A coerced night with a rock star, a change of clothes, and a bagel I haven’t even gotten to taste yet. I suppose there are worse ways to close out a trip to New York City.
But Aiden doesn’t stay still for long; his figure moves in the shadows cast by the streetlights, and he starts up the path in front of us, pushing the chain-link gate back enough for us to slip in. I follow like a cat fiending for tuna, shuffling behind him.
Once past the wrought iron fence surrounding the area, we stop to catch our breath.
The park is compact, mostly made up of brick and concrete, dotted with gardens I suspect are probably flush with exotic flora in the spring. Right now, they’re barren, the wild boar statue to my left the only real appealing thing inside.
Across from us is the East River, and I step closer, captivated by the way the city skyline reflects off the surface. A massive bridge stretches horizontally over the body of water, connecting Manhattan to Queens—which I only know because I studied the boroughs excessively before this trip.
My shins meet the concrete barrier between myself and the river, and I let out a wistful sigh.
“It’s beautiful,” I say softly. Reverently, as if my compliment might upset the water.
Aiden steps up beside me, resting his free hand on the rail next to where mine is curled around it. I feel his eyes on me, hot where they try to penetrate deeper, but I refuse to turn my head and get sucked in.
“Yeah,” he says, the one word laced with such tenderness to it that I ache between my thighs in a way I never have before.
I clear my throat, tension coiling in my stomach. “Do you do this kind of thing often? Bid on girls and take them on crazy dates?”
“Never. I don’t really…” He sighs, slipping his hand into his back jean pocket. “My life is very carefully coordinated, and for good reason. I don’t usually deviate, because I’m a creature of habit. Most artists are, because it helps keep the creativity flowing when you don’t have to put a lot of work into changing everyday shit up. I truly don’t remember the last time I ventured off on my own like this.”
“So, what? You saw me throwing a pity party and decided we should celebrate elsewhere?”
He cocks his head to the side, a tiny smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
“You were the only one there tonight who didn’t look like they wanted to be there. Everyone in my life, in the entertainment industry… we’re all snakes. Everyone wants something. Your honesty is refreshing.”
Trying not to focus on the fact that he said we, I grip the railing tighter.
I don’t know what strange force has led me here tonight, or why it feels as though my world is spinning off its axis and I’m being hurtled toward the sun.
But for right now, I want to stay here.
At least for a little while.
7
“Oh, my god.”
Swallowing hard, I steal a look at the blonde beside me. She’s got one arm hooked over the armrest, staring out at the river as she bites into a strawberry bagel.
Satisfaction softens her features, and I’m once again struggling to keep my dick down as she moans into the bread.
“I’m gonna need to know your name if you’re gonna keep making sounds like that.”
Her eyes widen, her head whipping in my direction. “What sounds?”
My mouth falls open a little, the urge to ask if she’s a virgin in the literal sense flaring on the tip of my tongue. I don’t think it’d surprise me either way, but the idea of her being untouched sends a renewed spike of pleasure down my spine.
“Nothing,” I mutter instead, leaning back on the metal bench.
She kicks her legs out, taking another bite as she quickly redirects her attention. I can’t help noticing how different she seems, now that she’s in normal clothes.
Can’t help noticing how good she looks in mine.
My mind flickers back to when I caught her at the dry cleaners, the way her body stiffened, yet somehow still perfectly molded into me.
If she were any other girl in the world, my guess is that I’d have already bent her over and had my way in whatever dark alcove we deemed appropriate. I don’t ever do that kind of thing with fans, too worried about the potential repercussions my father’s always warned me about, but something tethers me here with her.
This girl’s skittish. Constantly looking over her shoulder, as if anticipating an attack. It hits close to home, and I find that her fear intrigues me.
It feels like a game, and I’m racing toward victory as I try to uncover what she’s afraid of.
Deep down, a sick feeling bubbles up, soaking in her terror.
I want it to be me.
Shaking my head to dispel the insanity, I throw my arm over the back of the bench, twisting my fingers in the ends of her honey-colored locks. “Well?” I press, cocking an eyebrow. “Is that not the best bagel you’ve ever had?”
She hums, picking a piece off with two fingers. “It’s pretty good, I’ll give you that. Not sure my life has changed because of it, though.” Moaning again as the dough hits her tongue, she shakes her head. “Okay, but how? How is it so good?”
“Boiled, instead of fried. Makes them crunchy and chewy in all the right places.”
Making a little sound in the back of her throat, she looks back out at the bridge, and I look at her.
Her phone buzzes, interrupting the conversation, and she reaches into her purse to pull it out. Wiping her hands on her pants, she sets the half-eaten bagel on top of the paper bag, then slides off the bench.
“I need to take this.”
Shrugging, I watch as she scurries away, knowing that even if she tried to run right now, it’d take minimal effort for me to catch up. She’s small and has no idea how to navigate the city.
Besides, I don’t think she has much interest in ditching me at this point.
Maybe that shouldn’t please me so much, but I can’t deny the way my blood heats in her presence. Technically, I could let her go—auction rules are pretty strict, but when what you’ve purchased is defective or not delivering, they tend to be more forgiving about refunds in order to avoid lawsuits.
I’m just not interested in buying anyone else’s time.
Awareness scratches at my insides, fascination sprouting with that familiar sense of dread the longer I watch the girl. Intrigue is a dangerous thing, and I’m plummeting like a falling star, unable to lessen the impact.
The need to know more about her digs into my stomach, weeds twisting around my insides until I’m practically suffocating in my ignorance.
Unhealthy coping mechanisms, my mother would say. Obsessions with things that don’t matter in order to keep the darker thoughts at bay.
My gaze drops to the rings on my fingers, jaw clenching. If anyone knows about unhealthy ways to cope, it’s her.
“…yes, I’m fine. Please do not come back here.”
I glance up, finding the girl’s back as she leans over a metal trash can, phone pressed to her ear. One hand grips the rim of the can, while the other reaches up to scratch at her scalp repeatedly.
“It was two minutes, Boyd. There’s really no reason to be this upset.”
The man’s name rolls off her tongue flippantly, and it feels like a concrete block drops right onto my chest. My lungs burn with the stress, and I realize just how close to unraveling I am.