Beguiling (Tempting #2) (7 page)

W
hen I was
in my junior year of college, I pulled a legitimate all-nighter, doing labs from seven at night until eight the next morning. I must have consumed eight energy drinks and briefly considered taping my eyelids open at one point, and around the time I crawled into bed, my head hurt so bad that I couldn’t have told you my own name.

But that experience paled in comparison to the way my head felt now, as I opened my eyes and squeezed them shut, as if the mere presence of light was a drill into my skull by way of my corneas. My mouth tasted like I’d eaten dog shit.

This must be what it’s like to be hungover
, I thought as I breathed in some courage and opened my eyes again. My memory was like the tide, coming in before hurling back out. I saw shots of milky liquid, clear liquid, Leo’s hands.

Leo. I opened and closed my mouth, attempting to get my tongue to work normally, despite the very foul taste it drummed up.

My stomach revolted and I pressed a hand against it under the blanket, which caused my eyes to widen in alarm. As my hand slid up my chest, the realization hit me quickly. Yup, that was bare skin.

I was in bed completely naked.

I dropped my arm, coming into contact with another very warm limb and my stomach clenched.

I didn’t need to turn my head to confirm who I knew to be in bed with me, because my memory was catching up again, staying longer. Visions of me standing on my kitchen counter, stripping my clothes from my body in front of Leo. And the most embarrassing of the three; begging him for sex.

“Oh God,” I whispered, but it came out cracked and growly.

Memories of his face between my legs burned my vision and I closed my eyes, absolutely out of my mind with embarrassment.

Slowly, I moved myself to a sitting position, refraining from making any noise lest I disturb him as he slept. But once I was sitting straight up, my back popped from having slept in one position all night and I groaned.

I wasn’t sure if Leo always woke up like that, shooting straight up like someone had set off a fire alarm. But it startled me nonetheless, causing me to clutch the comforter to my chest as I stared at him with absolutely no expression on my face, despite the revolt in my head.

When he saw me, his jaw dropped and he repeated, “Shit,” over and over like a mantra, peppering each instance with a grip of his head, a search around the room, an uncomfortable glance at me, over and over on repeat.

As he muttered one very long, “Shiiiiit,” he finally hopped out of the bed only to fall immediately to the floor, saying a very loud and angry “Shit” in the process. When he stood up again, he looked around like a wild animal looking for its escape.

He walked around the bed and grabbed his jeans from the floor and I averted my eyes. What was the protocol for this sort of thing? Was I allowed to peruse his naked body, now that I could see him clearly? Or was that creepy? I rubbed my lips together and tried to think of what to say.

“Your parents are out of town, right?”

I looked up, eyes colliding with his bare chest as he buttoned his jeans. He was focused on his task, not meeting my eyes, so I replied. “Yeah. For six weeks.” And then I swiftly, mentally kicked myself for adding that on when he seemed so intent on getting the hell out of my room.

He walked into the hall and I waited until I heard the click of the hallway bathroom door closing before standing up from the bed and carefully putting on clothing while my mind raced.

A flash of him rubbing his face over my chest hit me like a train as I put a bra on, my nipples sore against the lining.

“Shit is right,” I murmured, wanting to hate myself for letting it happen but not completely able to.

It wasn’t until that moment that I acknowledged what had happened.

Leo had made me realize what was so great about sex. Finally. Or maybe it was just sex with Leo that made it great, all that simmering hate brewing into a sort of teeming passion.

I couldn’t see the whole picture, and my memory flashes were synchronizing with each place on my body I touched—in no way was I able to grasp the entire night in chronological order.

Lots of begging—I knew that. I saw it at the bar and at home, though at home I’d taken a more direct approach by getting completely naked in front of him.

Okay, if I could hate myself for anything, I could hate myself for
that
.

A
fter brushing
my dark copper-colored lion’s mane and scrubbing the sweater of gross from my teeth, I walked past the closed bathroom door, thankful for small mercies when I still wasn’t sure what to say. So far, I’d said a whole four words to him. And those four words weren’t, “Thanks for the orgasms,” which is what I
wanted
to say, but would
never
be able to say.

