The Price of Love (A Price Novel Book 1) (4 page)

He was back on the couch when I came out. He had the windows open, and I could hear the rain. The sound relaxed me. “You feel better?”

“Thanks. Yes. Just a little chilly.” I sat on the other end of the couch.

He got up and got a blanket and wrapped it around me. “Dry your hair. Or you’re gonna get sick.”

“I’m OK.” I smiled at him gratefully.

“Well, how was your day?”

“Oh, it was good. Just went across the river. What did you do all day?”

“Nothing. The photo shoot was outside, so it got rescheduled.”

“What’s it for?” I asked.

He blushed. “It’s a secret. I’ll tell you when I know for sure.”

What the?
“Is it bad? Are you naked?”

He began to laugh. “No. It’s a good thing. It could change everything, but I don’t want to jinx myself.” He rubbed his face and looked back at me.

“OK! If you say so.” He got up and got some wine and looked at me to ask if I’d like a glass. I smiled and nodded. He brought me the wine and a few decks of cards. “What are we playing?”

“Nothing. Let’s see how tall we can build a card tower before it falls over.” Was he serious? He must have read my mind because next he said, “I know it sounds childish, but it’s actually fun.”

And that perfect smile was all I needed to convince me. “Then let’s do it.”

We sat there for well over an hour, playing with this house of cards. He was so still and so steady stacking those cards. He could have been a great surgeon with those hands. I had never thought that before, because he wasn’t usually still. I didn’t know if he had ADHD or if he was just excited all the time, but he sometimes reminded me of a little kid in this gorgeous man’s body. Especially right now; his whole face lit up like a five-year-old’s over this card tower. I was enjoying watching him more than I was building the tower. I wasn’t as good at it as he was, but it was really pretty fun. We worked together to keep it from falling.

It was over three feet tall when a sudden gust of wind came in and destroyed it. “Aah!” he groaned and then looked at me. “Let’s play War.”

“With cards?”

“Well, yeah. I mean, I could wrestle you, but let’s not go there.” He got up and began gathering cards.

I laughed at that and started picking up cards as well. Once we had all the cards stacked correctly, we sat on the floor facing each other.

“Wait,” he said and got up and fetched a bottle of Patrón and two shot glasses from the cabinet.

“What are we doing with that?” I asked, a little concerned.

“Loser has to take a shot.”

“Loser of each battle or each round?”

“Round. Unless you want this to be a short, messy game,” he said.

We played until I had a serious buzz going. “OK, I’m out. You win,” I said throwing the rest of my cards down.

“What do I win?”

“I don’t know. What do you want?” If I hadn’t been drunk, I might have been more nervous at that question.

“How about a back rub?”

“What? It was War, and I forfeited,” I protested, only because the thought of rubbing him anywhere made me very uncomfortable. Or very excited, but I was too tipsy to tell the difference.

“Therefore, I won. Now rub me.”

I started laughing. “Fine, but it’s going to be a short rub. I wouldn’t have agreed to this at all had it not been for the tequila.”

“I’ll still take it.” He got up and headed for the bed, but I pointed at the couch. He looked disappointed but said nothing.

Before he lay down, he took off his shirt, which I hadn’t realized was part of this deal — but that boy had a beautiful back. I hadn’t realized that until now either. The way his muscles all came together to form that deep ridge in the center. The way it got smaller right at the top of his pants line.
Oh hell, what am I doing?
And why had everybody spent so much time drooling over those beautiful abs when this was the flip side?
Damn!

“Hello, you’re the loser. You’re supposed to be rubbing my back.”
Sorry, I was a bit distracted here by your godlike flawless body, but oh please, let me rub it.

“You’re drunk,” I said.

“So are you. Now rub.” He looked at me and grinned. I stood next to him and rubbed a little bit, trying to focus on anything but him. He rolled over. “Are you serious? That sucks.” He got up. “Lie down.”

“Me? No!”

“Don’t worry. I’m not going to ask you to take off your shirt.” Then he said, quieter, “Not now, anyway.” He laughed.

“What was that?”

“Oh, nothing.”

I did as he said, not really sure what to expect, but he then got on top of me, straddling my behind. “Am I too heavy?” he asked.

