I’m sitting in a circle with a bunch of guys whose names I can’t remember, and who are probably a decade older than I am . . . in the back of a limo that’s cruising who-knows-where. My best friend disappeared a long time ago, and I’m seriously fucked up. Not to mention, I’m only wearing my pink bra and panties, and pretty soon, I won’t even have those.

“What’s the name of this stupid game, anyway?” I ask, leaning over to throw the dice.

The guy with the goatee, I think his name is Rhys, says, “Sex Master. You’re really good at it.”

The rest of the guys snicker at me. They’re all fully clothed. They haven’t had nearly as much to drink as I have.
Sure
, I’m good at it.

I roll a seven.

“Aw. Seven means you have to do a shot. Again,” Rhys says, shaking his head as he pushes another Lemon Drop toward me. The first one burned going down. Now it’s nothing. I toss it back. My tongue feels thick, coated, and sour.

The guy next to me, Max, or Mac, who is cute, if you like cocky guys who smoke cigars, takes the dice. He rolls a four.

“Another four,” he pumps his fist. “This is my lucky night.”

I cringe and lick my lips. I can still taste the cigar smoke from his last four. I lean over and try to brush my lips lightly over his cheek, but the limo turns and I end up sliding neatly into his lap. He pulls me to him and presses his lips against mine, then feeds me his tongue. I can feel his hard-on pushing against my backside.

“You are so hot,” he whispers in my ear.

He wants me. They all want me. I should be happy. This is what I wanted. Instead, I just feel . . . dirty.

I try to straighten, but I’m so drunk, I end up grinding myself into his crotch, which only turns him on more. He runs his tongue down the side of my cheek.

“Enough!” Rhys says. “Save some for the rest of us.”

All the guys laugh. The dice get passed to the next guy. I can’t remember his name, either, but I think he’s the groom, because he’s the drunkest. He’s like the rest of them, gorgeous, cocky as hell, an egotistical asshole if ever I’ve seen one. They’d all come into Club Fantasy earlier that night, wearing dark jackets and button-down shirts, loose at the collar. Bow and I had both collectively sighed when we saw them, because they were easily the hottest group of men I’d ever seen. They commanded the place. And so the second we caught their eye, I was
theirs
.

I know, I probably sound like a whore. But this was the first time I’d ever done anything like this. I had my reasons for throwing caution to the wind. Everything was falling apart, and I’d just wanted to leave the disaster that was Cicily Chase’s life, even for one night.

But now I’m thinking I might be in over my head. Especially when the guy across from me throws the dice and they land on seven. Rhys goes, “Aw, too bad Cicily, that means you’ve got to lose that pink bra of yours.”

I stare at him. Well, there’s two of him, now, and the limo is spinning like a carousel. “I’m not stupid. You said seven meant you had to drink.”

He shakes his head. “Only on an even turn.”

And I can’t remember. This game has too many rules. Why couldn’t we play something easy, like Truth or Dare?

Oh, who am I kidding? Knowing me, I’d probably screw that up, too.

The guys all stare at me, expectant.

This is my only matching set— it’s Target brand, cotton stuff that serves its purpose and is completely unsexy. But then again, I never expected I’d be in this predicament. I fumble behind my back for the clasp. “This sucks.”

Max leans behind me. “Need help?”

I swat him away. How is it that all of them have managed to keep their clothes, and I can’t? I hesitate. “Can’t I just have another drink? I’m getting cold.”

“Yeah guys, stop,” a voice comes from behind the circle. The sixth member of their rat pack. He’d been standing in the background, like the odd man out, the whole time, with an angry look on his face. Now, his angry look is focused on me. He looks worse than angry. Disgusted is more like it. “We’re at the hotel.”

I sigh, relieved. A pile of clothes lands in my lap. I realize he’s thrown them at me. I scoop them up and begin to put them on as the rest of the guys start to funnel out of the limo.

Funny. I feel even lower than I had a mere eight hours ago. And I thought I was rock-bottom, then. Now where am I? Hell?

Caden

When I was a senior at Harvard, there was a contest to see how many girls we could fuck in one year.

Rhys and I tied for first. We were the only two guys in our fraternity to break triple digits. Not exactly an easy feat at a school that’s known more for its brains than its parties.

My major was business. But I never went to classes, didn’t do shit. My grades sucked. My real major was getting girls.

That
, I excelled at.

But that was a long time ago.

A really long time ago.

Since then, I’ve moved on. Not by choice. Things happened. I was forced to grow up. I did.

I wish I could say the same for Rhys.

The girl in front of me is, undoubtedly, beautiful. In another time and place I’d be all over her. She’s wearing next-to nothing, and she has that vacant, glazed expression, which takes me back to those college days of beer for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Her eyes scream only one thing:
Take me
. She has the perkiest tits, with big nipples poking through the fabric of her bra, and she’s sitting Indian style on the floor of the limo, giving me a perfect view of that sweet spot between her legs. I’ve been trying to ignore her, and yet failing miserably because I’m already hard.

