Debauched (Undone Book 3) (11 page)

When I finally settle, I curl up on my side and wish he was behind me, keeping me warm. My last thought before I drift into a dreamless sleep was I want him to know, simply so he can understand his power over me.

My phone rings at nine-o-one the following morning, about four minutes after I sit down at my desk. I work for a small specialty ad agency as a graphic designer. It’s a job, and at least it’s kind of creative, and I don’t have to sit around looking at numbers and spreadsheets all day.

It’s not my dream or anything. It pays the bills.

I’m not sure I know what my dreams are these days.

Before I can turn introspective, a trend it seems, I pick up my cell. “I’m impressed you waited this long.”

Layla’s laugh fills the line. There was a time I thought I’d never hear her laugh again and the sound is still music to my ears. That period of time, when Layla’s fiancé John had died, was the darkest time in my life, although it was much worse for Layla. He’d been my friend, and I’d grown up sheltered in this small, perfect town, bad things happened to other people.

But when Layla speaks, her voice is happy. “Michael insisted I wait until at least nine before I hound you.”

A small smile flits over my lips, tight and a touch swollen from my night with Chad. I run a finger over my mouth. True to his word, we’d made out like a couple of teenagers, yet there was something erotic and dirty about the way Chad kissed. Something addictive no sixteen-year-old boy could ever manage.

“I have nothing to report. We had dinner at his house and talked.” I clear my throat and lie. “It was the most innocent date I’ve had in ages.”

On the surface, it had been innocent. And so much more. I can barely admit it to myself, but some secret part of me was starting to believe Chad might be able to help me. That if I let him in, he can fix that broken part of me.

I didn’t like the thought. It’s not a man’s job to fix me, it’s my responsibility, not his. After two nights I already felt this crazy, girlish giddiness, and it worries me. He is not my savior. I’m supposed to be my savior.

And I don’t want to feel this way about him. I don’t want to feel this way about anyone. Over the years I’ve grown dependent on my lack of response, it keeps me safe, and a part of me wants to stay safe. What’s the point in opening myself up to someone so ill-suited for me? It can only end badly. The thought pops into my head—I should cancel. End this.

I envision getting off the phone with Layla, calling Chad and saying the words that will end this madness between us. And realize… I don’t want to.

He holds the key to something I didn’t know I was looking for.

“Really now?” Layla’s voice rips me from my thoughts. “That doesn’t sound like Chad. Or you, for that matter.”

Layla knows me better than anyone, in all things but sex. When it comes to sex, she only knows the pretend Ruby. The Ruby I present to the outside world. Sexually confident and independent. A woman strong in her beliefs of empowerment, liberation and choice.

It’s not a lie; I do
believe
all those things. I just can’t execute them. I sleep with guys, because I didn’t want the shackles of conservativeness weighing me down, but I don’t know how to free myself of the invisible binds that tether me. I don’t know how to turn off my brain and let the pleasure in. Don’t know how to lose myself.

My mind scrambles through what I should tell Layla and settles on a loose version of the truth. “We are taking things slow. It’s important we stay friends, so when it ends, nobody gets hurt.”

My chest squeezes. I’m afraid it’s already too late for that.

Layla is silent and I know she wants to question the whys with her planner's brain and is contemplating if she should push. Finally, she says, “Did you have fun?”

“I did.” Was it fun? Or was it discovery? I didn’t know.

“Are you going to see him again?”

“Yes, we’re going to a movie tonight.”

Layla giggles. “I want to grill you so hard right now.”

My mood lightens, and I laugh. “Thank you for restraining yourself.”

“There’s something you’re not telling me. You’re never this secretive.”

I wasn’t. Normally I told her every detail of my night. What we did, how the guy played me his guitar, or sang me his latest song, or read me his poetry. I’d tell her if I had sex, telling her how good it was, and how he might be the one I stayed with for more than a couple months. Both of us knowing it would never last.

The truth is, Chad is the most stable, most conservative guy I’ve ever gone out with. Chad is a relationship guy, the guy you bring home to your mom. God, if I brought Chad home, my mom would fall to her knees and praise Jesus her baby had finally found her way.

He’s everything I’ve never wanted in a man. And I’ve never wanted a man more.

I have no idea what to make of it, or what to do about it, let alone what to say to my best friend, who knows something is different about me. I try again to throw her off the trail. “I’m not being secretive, there’s nothing to tell. We had dinner, we talked about our childhood and all the normal first date stuff you already know about him anyway, and that was pretty much it.”

“You didn’t have sex?” Trying to figure out if that’s what I’m not saying.

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but no we did not. All he did was kiss me.” For hours, while he made my body come alive, frustrated with need and desire for perhaps the first time.

“There’s something.”

I roll my eyes. “Isn’t that enough? Is Chad the kind of guy you’ve been hoping I’d find my way to? Someone dependable and stable that won’t bum money from me, or sleep on a futon and cheat on me with other girls?”