“No.” What had I gotten myself into now?

He proceeded to show me the proper way to massage someone’s back, and I had to admit it felt really good. He might have done it a little longer than he needed to, because I fell asleep.

*****

I woke up the next morning with a headache. Sitting up, I thought,
I probably shouldn’t have done shots after three glasses of wine.
I vaguely remembered Slayde giving me a back rub on the couch, but I woke up in his bed. His pillow and blanket were neatly folded at the end of the couch, and he was gone.

I had a hell of a hangover, and since I had nothing that I had to do, I went back to sleep. When Slayde got home that evening, looking perfectly fine, I said, “I hate you.”

He looked confused. “Why?”

“Because I feel like shit, and you obviously feel fine.”

He laughed and handed me some ibuprofen. “Here! Do you not get drunk often?”

“Not on a regular basis, no, and this is why.” I grabbed my head.

“Well, the best thing for a hangover is more alcohol.”

I looked at him, obviously too quickly, because it felt like my brain was trying to catch up with my head and slammed against the inside of my skull. “You have got to be kidding me. I am not drinking any more alcohol.”

“Suit yourself. Don’t listen to the one without the hangover.” He shot me that sexy little grin as he started making me a drink.

I guessed he had a point. “Fine.”

I took his damn ibuprofen and drank a nasty Bloody Mary and tried not to vomit. Slayde made me eat a little something — and within the hour, I did feel a good bit better.

After I showered and became somewhat human again, we went out to get something to eat.

“Shall I order you some wine?” Slayde asked with an evil little smile.

“No thanks. I won’t be drinking with you again.”

“Me? I didn’t make you drink.”

“It was your idea.”

“Fine, blame me. That’s OK. I’ll be the bad guy.” He shrugged and looked at me, all innocent and adorable. I couldn’t help but smile at him.

As we were eating our salads, I realized we had spent every evening together — and I wasn’t sure I was ready for Kenedy to come back.

When Slayde returned home the next day from his “top secret” photo shoot, I had cleaned the whole apartment. It hadn’t been really messy, but it had needed a little light dusting here and there.

“What have you been doing all day?” he asked, looking shocked. “You aren’t the maid.” I wasn’t sure if he was serious.

“Well, I went to the market and got a few things, but it started to rain. So, I came back and thought I’d get started on some of my research junk I’ll be working on when I go home. After a few hours, I couldn’t look at any more pictures of the human brain. So I decided to make better use of my time. You have been nice enough to let me stay here. The least I can do is tidy up a bit.” I smiled.

“I have a lady who does that when I need her to. We’ve just been having so much fun that I hadn’t thought about cleaning.”

He had to be joking. What single twenty-two-year-old had someone come clean his nine hundred square foot apartment? It hit me:
This one.
He had probably never cleaned his room a day in his life.
Must be nice.
Not that I would know from experience.

I just stood there blankly until he shook his head and said, “OK, let’s go get something to eat. Later tonight, there’s a little party that may be fun.”

When we got there, I saw that this was no little party like he had said. This was a crazy huge party. It was actually in a nightclub that someone had rented. Loud music pulsated from the building, and people were everywhere. Of course, this was an invitation-only party, so we had to wait while they checked the list for Slayde’s name.

Once we were inside, I began to feel nervous and out of place. Models and other beautiful people surrounded us. It may have been just my imagination, but I could have sworn every beautiful girl there spoke to Slayde but barely noticed I was even standing there. He must have felt my anxiety, because he grabbed my hand, smiled at me, and said, “Let’s go get a drink.”

I nodded. Alcohol was exactly what I would need to get through this night. Two bars stood parallel to each other in the center of the huge room. They were all lit up with neon lights, and each had five bartenders working behind it. I really couldn’t imagine what kind of person would throw a party like this. It was unreal.

“Hello, gorgeous. Who’s your friend?” asked this beautiful, dark-haired girl in a strong British accent. She definitely wasn’t talking to me. So I assumed she meant Slayde.
Of course she means Slayde.

He turned around and smiled at the girl. “Hey, Kinley. This is Arden, my date! This is some party you’re having. Happy birthday.” And then he reached out and gave the birthday girl a big hug.