I put a pot of coffee on to brew and pulled the cardigan around me tighter as I stared out the sliding glass door that led to our backyard. Just twelve hours earlier, Leo had knocked on that glass and I’d invited him in.

I couldn’t help but wonder what he was doing in the bathroom that was taking so long. Maybe he was examining his body for needle holes, imagining that I would have had to drug him to make what happened possible.

And why did I keep saying, “what happened” instead of just announcing “the sex”—because that’s what it was.

What happened was Leo put his giant cock inside of you and you liked it a lot, but not before you begged desperately for it.

I winced, realizing that I’d never be able to erase that memory of me begging for sex.

I started clearing up our shot glasses and discarded lemon peels. As I replaced the giant bottle of vodka in my mom’s cupboard, I felt the ache all the way down my spine. Was this normal? I tried to remember how I’d felt after having sex with the chicken legs guy, but the sex itself was so unmemorable that I shouldn’t be surprised that the morning after was even more unmemorable. A sound from behind me caused me to turn after closing the cabinet.

He was standing in the doorway, one hand tucked in his pocket as he looked at me. I couldn’t read his expression, so I busied myself with doctoring up a cup of coffee.

“Scarlet.”

“Hmm?” I didn’t look up from where I stirred the spoon in my mug.

“Hey.” He said it more solidly, clearly desiring a reaction from me. I raised my head, met his uncertain gaze.

“Yeah?”

“Are you okay?”

What a question to ask. Part of me wanted to reply,
“Well, besides the aching between my legs and the fact that I do not know how I’ll ever get over begging you to sleep with me, I’m just peachy.”
But I brought my coffee to my lips, holding its warmth against my flesh for a few seconds. “Sure, why wouldn’t I be?”

He blinked and frowned. He turned his head toward the stairs and I took in his wrinkled clothes and messed up hair. He still looked hot. And even though I now knew him in a very Biblical way—sorry, Dad—I didn’t think I could easily switch gears from hating him to gushing over him, panting after him.

“Did you…” he started, before rubbing a hand in his hair and stepping forward, placing his jacket on the counter. “Do you…” he tried again, still unsuccessful in completing his question.

I made a decision then to fake amnesia. “What happened last night?”

His eyes widened and then narrowed as he stared at me, like he was trying to decide if I was genuinely unsure. I kept my face cool, emotionless, steadying my breathing. I was in complete control of my external reactions to him, even though my insides were quivering, wanting me to reach over and touch him, to prove to myself that this was real. This had happened.

“You don’t remember?”

I took a sip of my coffee and shrugged. I wasn’t ready to admit that I’d begged for what had happened. I’d give him this easy out, so he didn’t feel some kind of obligation to talk to me about how he wasn’t really a "relationship-kinda-guy" and how he wasn’t looking for a "girlfriend," complete with air quotes. I’d never known Leo to hold on to a girl longer than a handful of days and I didn’t need the humiliation of him reminding me of that fact. “Don’t you have things to do today?”

I waited two breaths as his face changed, smoothing over. I couldn’t tell if it was relief that I saw reflected in his eyes, or if he’d schooled his features to mirror mine. “Not particularly, why?”

I wasn’t expecting a why. That meant he wanted something from me, in some way. And I wasn’t expecting or ready for that.

“
I
have things I need to get done today.” I set my coffee cup on the counter and looked beyond him to the door. “So, if you want to get going…” I let my own voice trail off with that.

He waited a beat longer before he picked up his jacket and looked at it between his hands. And without a second glance, he was out the door.

W
hen I opened
the door and saw Liza, holding a bottle of cheap wine and wearing a look of expectation on her face, I nearly laughed. “Do we need booze for this?” she asked, holding the bottle up higher as if I hadn’t seen it already.

I gestured her in and shut the door, praying Leo hadn’t been looking out the window at the moment she’d arrived. Because I did not want him to seeing Liza here and possibly guessing what that meant.

“It’s only eleven, Liza.” I plopped onto the couch as she joined me after retrieving the wine opener from the kitchen.

