Can't Get Enough (Skyland, #3)(75)
It takes about 2.4 seconds for some dude to dance up on me and grind his half-mast dick into my ass. It is wall-to-wall bodies in here, so some contact is unavoidable, but his breath is on my neck. I did not spritz Valentino all over just to smell like whatever cheap-ass cologne he bathed in.
“Excuse me,” I say, thrusting an elbow back into his ribs. “I think you and your erection need to sit this one out.”
He releases a hhhhmph at the jab, and miraculously I’m free to grind and roll without his hard-on as my partner. Chapel finds her way to me and we dance through three more songs, chatting as people walk up to us. Ever since the Miami party, Chapel’s profile has risen. Part of that is being associated with Zere. Chapel has been invited to all the right events, been seen in all the cool places with powerful, popular people. But it’s not just association. It’s what she does with the spotlight, even if it’s for only a few seconds. She stands out. She shines. She makes you remember her. And she’s right. This is a party, but my office is always open so my eyes are peeled for her next opportunity.
“This DJ is good,” Chapel yells to be heard over the music. “His mixology game is strong.”
“Yeah, I need to pace myself.” I lean in to her ear. “These shoes did not come with Megan Thee Stallion knees, so I’m gonna grab a drink and sit my ass down for a few minutes.”
Chapel looks over my shoulder and flashes a salacious grin, licking her lips invitingly. I glance in that direction and am not sure if it’s the girl, the guy, or the both she’s scoping as her conquest for the night, but I want to get out of the line of fire.
“You know where to find me,” I tell her, heading for one of the few empty spots on a couch against a wall of windows overlooking the New York city skyline. It’s a sheet of midnight velvet sprayed with shattered glass stars. I don’t know what glitters brighter, the stars on that side of the window or this one. Everywhere I look there’s an A-list celebrity. Zere definitely knows how to party, and her fortieth birthday celebration is an epic affair. It’s such a crush of people, I haven’t seen her, but as soon as I sit down, she dashes over and settles beside me.
“Hey, Hen!” she squeals, pulling me into a seated side hug. “Thank you for coming.”
“It’s the birthday girl!” I squeeze her and smile. “You look beautiful as usual.”
“Not a day over forty, huh?” A tiara nestled among her golden-brown curls sparkles. She’s as svelte in her body-molding dress as she was in photos from twenty years ago.
“Happy birthday, Zere. I truly hope you get all you deserve.”
“Thank you. I’m so glad we’ve become friends over the last few months.”
Guilt twists my insides at the word “friends.” According to girl code, you don’t dry-hump a friend’s ex. You don’t come all over his lap. And you certainly don’t get yourself off in bed every night for a week from the memory of it.
“Me too,” I say lamely. “Are you enjoying your party?”
“I am. Everyone’s having a great time.” Her eyes roam the packed room of beautifully dressed people here to celebrate her life, and her bright expression dims a little. “Well, almost everyone. I haven’t seen Mav yet.”
It’s as if she plucked his name from my guilty conscience, and for a moment my tongue clings to the roof of my mouth, reluctant to get words out.
“Oh, is he coming?” I ask with a held breath because I don’t know what I want her answer to be.
“Supposedly.” She shrugs her slim shoulders as if it doesn’t matter to her one way or the other, but her eyes tell too much. She wants him here.
I didn’t acknowledge the flowers Maverick sent with even a text to thank him. I gave him my answer, which is no. If I have any hope of standing by that decision, I need to stay away from him. There have been no more text messages. No more simul-watching Netflix. I’ve gone cold turkey, and apparently so has he. Besides the 144 champagne roses, he hasn’t tried to contact me either. I ignore the hot knot of irrational disappointment. I told him there was no possibility of anything happening between us.
Anything more happening.
I would believe he’s accepted my decision, except the message on the card makes me think this is a tactical retreat, not surrender.
Just getting started, Gorgeous.
Gorgeous with a capital “G.” Like it’s not just an adjective, but my name. How he thinks of me.
The flowers’ fragrance hung heavy in the air, permeating every corner of my home so that each time I drew a deep breath, I couldn’t help but think of Maverick. Had that been his intention? If so, mission accomplished. That man’s been living rent-free in my head… and in my bed, if fantasies count.
More of Zere’s friends crowd around her, and as the centerpiece of this well-laid table, she glows. Charles, Zere’s new real estate mogul companion, brings her a drink and sits beside her. She introduces him and we small talk for a few minutes. He’s nice and attractive in a forgettable way. His handsomeness feels factory-made—a man-doll from an assembly line, such a contrast to Maverick. That man is handcrafted, the way one-of-a-kind pieces come with a warning that irregularities are to be expected. That flaws are part of the beauty and signal there is no other in existence exactly like it.
Fearfully and wonderfully made, as my mother might have quoted the Bible to describe him.