, but I dismiss it before it has a chance to fully form. I’m nowhere near
ready for that.

I order another shot and
ask the bartender if they sell any gum.

He says, “Sorry,” and
pours me my shot.

I pay him and drink it
down, watching the ice cube melt in my tequila sunrise.

It doesn’t make much
sense, but I kind of wish that Wrigley
was
here right now. Despite her general lunacy, she actually does have a way of
cutting through the shit and giving some pretty solid advice from time to time.

I’m not ready to make that
phone call, either, though.

Leila and I have been
talking about how we’re going to find a way to spend time with each other after
she leaves, but neither one of us really wanted to take that conversation too
far.

I know, on my end, that’s
because I simply don’t want her to go, much less admit the reality that there’s
nothing I can really do about it without
guilting
her
and being the biggest ass hat on the planet.

Another shot of vodka
finds its way into my stomach, and I’m really starting to get worried.

That’s when I feel a hand
on my shoulder.

I smile and turn around.

“What the fuck are you
doing here?” I ask.

“Now that’s not the way
to greet someone,” Mike says. “How are you doing?”

“Half-drunk,” I tell him.
“Where’s Leila?”

“That’s why I’m here,” he
says.

“What happened?” I ask,
and am instantly on my feet.

“Sit down,” he says.
“She’s already gone.”

*
                   
*
                   
*

She’s gone. She’s
actually gone.

After Mike found me at
the restaurant, he saw me back home. He even paid for the cab.

His car, he told me, was
somewhere in New Jersey, carrying Leila and all of the stuff she wanted to take
with her. Or, to be more accurate, all the stuff she wanted to take that the
movers didn’t take themselves.

About the last thing in
the world I ever wanted to do, especially in the presence of that guy, was cry,
but there I was, sobbing.

When we got up to the
apartment, there was a note on the table. Mike said he’d be downstairs, smoking
a cigarette, and that he’d press the buzzer in a few minutes.

I heard him, but I didn’t
answer. I was engrossed in the note.

It read:

“Dane,

I can’t begin to tell you
how much our time together has meant to me, but I think we need to be
realistic. Yes, I have feelings for you and yes, it might even be love, but
you’re not ready to leave New York, and I can’t stay there. I really hope you
understand.

It’s been so long since
I’ve had a glimmer of what we’ve shared, and I thank you for that. I know this
isn’t going to be easy for either of us right now, but it’ll be the best thing
for both of us in the long run.