She tucked her chin-length blonde bob behind her ears. “In Europe, people drink all day long.” The cork came out of the bottle with a very crisp popping sound and she poured some into two glasses.

Peering over my glasses, I raised an eyebrow. “That’s very indeterminate. I could say that ‘fact’ about Americans too.”

“Right.” She lifted both glasses and handed me one. “And we’re American, so we’re going to drink while you explain to me why you’re wearing eyeglasses in the middle of the day. I’ve only seen you do that once, and it was that time you got a B on the test you should’ve aced and cried all day over it.”

“Ugh.” Its reminder was unwelcome and my mouth curved in distaste. “I’m still not over that, thanks for bringing it up.”

“You’re welcome. Now tell me. What’s up?”

I sighed and stared down into my glass.

“Shit. I didn’t pour you enough, did I?”

Shaking my head, I set the glass back down on the coffee table. “I’m too full from breakfast. And the very last thing I need is more alcohol.”

Liza shifted in her cushion, her blue eyes widening. “
More
alcohol? Ooh, this is gonna be good. Maybe
I
need more wine for this.” She picked up my glass and dumped it into hers. “By the way, why does it reek of eggs in here?” she asked with a dramatic sniff.

“Because I had five scrambled eggs.” When Liza continued to stare at me, I continued. “Eggs have an amino acid that helps with the hangover headache.”

“No shit,” Liza said thoughtfully. “Thanks for sparing me the sciencey parts of that.”

“You’re welcome. Anyway,” I waved a hand at the kitchen, “that’s why it reeks of eggs.”

I waited a beat, then two, then watched as Liza’s eyes widened and she leaned forward, placing her hand on my arm. “You were hungover?” she whisper-yelled.

“Present tense.” After closing my eyes, I placed a hand to my head and rubbed my temple. “And yes.” I opened my eyes, leveled her with a look. “There’s more.”

Liza sat up straighter, unable to contain her excitement. “I
love
more.”

“I know you do,” I said with a laugh.

“You little hussy,” Liza proclaimed, her voice accusing. “You did the dirty, didn’t you?”

Was I that obvious? I pushed my glasses up my nose and avoided her eyes. “Maybe.”

“Oh my God. You did! You couldn’t have told me in your text?”

I’d sent her a very brief,
Come over right now please
, text an hour earlier. I still hadn’t wrapped my head over the night before and how I felt about it.

“Okay, fine. Yes. I had sex.” I reached for the wine glass and took a sip against my better judgement and then wisely handed it back to her. “A one-night stand.”

“Scarlet!” Liza pushed at me with her hand. “Two bucket list items in one night? What’s gotten into you?”

Leo. Leo had gotten into me. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“Wait,” Liza said, holding up a hand. “Was the drinking before the sex or after the sex. This is important.”

“How is that important?”

“Were you drinking because,” she raised her eyebrows and nodded solemnly, “it was bad sex?”

“No. I got drunk before the sex. It was drunk sex.”

“Oh.” Liza deflated, sitting against the cushions as she held the wine glass in her hands.

“What?” I asked, wondering at her sudden disappointment.

“I thought you had sober sex for once.”

“Okay, first of all—I’ve had sex an entire two times in my life. ‘For once’ is a little bit dramatic, don’t you think? And second—just because I was drunk doesn’t mean I don’t remember it.” I looked down at my hands, which I had twisted in my lap. “Or that it wasn’t great sex. I mean, not that I know what great sex is when I’ve had it twice.”

“Okay, hold up. Great sex is great sex. It’s like eating cheesecake from The Shoppe versus cheesecake from the grocery store. You just know it’s fucking delicious because it
tastes
fucking delicious. So if it was great, if you felt great, it was great. The end.”

“I like the cheesecake from the grocery store,” I mumbled.

“Yeah, well you haven’t had cheesecake from The Shoppe.”

“But if I think grocery store cheesecake is good, then maybe I’m wrong about what great sex is.”

“But you’re not, because you knew that the dipshit you first let up in your business was bad sex. This is good,” she said encouragingly. “So, spill. What was it like?”

