Gluttony (19 page)

Sober was hard, but if he was going to do this—do this and
mean
it—it was necessary.

“I’m trying to tell you—” He couldn’t look at her while he was saying it, so he turned to face the endless spread of lights, grasping her hand as he waited for the words to come. “I think … I love you.”

Silence.

“Beth. I love you.” It was easier this time. There was no more doubt.

But she didn’t say anything. Finally, he dared to look at her—and she seemed so terrified, so appalled, that he quickly looked away.

“You can’t,” she whispered. “Take it back.”

But Reed couldn’t. “I love you.” he said again.

She touched his cheek, gently, with that impossibly soft skin. “Reed …” He waited for her to say it back, to say
anything
. But instead, she let out a loud, anguished sob—and bolted.

“Beth!”

But she didn’t hesitate, or look back. She raced across the roof, flung the door open and, just like that, she was gone.

chapter
8

Even after they’d stepped outside the building and into the relatively quiet night, Harper imagined she could still hear the oversynthesized chords of the love song echoing in her ears. It made the awkward silence a little easier to take.

“So,” Adam finally said.

“So.”

About a foot of distance lay between them, which seemed safest. Adam leaned against the wall of the hotel, the flashing Elvis billboard casting a series of red and gold lights across his face. He watched her as if expecting something.

She knew she was supposed to start. After all, she’d been the one to push him away. It was just that now she couldn’t quite remember why.

He raised an arm and leaned it against the wall, his biceps bulging with even the small movement. And Harper imagined what it would feel like to have those biceps encircling her; to have free range to stroke his arms and lean against his chest and—

So that, obviously, was problem number one. Could she handle having him in her life without having
all
of him? It had been hard enough before, when all she’d had was her imagination. Now she had memories, and they were more insistent. They were more real.

But it had never been about that, or only that. It had been about Adam, the only person she could truly count on, the one who knew every detail of her past and was present in every dream of her future. She’d been miserable these last few months, and now that pain seemed pointless, the time wasted.

“You miss me,” Adam prompted, when it became obvious that she wasn’t going to begin.

Harper attempted a blasé expression. “You can be useful,” she told him. “Occasionally.”

Adam took a step toward her. “So, does that mean we can end this thing?” he asked casually.

Harper shrugged. “I guess.”

“And you and me …”

“Yeah.” Harper allowed herself a smile. “We’re okay.” That was the great thing about being friends with guys: They didn’t need any of that sappy “I’m so sorry,” “No,
I’m
so sorry” crap. They could just shrug and move on. Move forward.

Now Harper took a step, and they met in the middle. She wanted to wait for Adam to move first, but her patience ran short, and she threw her arms around his waist, pressing her head against his chest, feeling like she had come home. Adam wrapped her into a tight bear hug, his cheek pressed against the top of her head.

“I really did miss you,” she murmured, thinking it would be too soft for him to hear.

“I know,” he whispered back. Then, louder, in a more teasing voice, “You know you can’t live without me.”

No, she couldn’t.

When they finally broke from the hug, he didn’t release her just loosened his arms enough that she could lean away from his body and look up at him. The Vegas night was lit by enough neon to see every chiseled feature of his face in sharp relief, from his squarish, dimpled chin to his regal brow line and deep-set eyes. But Harper barely noticed any of that; he wasn’t an assemblage of perfect pieces. He was just her best friend. “Adam, I—”

He kissed her.

Not on the forehead, not on the cheek. On the lips.

And not slowly, not gently, but hard, desperate, hungry. She closed her eyes and sucked his lower lip, nearly gasping as his tongue crept past her teeth and met hers, his breathing sped up, hers nearly stopped, and she drank him in. He tasted the same.

And then it was over, and just as roughly as he’d grabbed her, he pushed her away.

“What was—?” Harper, still stunned—and already missing his touch—tried to catch her breath.

“I don’t know. I don’t know.” Adam was panting, leaning his fists against the wall. “I’m sorry, I don’t—”

“You said you didn’t want that. This,” Harper reminded him. “You said friends.” He couldn’t trust her enough for a relationship, he’d told her. Things would get too messy, and they would lose each other again.

“I know what I said!” he snapped. Then he pressed a hand to his forehead. “I’m sorry. I don’t … you were there, and it just felt …”

“Yeah.” She wanted to touch him, but—she didn’t want to touch him, not if it meant scaring him away. “We can just … forget it. If you want.”
No, no, no,
she pleaded silently.
Say no
.

“Maybe. But …”

“But?” She tried to keep the tinge of hope out of her voice.

Harper leaned against the wall next to him, their faces once again only inches apart.

“If we did this—I mean, if we were going to do this, we’d have to decide,” Adam said. “You know? It can’t be …”

“Casual.”

He took her hand, then dropped it a moment later and shoved his hands in his pockets. “I missed you too, Gracie. And I—I
miss
you. But when we were together, like that, it just …”

“I know.”

“Everything got so fucked up.”

Because of me,
Harper thought. Adam was kind enough not to say it; but she knew he was thinking it too. He had to be. “Maybe we should just … forget it. Or, take some time.”

“Yeah.” He nodded to himself. “Maybe. That would be good. But …” He took her hand again, and this time, he pressed it to his chest, then tugged her toward him. Their lips nearly met when, with all the strength she could muster, Harper pushed him away. It nearly wasn’t enough.

