Catch Me (23 page)

As soon as the elevator doors slide open, I step inside, muttering my apologies to the woman stepping out with a suitcase. I take a deep breath and exhale it slowly, clearing out my flustered emotions, and when I turn around to press the number to my floor, I look down at Nick’s white sneakers. Refusing to look into his eyes, I let my hair curtain my face as I reach my hand out and press number thirty-five.

“She’s having a moment,” Nick says softly to the girls trying to step in. I don’t look up at their faces, but I can see the matching pink Toms on their feet and assume they’re teenagers.

“Okay …” one of them says, stepping back.

If it weren’t for the fact that I don’t know what to say—at all—I would have told him off for that, but I can’t even open my mouth to speak. When the doors close in front of us, Nick steps forward, crowding me into the nook in front of the panel of buttons.

“Talk to me, Brooklyn,” he whispers into my hair.

His chest is on my back and I have to fight myself not to lean against him. I have to fight the draw that pulls me, that makes me want to fall into him. I have to fight the urge to turn around and look into his ocean eyes because I know that if I do all I’ll feel is disappointment. What bothers me the most is that all I do is hound Nina about always being the other woman, about always selling herself short when it comes to men and letting them have her as the girl on the side. Yet here I am, second to everyone. Always. And this time, I didn’t even see that as a possibility, that’s how blind I am.

“Nothing to talk about,” I say, smiling, even though he can’t see me. I close my eyes and coach myself into being neutral: he was never yours, he never said he was single, you never said you weren’t taken, you guys are friends, you didn’t even kiss him. When I feel I can do it, I push back with my body, forcing him to take a step back, and turn around to face him.

Smiling, I look into his eyes, and for a fleeting moment I think I may cry at the loss of them even though I never had them. This is unchartered water to me, no big deal. “I didn’t realize you and Stephanie were serious. When I saw you at the airport that time I didn’t get that impression. And since you never talk about her when we’re together …” I shrug. “Had I known, I wouldn’t have offered you to stay with me.”

I don’t even know what the fuck I’m apologizing for if he’s the one that leads me on every time we talk. Yes, we’re friends, but he flirts with me and acts like he wants more and … what a motherfucker. Thankfully, before I can get mad, the elevator opens behind me and I turn around to walk out, thinking that he’s going to stop me, but he doesn’t. At this point, I don’t know if I want him to take the elevator right back down or follow me to the room. I don’t know if I want to punch him in the throat for omitting his relationship or make out with him and tell him to get the hell away from me forever. It’s so sad that I’ve never been this confused. It’s sadder that the first time I feel this way, I’m a quarter into my life. It’s saddest that he doesn’t feel the same way about me that I do about him.

In short: I’m experiencing a case of sadness overload.

I walk as nonchalantly as possible to my door, which fortunately isn’t that far away from the elevator, and slide my card in. Letting out a breath, I push the door open and swallow the stupid knot that refuses to clear my throat. I step in, my eyes quickly scanning the large living room area, and toss my purse aside. When the door clicks shut, I finally turn around and see Nick standing beside it, pulling on the tip of his faux hawk.

I exhale, placing my hands on my hips and tilting my head to look at the high ceilings. “You can go,” I say.

Nick lets out a laugh. “Do you want me to leave or explain myself?”

I narrow my eyes at him, crossing my arms over my chest and shrug. “I already told you we have nothing to talk about.”

He nods, narrowing his eyes back at me. “I beg to differ.”

“I’m sure you do,” I mutter then exhale. “Nick, it really, really doesn’t matter. You have nothing to explain to me. I’m your friend, at least I thought I was, so I’m just shocked that you have a live-in girlfriend and you acted like she was nothing,” I shrug.

He frowns. “That’s not-” he starts, but I put my hands up to stop him.

“It’s fine,” I interrupt. “I just don’t understand why you would lead me on for no reason.” He tries to speak again, but I keep going. “And then you invite me to your house like it’s all good. What were you going to do? ‘Hey, Stephanie, remember Brooklyn? She’s staying here for the next couple of days,” I say, mimicking his deep voice.

“Dammit, woman,” he growls, striding over to me so quickly that I don’t have time to move away. Dipping his head so that we’re at eye level, he grabs the nape of my neck and pulls me to him, pinning me with his blue eyes, daring me to protest, and slams his lips over mine.

I wish I could intricately describe every single emotion his mouth makes me feel, but there are so many, I think I might burst. Tiny fireworks soar between us when his tongue parts my lips and begins to dance wildly with mine. His hands travel down my body in a frenzy, pulling me to him as if I can’t be close enough, and that’s exactly the way I feel as I pull on his hair and scrape the back of his neck. I would let him pull me inside of him if he could. I’ve been kissed a million times, yet none at all. That’s how this kiss makes me feel. Like I’m freefalling, like I’m dying, like I’m breathing for the first time. Like I’m high on ecstasy and a million expert hands are massaging me. This kiss is my life. And when we break apart, completely breathless, both of our chests heaving, I slap him. Hard.

“Get out,” I whisper, I can barely make out the words. As amazing as that kiss was, as incredible as Nick makes me feel, I can’t be just another notch on somebody’s bedpost, especially not his.