I leaned against the cushions. “Well, I do remember most of it. And the parts I remember…” my cheeks warmed and I tried to brush it off by shrugging. I was embarrassed by my inexperience, even around Liza. “Let’s just say he has a very talented mouth.” My cheeks burst into flames and I had to keep my hands locked together in my lap to keep from pressing my palms against my face.

“Who is he? I mean, I get it—one night stand and all. But did he have a name you remember?”

This was the part I was dreading—telling Liza who my mysterious lothario was, because she knew Leo to be a real-life asshole, someone whose mere presence in high school had made me feel so very small. As I racked my brain for an explanation or a way to break it to her easily, Liza’s own silence became very apparent. I chanced a glance at her, seeing her eyes narrowed on me.

“Who?” she asked, her voice lower than before.

“Leo.”

“Oh!” she exclaimed, standing up with her wine glass as if her favorite team had just made a bad play. The metaphor wasn’t entirely off-base though. “You fucked Leeeo?” she screeched, pointing her finger out the window. “Leo, the dickwad?”

I didn’t bother nodding, confirming her question. Liza was getting a bachelors in show production, which was perfect for her because she frequently displayed a large range of emotion, but bad for me at the moment because she was staring at me like I’d just told her I’d drop kicked a baby.

When I opened my mouth to explain, she pointed a finger at me. “Oh, I knew this was going to happen. I just knew it!” She stalked back over to the couch, but didn’t sit. “I knew as soon as you told me you were giving him rides. I thought to myself, ‘Scarlet is going to combust from all that hate and yank him into her backseat and let him punt it right between your uprights.”

“My uprights?”

“Yeah,” she huffed. “Your legs. Up in the air. Field goal.” She said it so seriously, with such rage coloring her voice that I couldn’t help but laugh, much to her irritation.

“We didn’t do it in my backseat. Chill.” Liza liked that even less.

“It doesn’t matter. Scarlet. Ugh!” She set her glass on the coffee table. “I thought you didn’t even like him. He was a dick to you in high school.”

But he hadn’t been, not really. I’d misunderstood—our childhood friendship was bound to change once we were launched into two separate cliques and I let myself be hurt by assuming otherwise. My own admission of guilt didn’t stop me from still hating him.

“Well it’s not like we’re dating. We had sex. Big deal.”

“It is a big deal,” Liza said, trying to make me see why this was such a problem. Years had passed since high school, and even if I wasn’t completely sure how I felt about the stellar sex, I wasn’t going to disparage him for what had happened years earlier.

“It’s not. Liza, we had sex one night. And this morning was awkward enough that it’ll never happen again.”

Liza seemed to cool down, already interested in our next discussion. “Awkward?” she asked as she lowered herself back to the couch.

“He was in a hurry to get out of bed and hid in the bathroom for a solid twenty minutes. And then I pretended like I didn’t remember what happened—which is partly true as I don’t remember all of it—and then I kind of kicked him out.”

“Wow. That’s a lot to take in.” Liza relaxed into the couch as she thought. “Why did you pretend to forget?”

“I wanted to spare him the obligatory, ‘hey, I’m not looking for anything serious’ talk because we both know he’s not looking for that. And, well, I might’ve begged him for sex in the first place.” I desperately needed a pillow to cover my face.

“Oh, well then.” Liza stared into her glass.

“Exactly.”

“Well, console yourself with the fact that he probably wanted it too. How couldn’t he? Leo isn’t going to dip his dick in every girl who begs for it.”

“Just probably most of them,” I lamented.

“Gross.” Liza stuck out her tongue in disgust. “The good news is that you used protection, so you’re not going to catch the warts.”

A thought crossed my mind and I rewound my memory, trying to remember at what point Leo put a condom on. But nothing came through, which terrified me down to my bones. “Oh, God.”

“What?”

I turned to her with what I knew must have been pure terror in my eyes. “I don’t remember him putting on a condom.”

Her eyes widened too, which didn’t make me feel better as my blood raced.