It all made since now. This ungodly party was for her. For a moment, I was ready to go home — but then I realized Slayde had just told her I was his date.
That’s interesting. I wasn’t aware this was a date.

“Nice to meet you, Arden. I haven’t seen you around.” She was only slightly genuine, but why should she be? I wasn’t the one she really cared about — that was Slayde. That was blatantly obvious by the way she couldn’t take her eyes off of him. She barely glanced at me, even when speaking to me.

“Nice to meet you too,” I said, forcing a smile.

“Kinley’s dad is one of the photographers the agency uses, and she also lives in our building,” Slayde explained.

“That’s nice.”
Really nice!
I knew I sounded only slightly genuine myself. I really couldn’t care less about her. I would rather pour her drink on her head than sit here, making polite conversation with her while she mentally undressed
my date
! I breathed in deeply and calmed my racing heart. I had no idea where that little mental outburst had come from. It felt a bit like jealousy. I definitely needed to calm down. I had absolutely no claim on Slayde. He was my sister’s ex-boyfriend, for Pete’s sake.

Slayde politely excused us, and we left Kinley standing there all by her beautiful lonesome. “She’s a bit much,” he said and rolled his eyes. I’d heard him say something negative only about Kenedy, so I could only imagine there was some history there.
That’s just lovely.
I was definitely no competition for her. I didn’t really know what to say. So I did what I always did when I was nervous: I just smiled. Smiling back, Slayde squeezed my hand, and we made our way to the bar. I stood back to stay out of the way of the madness.

He brought our drinks, and we found a little table off to the side. We weren’t there more than five minutes when we were approached by an older lady who was obviously staff at the party. “Miss Kinley said I should take care of you, so you don’t have to stand in line at the bar. Refill?” We gave her our orders, and she smiled and walked away. She was back in no time with fresh drinks. Setting them down, she said she would be back to check on us in a little while. I had only taken a few sips of the new drink when she was back again with another round. I was starting to think “Miss Kinley” had sent her to spy.

We sat there and talked and laughed at all the other partygoers and had a great time. Those drinks must have been really strong, because before I could think about what I was doing, Slayde had pulled me out on the dance floor, and we were dancing with all the other drunk people. That was the last thing I remembered.

*****

I woke up the next morning in Slayde’s bed, and I felt like death. My body hurt all over. I felt muscles ache that I hadn’t even known I had. I rolled over, thinking a good shower was exactly what I needed — and realized Slayde was also in the bed. And we were both completely naked.

Oh shit! What in the world have I done? Surely I didn’t get drunk and lose my virginity to a guy who’s not going to remember I exist in a week.
This could not be happening. Surely I hadn’t done that — but I was pretty sure I had when I moved the sheets and saw what had to be blood in the bed.

Tears streamed down my cheeks like rain on hot asphalt. I was furious. Furious at Slayde for so obviously taking advantage of me. Furious at that bitch Kinley for having a birthday. Furious at that lady for serving those damn drinks. But really, I was furious at myself. I had waited twenty-five years to have sex with someone special, and I couldn’t believe this was how I had thrown it away. I felt sick at the thought of it.

I had to get out of that apartment. I didn’t want to be there when Slayde woke up. I didn’t know what I would say to him. I threw on my clothes and headed out the door. I didn’t know where I was going to go, but I would figure it out.

I was getting off the elevator when my thoughts were interrupted by a girl I didn’t know calling my name. “Arden? Arden Simms? Kenedy Simms’s sister?”

“Yes, that’s me. Who are you?” I thought she was probably someone I met last night and didn’t remember.

“Holly Benson, your sister’s roommate.” She smiled and held out her hand. She had cappuccino-colored skin and the most amazing honey-golden eyes I had ever seen. She had to be at least six feet tall. She definitely could have done runway. She was ridiculously beautiful, just like everyone else here.

I felt shocked and then foolish.
Roommate?
Of course Kenedy had a roommate. Why in the hell hadn’t Slayde offered up that bit of information? Probably all part of his little plan. I could feel myself getting angry with him all over again, but I closed my eyes and took a deep, cleansing breath. I couldn’t worry about that now. Maybe Holly had heard from Kenedy.