“You’re kidding, right?” he asks, his eyes seething into mine as he grinds his teeth together and places his hand over the spot on his cheek where I slapped him.

I look at him for a moment longer before turning my back to him. Thankfully the suite’s doorbell rings and Nick attends to the bellman at the door. I run into the bathroom and lock myself in, switching on the water so that it’ll drown out my sobs when they finally pour out of me. I cry because I can’t believe I slapped him. I cry for that kiss that’ll forever be engraved in my heart. I cry because I fucking hate him for lying to me. I cry because somehow, without my knowledge or permission, he snuck himself into my heart and I don’t know how to push him back out. I know that I’m letting my bottled up emotions get the best of me, but I can’t help it. At the feel of water crashing between my fingers, I get up and turn off the running faucet. Standing in front of it, I dip my hand in the pool of water, dejectedly looking at the way it seeps through my fingers.

After taking a long, hot shower, I explore the empty suite. It’s not lavish like others I’ve stayed in, but it’s spacious and has a wonderful view of the bay. Rounding the kitchen counter, I notice the hotel left a chilled bottle of champagne, two glasses, and a cup of strawberries with a note that says they hope I enjoy my stay. I decide that I will enjoy my stay courtesy of their bottle of champagne, which I quickly open. I’m on my third glass when I sit down on a barstool and notice that there’s a note written on the little pad of paper on the corner of the counter.

Putting my glass down, I slide it over to me and read.

Say it, just say it
. I contemplate it for all of two seconds before hopping off the stool, picking up my glass and the bottle, and walking to the floor to ceiling window. Plopping down on the couch behind me, I kick up my feet on the coffee table and take a sip on the bubbly drink. My phone begins to ring in my purse, and I’m thankful I tossed it on the couch beside me so I don’t have to get up and walk to get it. I put my glass down and scramble the things in my purse in search of it, seeing Nina’s face looking at me when I finally find it.

“Hey,” I answer.

“Hey, how’s everything?” she asks, her voice cautious for once.

“Fine. Just hanging out at the hotel, drinking some champagne. You know, the good life,” I mutter.

She sighs loudly. “I should’ve gone with you. Why are you drinking? You never drink anymore.” Her voice is small and helpless, matching my feelings. I don’t laugh because if I do, I think I’ll end up crying again.

“I’m good, I just needed to relax,” I respond, finding that it’s true. I actually don’t feel terrible right now.

“So you don’t need me to pack my bags and fly my ass over there?” Nina asks.

I laugh. “Nope. I think I’m good.”

“Where’s the hottie? Is his room near yours?” she asks.

“Funny story … he was supposed to stay with me. Hendrix booked a two-room suite, but we sort of made out and then I slapped him and told him to leave.”

Silence. Shocking silence.

“What?” Nina asks quietly, clearly taken aback.

I explain everything that happened, from the airplane to the car, to the hotel lobby and elevator to the kiss.

“Wow. I mean … I can see why you’re pissed, but wow … I can’t believe you slapped him,” she says and falls into a fit of giggles. “That’s my girl!”

I can’t keep the laughter from escaping my lips. Of course Nina would be happy about something like that. She makes me promise that I won’t finish the bottle of champagne by myself.

“As much as I want you to loosen up and live a little, I’m scared of you doing that without me there to watch you,” she says.

Her words make me feel loved, wanted, and because of that, I promise her that I won’t get drunk and that I won’t let anybody lure me into doing any drugs. I’ve come too far to let myself relapse.

There’s a knock on my door shortly after I hang up with Nina, and I look through the peephole to see who it is. I find myself staring at a mop of unruly brown hair until Shea lifts his face, showing me his annoyance for having to wait for me to open the door. I swing the door open and move out of the way so he can come in.

“About time,” he says, brushing past me and looking around the suite. He shrugs. “Mine’s nicer.”

I roll my eyes, even though he can’t see me, and let the door shut behind me as I follow him into the living room. “That’s because you got the penthouse suite.”

“You could’ve stayed with me, but noooo you wanted to stay with Shadow,” he says mockingly. “Where is he?”

I shrug. “He left. I’m sure he’ll be back later.” I don’t want to get into what happened between Nick and me, not with Shea. We may be good friends, but I don’t like to bore him with my sorry excuse for relationships.

“Hmm,” Shea says, plopping down on the sofa and turning on the television. “You drinking this?” he asks, tapping the bottle of champagne with the tip of his sneaker.

“Yeah. You want?” I offer.

He tips his head up to look at my face. He looks amused by the question, as if it’s a given that he would want it, and I know it is, but if I’m going to be honest, I didn’t want him to stroll in here and start drinking with me. Who knows what he’s going to pull out of his pockets after his second glass of alcohol? I know he wouldn’t offer me anything that he takes, he knows better than that and he’s really made an effort not to include me in his illicit behaviors, but it doesn’t change the fact that it makes me uneasy. Especially when we’re alone. For the past couple of years, anytime Shea and I have hung out by ourselves it’s been because we’ve gone out to a restaurant or a bar to hang out. I don’t think we’ve been alone in a hotel room with a bottle of alcohol in over five years.