“Oh, fuck.” I didn’t say it often, but when it was warranted—like right fucking now—it was practically the only word I could articulate. “Oh fuck, oh fuck.”

“Shh,” she hushed me. “It’s fine. Come on. Leo might be a dick, but for one, he knows your dad. And we both know your dad would unleash some serious ass-whooping if Leo had given you a souvenir of your night.”

The thought calmed me, but only slightly.

“And two,” she continued, “we’re talking Leo Madsen here. If his list of sex partners is as lengthy as we assume it be, everyone in this city would have warts
and
we’d know about it. Think about Tony Saccarino from high school.
Everybody
knew that dude was carrying the herpes.”

“Ugh,” I said, cradling my head. I was unconvinced.

“Maybe they have to test for sports or something?” she added, reaching for straws. “Come on, it’s going to be okay. You’re on the pill and I’m sure he’s clean. He’s not going to swing an infected peen around town without someone knowing about it.”

“You’re sure? Really, Liza? You were
sure
your vagina was dying the first time you got your period.
So sure
. And now you’re
sure
Leo is clean.”

“Hey, don’t be a dick. I was twelve and my dad hadn’t exactly told me what to expect.”

“Sorry,” I said, pushing my bangs from my face. It would be okay. Liza made some very valid points. “I guess I have to talk to him about that.” Which would mean admitting to him that I had remembered at least some of it.

“Dude. We need to cross these off of your bucket list,” Liza chirped, bringing me out of my inner thoughts. “You still have it, don’t you?”

“No,” I said quickly.

“First you’re a hussy and now you’re a liar? C’mon, Scarlet. You think I don’t know what those shifty eyes mean? Get it.”

Against my better judgement, I grabbed the list from my room where I’d kept it tucked inside an old microbiology textbook. If my mom snooped, the last place she’d look would be in between the pages of anything sciencey. When I returned to the living room, I held it in my fingers, thumbnail running along the crease. As I turned to sit beside her again, Liza ripped it from my hands.

“I knew you still had this!”

“Do you have yours?” We’d made these stupid bucket lists right after high school and added to them as we realized all that we were missing out on. And as the years had passed, Liza had scratched off all nearly-sixty of hers while mine, still in the teens, were left mostly unmarred.

“Probably not,” Liza said as she chewed on her lip, studying the sheet. “Fake ID? You should’ve crossed that one off by now.”

I shrugged. “I didn’t think about it.”

“I can’t believe you crossed off ‘Have sex’ from this list.”

“Well, I
did
have sex.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Did he even hang out long enough to break your hymen?”

I gave her a look, an are-you-serious expression. “You can’t tell me I was still a virgin until last night.”

“Practically.”

“I don’t think, scientifically-speaking, you can be
practically
a virgin.”

“Well, what do you know anyway?”

“True,” I said with a roll of my eyes. “Let me see the list.”

Liza handed it over and I took in my chicken scratch handwriting and the half-hearted line through ‘Have sex.’ I must have crossed that off with a lot of disappointment in my hand, based on the incomplete line.

Liza produced a bright purple pen from her bag and grabbed the list back from me. She pressed the paper against her lap and bent over as she made revisions to the list. Her hair hung in front of her face, obstructing my view. When she giggled, I pushed her backward, so I could see the list.

She’d added a carrot between ‘Have’ and ‘sex’ and put ‘GREAT’ in all caps with a bunch of miniature purple hearts around it. And on the side of the page, she’d doodled a heart with Leo’s name in it, in that same purple color.

“Come on, Liza. You’re such a third grader sometimes.”

“Well, you kinda deserve it. You let him sully you with his possibly crab-infested junk. It’s not often the princess of control makes an ill-advised decision, so,” she nodded, her hair bobbing back and forth, “I’m going to relish this moment.” She stood and picked up the empty wine glass off the table before retreating to the kitchen.

“Thanks,” I mumbled ungratefully as I took in the lines though ‘one-night stand’ and ‘get drunk’ before folding it up and following Liza.

“I have to go to work in a few hours, so I need a siesta.” She walked around the island and gave me a squeeze. “And you need to see a boy about his dick.”