“Well, yes...but only if it makes you happy.”

“You’re getting your wish.” I play with the mouse on my computer. “I don’t have a lot of experience with nice guys, but maybe they take things slow.”

“I guess that’s what’s confusing me.”

“What?”

“Chad isn’t a regular nice guy.”

And then I understand what she really wants to know. If Chad is being dominant, trying to control me. I frown? Was he? I didn’t think so. That’s not how it felt. He wasn’t pushing me the way I’ve seen Michael push Layla. He wasn’t making demands on me. I think of our conversation last night, his whispered instructions hot in my ear. There’d been no demand there. He was only allowing me to relax so I didn’t have to think. That can’t be the same thing.

I shake my head. “He’s been nothing but respectable to me.”

There was a moment of silence before she says, “Good. You deserve someone who will treat you right.”

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. It’s a few dates.”

“I know, but I can’t help it. I’m sorry.”

“You’re entitled as my best friend.” I glance at the clock on my desktop. “I’ve got to get to work.”

“Me too. There’s one last thing.” She clears her throat. “On the sixteenth we’re supposed to go to dinner at Gwen’s, it will be Michael and me, Leo and Jillian, Brandon and…one of the three girls he’s dating and decides to bring. Do you and Chad want to come?”

My throat grows tight. I’d been on couples nights before—but my date and Chad’s were other people—going together, with everyone knowing we were together, wondering why we were together, I’m not sure I’m ready for that. “That’s in a couple of weeks. We might not even be together then.”

“Or maybe you will.”

I try another excuse. “He might be busy.”

“Why don’t you ask him and let me know.”

I nod. “Okay.”

“Talk soon.”

She hangs up and I stare into space. I’ll worry about it later. Worry about Chad, and what he’s doing to me, how he’s changing me, later.

Now I’ll immerse myself in work and not think about anything else.

As soon as I buzz Chad up to my apartment I grow frazzled. A million thoughts race through my brain at warped speed. How my studio apartment will look to him. My place is like a dorm room next to his grown up adult house.

But more than that, I worry he’ll take one look at me and know what I did last night thinking about him. I still can’t believe I’d been that crazy, so lost in my own lust I’d actually done…that.

I bite my bottom lip. The only thing that makes me feel better is I know he won’t ask. Because he promised he wouldn’t and I believe him. The only way he’ll ever find out is if I confess to him, which of course, I won’t.

There’s a knock on my door.

I open to find him standing there, looking like an ad for some sort of all-American dream magazine. He’s wearing a white button-down rolled up to the elbows, and flat front, light gray pants. His hair is expertly tousled; his blue eyes bright, his smile devilish.

We couldn’t be more mismatched. I’m dressed in black skinny jeans, a strategically ripped black T-shirt and black biker jacket. My hair is haphazard, my eyes smoky.

He grins at me. “I hope you plan on living up to that bad-girl outfit you got on.”

I flush and wave a hand at him. “I thought we were going casual.”

He steps into my apartment. He looks all wrong, he belongs in his house, not mine. “I got held up at work and didn’t have time to change.”

He steps toward me and my heart leaps and bounds against my ribs. Nerves make me skittish and I blurt, “We don’t go together.”

My agitation doesn’t seem to faze him. He walks up to me, and grasps me by the neck, and without another word, his mouth covers mine.

It’s a hard, aggressive, assertive kiss. There’s no tentative exploration. He kisses me like he has every right to do so, like it’s not even a question. With possession.

I shudder against him, melting into his body.

As I’m about to lose myself completely he pulls away. His tongue licks over my lower lip. “Our bodies disagree.”

I clutch at his shirt and pant out, “I’m not your type.”

“And I’m not yours.” His hand settles on my hip and it’s like a brand against my skin, hot and heavy even through the fabric of my jeans. “But I still want you and you still want me.”

He brushes his mouth against mine. “And let’s be honest, our normal types haven’t been working out too well, have they?”

I blink at him, my fingers tightening on the fabric of his shirt. “What are you saying?”

His grasp squeezes on my neck. “I’m saying my normal type hasn’t held any interest for me since Valentine’s Day. And neither has yours.”

I meet his eyes. “Are you always so honest?”

“Yes.” The word is simple and straightforward. There’s no guesswork with him, no trying to figure out what he’s thinking, and I like that about him, no matter how uncomfortable it makes me.

He releases me, only to take my hand, which he raises to his lips. The action, for god knows what reason, makes a flush break out on my face.

“That’s a pretty pink.” He nips at my knuckles and I feel it all the way down to my toes. “How far should we go tonight?”

“W-what?” My heart is pounding so hard I can hear it in my ears.

“Should we only kiss again?” He licks across my skin. “Or can I play with those fantastic breasts of yours?”

“You’re asking?” My words stutter and tumble from my mouth.

His eyes darken, turning hot. “Would you rather I decide?”