“No,” she said firmly. “You should go.”

“This could be the right thing,” Adam told her. “Maybe I was wrong before, and this—maybe it could work.”

She wanted to stay—she wanted to kiss him again, to make him remember what he was missing and convince him that he needed it as much as she did. But if he wasn’t sure yet, then she couldn’t risk it. If she let him back in and he changed his mind again—it would be too hard. For both of them.

Restraint wasn’t in Harper’s repertoire. But she could try. “You need to know,” she told him. “You need to be sure.”

“What if I told you I was sure?”

“Then you’d be lying.”

He let out a pained laugh. “I hate that you know me like this.”

“You love it.”

“Yeah.” He reached over and twisted his finger through her hair. “What time is it?”

She checked her cell. “Almost nine.” Strange, it seemed later.

“Okay. You think. I’ll think. And we’ll meet later—”

“At midnight,” Harper suggested. “But before you go, there’s something … you need to know….” She wanted to tell him her secret—to tell him the truth about Kaia, and the accident. He deserved to know who she really was, and he deserved the chance to push her away.

And maybe … he deserved the chance to forgive.

“What?” he asked, after a long pause.

But she couldn’t do it. She would, she promised herself, but only when she knew what was at stake. If he decided that he needed her as much as she needed him, then she would know she could trust him to keep her secret. Maybe she could even trust him not to leave her. But it was too soon—he was still unsure of what he wanted. So she couldn’t take the risk. “Nothing,” she said quickly. “Save it for midnight.”

“Where?”

Harper scanned the skyline, and her gaze stumbled over the towering replica of the Empire State Building. It reminded her of some movie—some lame romantic comedy, probably, but certainly one with a happy ending. And she could use that kind of luck. She pointed. “Up there, on the roof. Whatever you decide.”

“I’ll be there,” he promised. “And Harper …” He gripped her shoulders. “Whatever happens next, we need to make it work. Because this friendship—you …”

“I know,” she assured him. “You don’t have to say it.”

“Yes, I do.” He hugged her again, his strong arms locking her into the embrace. “This friendship is everything, Gracie. I’m not losing you again.”

Miranda finished the meal still hungry, so she allowed Jackson to talk her into dessert: a massive ice-cream sundae with three scoops of chocolate chip ice cream, a hearty helping of chocolate hazelnut sauce topped by two cherries, all piled atop a freshly baked double fudge brownie. Miranda had promised herself she would only have a couple bites—but it was already half gone.

“This is amazing,” she moaned as another gulp of icy sweetness slid down her throat. And she wasn’t just talking about the food. Kane’s bizarre interruptions aside, the night had gone remarkably well. It was the kind of date other people had: normal, pleasant, engrossing and, hopefully, all leading up to a good night kiss. Or more.

This wasn’t the way Miranda’s life usually went, but it was, after all, almost her birthday. Maybe the universe was giving her a present.

“
You’re
amazing.” Jackson told her, and scooped his spoon into the heaping sundae, then brought it to her lips. She sucked down another mouthful and, smiling at him, licked her lips. When Harper did that kind of thing, she always made it look incredibly sexy. Miranda suspected she just looked like a messy eater—but then, that’s what she was, so it couldn’t be helped. “Uh, you’ve still got a little on your face….”

“Where?” Miranda asked, turning red. She slid her napkin across her lips and looked up at him. “Better?”

Jackson laughed. “Not really. There’s still a little, just above your lips—no, not there—no, to the left … here.” He leaned across the table and gave her such a soft, brief kiss that she could almost believe she’d imagined it. “Mmmm,” he said, licking his own lips with a satisfied grin. “Sweet.”

Miranda didn’t know what to do. She brushed her fingers against her lips, as if to check that the smear of ice cream was really gone—or to find some trace evidence of his kiss. Her fingertips tingled.

They stared at each other, Miranda blushing and Jackson playing with the peace sign that hung on a chain around his neck. “You wanna get out of here?” Jackson finally said. “We could … go somewhere.”

From the burning sensation in her cheeks, Miranda guessed that they had just turned from pale pink to fire engine red. But Jackson didn’t seem to care. “I guess,” she told him. “I’d like that.”

Jackson gestured to the waitress that she should bring over the bill, but when she returned, she wasn’t alone. “This gentleman would like to speak with you,” she said, stepping aside to make way for a short, squat guy in a security guard uniform. He pointed at Jackson’s backpack.

“Open the bag for me, sir.”

Jackson stood up, but made no motion toward his backpack. “What’s this about?”

“I said, open the bag,
sir
. Or I’ll open it for you.”

“You can’t just come here and—”

The security guy lunged for the bag and ripped it open before Jackson could stop him. He plunged his hand inside and pulled out a stack of candy bars and several plastic bags filled with green flakes. It looked like oregano. But Miranda knew it wasn’t.

Jackson did a 180, dropping the offended bravado and starting to whine. “Look, man, give me a break, it’s just my private stash, and I’m just trying to have a good time here—”

The security guard shook his head and waved the baggie in his face. “I don’t think so, kid. You got a lot of shit in here. This looks like intent to distribute, to me. And you know what that means.”

Miranda sat dumbstruck as the long arm of the law—or, in this case, the short, hairy arm—reached out, grabbed her date, and dragged him out of the restaurant, backpack and all. “Babe, I’m sorry!” Jackson cried as they hustled him away. “I’ll call you….”