Love Interest(61)

I point my finger at Freddy. “I need another drink, but when I get back, I will get you to admit that someone who has had, say, thirty perms in their life would know showering risks deactivating the ammonium thioglycolate.”

“Please.” Freddy winks. “Everybody knows that.”

Alex comes out of the bathroom right as I reenter the hallway. I scoot up to him and slap the wall beside his head. He freezes, amused.

“Is it true you stand to inherit the club now that Doctor Disco is dead?” I ask.

“Disco was like a brother to me,” Alex says. “Sure, we were business partners, but I’d never off him. You, on the other hand…”

“What?”

“The bouncers overheard you and Disco fighting.”

I gasp theatrically. “We never fought!”

Alex consults his script, then goes rogue. “You were mad he wasn’t giving you enough stage time. Disco said you were pitchy.”

“He did not. That’s not on the script!”

He rasps out a laugh and grabs me by my waist, pulling me against him. “I guess you’ll have to sing something to prove you’re not the killer.”

“Alex, the stakes are too high, you have to take this seriously!” I cry.

But this feeling—this giddiness I can say with 100 percent confidence I’ve never felt so intensely—swallows us both up in a feedback loop of wanting and being wanted. The days apart are demanding an end, and my free hand comes up behind his neck, and I let him tip me back a little, and—

“Ha!”

My drink tilts, sloshing out of the glass. Alex and I both twist to see Benny staring at us, mouth agape.

“Fari, you owe me five bucks!” he shouts, running off.

I groan in exasperation, and Alex hums against my throat, “You said I didn’t have to stay away from you if I wasn’t the murderer.”

“Did you just give yourself away so you could kiss me?”

“Yes,” he says, tilting my face toward his, and rumbles, “I’m done with games.”



* * *



We slip away when the party winds down—the murderer still at large due to an admittedly botched investigation—and head back to the West Village, where cold air and wind and lights revive us from the edge of sleep the Uber ride sank us into.

“When’s your birthday?” I ask Alex when he comes out of a bodega and hands me a Gatorade. “And why didn’t you get the nipple-top bottles? They taste better.”

He slants his head, looking down at me with amusement. The blue lights of the neon sign above us paint his face a dreamy glow. “They definitely taste better, but they were out. And my birthday is Christmas Eve.”

“What?”

“For real.”

“What are your Christmases like?” I ask, then bite my tongue. If Alex doesn’t even spend Thanksgiving with family …

“When I was a kid,” he says, putting a hand against my waist to steer me in the direction of his street, “they were full of miyeokguk and experimental skin-care products my cousins would invent. They’ve upgraded since then and now co-own a skin-care line that they operate out of LA and Seoul, where each of them lives. I think I have some of their face masks at home, if you want to try one.”

I chew on my lip, peering up with pure intrigue at the man beside me. “Were your aunt and your mom close?”

He nods. “They were best friends growing up. Aunt Jane has tons of old stories about my mom she tells me whenever I stay with her,” Alex says, smiling. “Just yesterday, I went to dinner with her, and we spent three hours talking. She was sad when my mom decided to move us to Seoul, but apparently, she also thought it was the right call for my mother’s happiness.”

“To get her away from Robert’s vicinity?” I ask.

Alex frowns. “I guess so. Though Aunt Jane doesn’t think Robert is so bad, mainly because her own husband was worse. He bailed on his wife and kids about eight years ago and never looked back. At least Robert didn’t vanish.”

“That’s true,” I say. “Robert did not vanish.”

Alex’s hand on my waist slips to my free hand, and he doesn’t let go as we climb the stairs of his place. Still doesn’t let go as we stroll silently toward his bed. He puts both of our bottles on the dresser and pulls me close. Tilts my head back with the tip of his finger.

“Tell me what you want for your birthday,” he whispers. “And I’ll give it to you.”

I kiss him. I ache for this now. The feeling of his lips on mine. All the time.

He tugs on my bottom lip with his teeth, traces the marks he left behind with his tongue. I lift myself toward him, pressing our bodies flush. We kiss, and kiss, and kiss. Just standing there.

He’s hard against me, and I make him sit so I can straddle him. Alex moves my body against his, and we just keep kissing, like neither of us can stand to move on from this. My dress rides up eventually, and he lifts it over my head. I peel off his shirt, let my hands roam over the contours of his chest. He massages my breasts, thumbing over the fabric of my bra. Under it.

Mouth. His mouth is on my breast. It’s warm and dark and flooding me with a sensation that I have honestly, without a doubt, never felt before in my life.