Rhys claps me on the back as he exits the limo. “She’s all yours, dude.”

“Yeah.” I take a breath.
Showtime
.

“She’s
fine
,” he mutters out until the early morning air. He looks back at her as she pulls her tank top on. “You lost your touch, man? The old Caden Williams would have her naked and screaming his name by now.”

I put my hand squarely on his face and push him out of the limo. “I’ll get there.”

“You’d
better
,” he mumbles on his way toward the hotel’s revolving door. “You’d be an idiot not to. Just give her that fuck-off attitude of yours. Works like a charm.”

I shake my head and watch her from across the limo. Since when has Rhys known me
not
to take advantage of a situation like this?

Sure, I haven’t
been
in a situation like this for years, but it’s got to be like riding a bicycle. Right?

I watch her fumble to pull on her skirt, biting on her lip and peering out the tinted window like she’s never been in the city before. She’s not only hot, she’s . . . cute. Innocent. In school, I would have skipped her over entirely. I went for the girls with a little wickedness in them. This girl, despite having been nearly naked in my limo, still somehow reeks of sunshine and rainbows. How is that possible?

I take a breath. Then another.
Okay
, I think, trying to summon the Caden Williams of years past.
Time to put this in motion
.

Chapter Two

Cicily

Things were so different three days ago. It was the afternoon before graduation, and I was so excited. The world, my oyster. In a day I would have high school behind me, and nothing but ten weeks of sun and sand and adventure to look forward to. I had freedom. I’d just gotten a fresh Brazilian wax, a mani/pedi, and a new bikini. They were worth my birthday money, which I technically hadn’t gotten yet, since I was still three weeks away from my nineteenth birthday. And sure, my mom intended it to go toward college living expenses, but I figured I could go a whole semester eating nothing but thirty-eight cent ramen noodles. As we piled our bags into Rainbow’s convertible, I thought again about Trevor.
Two days
, I told myself.
I will be in his arms in two days
.

And what arms they were. Tanned, muscular, sexy. I shivered, thinking about

his washboard abs, sky-blue eyes, and face that always makes you wonder what he’s been up to. A junior at some college in Oregon, and the hottest lifeguard on earth. As was my luck, I’d met him the final week of last summer, while surfing, and after that, I was completely whipped. I’m kind of a late bloomer, who never cared more about guys than my surfboard, but when I met him, something just clicked in my head, and other places, too. We’d fool around on the beach, never going past second base, but at that point,
I fell hard
.

And on that last night, I gave him me. All of me. I cringe, thinking about how stupid I’d been. But I thought that he knew what giving up my virginity meant. We’d talked enough about me being the big “V”-word, so much so that he had to know that I didn’t want to give it to just anyone. Especially an anyone who’d forget about me three months later. Oh, it was nice. He was gentle, didn’t pressure me too much, and tried to make me comfortable, though it felt a little rushed and awkward in the back seat of his Jeep, with my skirt up around my hips and his board shorts pushed down to his knees. But he told me I was beautiful and one-in-a-million enough to make all of the doubts disappear. When he shipped off to school, I’d gotten a calendar and circled graduation day in red. Not so much because it was graduation, but because it marked the day that I’d be back at the shore, with him. Not a day went by that I didn’t think of what he said to me that night. “Honey, you’re special. I couldn’t possibly forget about you.” And at first, I believed it. He called me every night during the first week at college.

But then it became every other night. Then every week. By the time the end of the school year rolled around, I was lucky to get a call from him every month.

And then? Then, two things happened that changed my summer for the absolute worse. My mother announced she’d gotten me an internship at her company in the city, and Trevor ditched me for a bunch of dolphins. In a matter of seconds, I went from his one-in-a-million to resident of Stupid Girls Who Fall for Cliched Lines from Hot Guys Town, population one-million.

The guys, gentlemen that they are, have all gone ahead, into the hotel. I shiver in the night air and realize that the only one who has stayed behind is Mr. Angry. He’s hanging on the open door to the limo and hasn’t lost the pissed-off, I’m-better-than-you expression, but out here, in the bright light coming off the front of the Hilton, I realize just how perfect he is. Dark, hair that falls in his face, bad-boy stubble on his chin, and completely put-together. He’s probably one of those guys who refers to his body as his “temple”. He stifles a yawn and inspects me. Likely because I look like crud. When was the last time I saw a mirror? “I don’t think this is your stop,” he says, his tone making me feel worthless.

“No.” I look around, my voice rising as I say, “I don’t know where I am.”

“You’re in the city. Where should you be?”

“What time is it?” I ask, frantic. I don’t know anything else, but I know I need to be home. Definitely home. I had to have blown curfew. My mother’s probably called out the guard, the FBI, and the armed forces by now.

“Four,” he says, glancing at a very heavy and expensive looking wristwatch.

“Four!” I shriek. Oh, hell. I’ve more than blown curfew, I’ve smashed it to smithereens. And where is Bow?

BOOK: Hot Water

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