“Whatever this is, it’s not going to end well.”
The words uttered by the tattoo shop girl that night ring in my head, pulling me from the moment. I sit back in my seat slightly, disconnecting our lips, framing his jaw with my face.
Running my tongue over my teeth, I squint at him, bits of mint cooling my mouth. “How come you always taste like peppermint?”
He pushes one of the spherical candies between his teeth—just like the one he’d transferred to my mouth when he first showed up weeks ago.
“Is that some sort of oral fixation?”
“No.” His voice dips an octave, smoothing over me like satin, and he leans in, pressing his lips to my neck. As he drags his tongue up, alternating between suckling and licking his way to my jaw, he inhales deeply. “It’s a Riley fixation.”
A memory flashes, Aiden’s shoulders between my legs, his nose pressed to my skin.
“You smell so good. Like peppermint.”
“It’s a lotion,” I’d told him, allowing myself to indulge for the first time in my life.
Pulling his head up, I stare deep into his eyes, my heart beating so brutally against my chest that I’m afraid he might be able to hear it.
When he kisses me again, I forget all about his question.
When he pulls me into his lap, grinding me down on his erection, I forget about Mellie down the street, parting my thighs so he can sheath himself inside me. It’s a tight fit, both the position—my back digging into the steering wheel, his legs trapped beneath me—and the act, and yet there’s something strangely freeing about it, too.
We come together, crying out into each other’s mouths, and this time his kiss tastes less like peppermint and more like forgiveness.
Like understanding.
I can almost forget that I don’t deserve it.
41
Vibrations shake my pillow, pulling me from a sex-induced slumber.
Dazed, I lift my head, feeling around for the source of the disturbance. Riley’s tucked tight to my side, a tiny puddle of drool connecting her lips to my ribs, and for a second, all I want to do is lie back down and never move from beneath her.
But the vibrating doesn’t stop, and I don’t want it to wake her yet.
Shoving my hand between the headboard and mattress, I pull my cell up with two fingers, not looking at the screen before I roll over and answer.
I’m expecting my father, or Liam, or maybe even the hotel I booked for the New Year’s show next week, calling to confirm accommodations.
I’m not expecting my mother.
“Hola, papi. Merry Christmas.”
The sound of her voice in my ear this early, before the sun has even risen here, immediately knots my muscles together with dread.
“Callie.” My voice is groggy, but my mind snaps right to attention. “Is something wrong?”
Her laugh chirps through the line. “Does something have to be wrong in order for me to call my son?”
“Well, it’s the first time you’ve contacted me since I left New York.” Silence. I pull back the phone, checking to see if she got disconnected, but her name still lights the screen. “Callie?”
“I’ve never gone a single Christmas without hearing your voice first thing in the morning,” she says finally, and I can imagine her sitting in her condo on the Upper East Side, feet propped up on her glass coffee table as she stares down a glass of red wine.
There’s probably a white tree in one corner, the only one in the house because she can’t stand the needles getting everywhere. It’s likely decked out with white lights and blue ornaments—her favorite holiday colors when I was a kid—though I’m sure it was a housekeeper that got them from the attic and put them on the tree.
She’ll probably host some big dinner, inviting everyone in the area within our tax bracket, and she’ll remain in the living room, looking into her wineglass, wondering how the red liquid keeps dwindling when she swears she hasn’t touched it.
People will filter in and out for photo ops, asking where I’m at and when the next big tour is, and she won’t have an answer. Her focus will stay on that fucking wineglass, even though her mind will be in the bathroom vanity upstairs, scouring the shelves for just one leftover pill, even though my father and I cleaned out her stash years ago.
Parties always were her biggest stressor, so I can only imagine how difficult it must be this year without anything else to focus on.
For a washed-up pop star like Calliope Santiago, becoming her celebrity son’s manager is about as good of a distraction as one can get.
And I fucked it all up for her.
After an uncomfortably long gap in conversation, Callie clears her throat. “How’s Colorado?”
“Cold and snowy, mostly. Not much to report.”
She laughs softly. “Sounds a lot like home.”
“Yeah, only like a mile above sea level, so the air here is dry as shit.” Blowing out a breath, I let my arm fall above my head, tracing abstract patterns in the vaulted ceiling with my eyes. “Liam tell you I’m doing a New Year’s show?”
“He did.” Pause. She clears her throat again, and this time I hear her swallow. “I think that’s great, hijo. Can’t hide from the world forever.”
“I’m not hiding,” I say, biting back the urge to mention that she’d know what I’m doing here if she hadn’t been ignoring me.
“You’re hardly living.”
My nostrils flare, and I grip the headboard in one hand, my rings digging into the pine. “I’m not sure you’re in a place to judge, Mother.”
Her sigh crackles through the receiver, and I hear her mumble something in Spanish. “I didn’t call to fight, Aiden. I just wanted to check on you.”
“Why? Just making sure I’m still alive?”
“Ay, no. Why would you even say something like that?”
I groan, and Riley rolls away from me, pushing my legs with her feet. “You’re right, I should be the one checking to make sure you’re not dead in a hotel bathroom somewhere.”
She stays quiet for a long, long time, and I feel my heart flatten as my words reabsorb into the air, disappearing like I didn’t utter them.
“Look.” Now when she returns, her voice is cold and hard. Almost detached. “Scandal ruined my career. You were young, so I don’t expect you to remember, but—”
“I remember,” I cut in, my throat constricting around the words. “I remember more than you think.”
Everything. My memory is completely intact, each traumatic event burned into my brain, so I recall it with perfect clarity.
It’s a wonder I didn’t try to off myself sooner.
“Then it should be easy for you to understand why your mother had a hard time with all of this. Sexual assault allegations are very hard to bounce back from, papi.”
“Thank you for that brand-new information.”
Another sigh. “I’d better get going. The housekeeper will be here to let in the catering staff any minute now.”
I bite down on the inside of my cheek, staving off the rejection. “Don’t want to keep her waiting.”
Before she has a chance to reply, I end the call and toss the phone to the foot of the bed.