The Singles (41 page)

“You’re fucking deaf, Wolfe,” a male voice says from behind me.

I spin around so fast that my pumps make a squeaking noise on the glossy floor. I pause for a moment, taking in Cal’s lanky but toned body and disheveled shoulder-length jet-black hair, before I launch myself into his arms. He’s initially surprised, but then he wraps me up in his arms as I bury my face into the front of his shirt.

“You do realize that I could’ve maced you, right?” I demand. “What the hell are you doing here?”

He pulls away from me, smirking, his dark eyes amused. “Flew in, so I can head out with McCrae tomorrow morning.”

Somehow, sleep and making sure my brother made it to Atlanta in one piece completely shoved that little detail out of my head.
Wyatt and Cal are going on the road together...to play bar shows.
“I’m sure that’ll be fun.”

Cal winks at me. “Fuck yeah, it will. Shitty food and grimy hotel rooms.” We both know that he and Wyatt are more than capable of paying for any hotel they want while they’re on the road, so it’s my turn to look skeptical. “And before I forget and you blast me, sorry about the Foursquare thing.”

“Yeah, about that...” I pull away from him and nod my head toward the elevators. He follows alongside me. “I’d actually forgotten, but thanks for reminding me that I need to kick your ass.”

“I had to tell him, Kylie. He loves—”

“Don’t,” I say, my voice suddenly deep and all sorts of screwed up. “Please don’t, okay?” I don’t need Cal telling me how much Wyatt loves me because it will only be an assumption.

Wyatt has not once actually said the words to me himself. The closest he’s ever come was almost four years ago after our millionth break from each other. We lasted approximately five weeks without having any contact. Finally, he showed up at my parents’ house in Atlanta while we were celebrating Lucas’s twenty-fifth birthday. Wyatt and I sat outside, alone together, on the front porch swing with a foot of space between us.

“I fucked up, huh?” he asks me, referring to the cause of our latest fallout.

This time, he confronted me again about cutting, something I haven’t done in years, and it wouldn’t have been so bad if he gave me a chance to speak during his rant. But he simply went on and on, reminding me of my ex, until the only thing I wanted was to get away from him and the pressure. So, rather than try to defend myself, I did just that.

I ran like a coward.

I ran like I would never have to face him again.

I take a deep breath, focusing my gaze on the bright orange and yellow tulips in my mom’s garden. “Yeah, you did. You screwed up, and I want to hate you for it, but I can’t.” I tremble violently while I sink my nails into my palms, hoping to control myself enough to finish speaking to him. “Just because I wear long sleeves or refuse to show you my wrists doesn’t mean I’m cutting, Wyatt. Because I’m not. I’m not saying that I don’t have moments when I feel like the world is crashing down on me, that I’m nothing but—”

As the words catch painfully in the back of my throat, he reaches out, raveling his long fingers in the hair at the nape of my neck.

“You’re everything. At least to me. You always have been, and that’s why I said what I did. I never want you to hurt, you got me, Kylie?”

His blue eyes are hard and honest, stripping me down to my soul, and I nod. He dips his gaze down to my shoulder, and since I know what’s coming next, I answer before he has a chance to ask.

“Twelve.” But I don’t tell him that the newest one is there because of me. I let myself down by being a coward and refusing to face him.

“Fuck,” he says between clenched teeth. “I’m sorry, Ky. I’m so goddamn sorry.”

“I’m sorry Kylie.” Cal’s voice reaches into the vivid memory, dragging me away from it. “I hate to see you hurting,” he adds.

I nod stiffly. “It’s fine.”

Cal stops with me at the elevator door. He doesn’t come inside, but he gives my hand a tiny pump as I shuffle in. “I’m going to grab something to eat before the fucker comes back with the rental car. You coming?”

So, that’s where Wyatt went instead of keeping his word to me—to pick up a rental car, so he can go play a few shows with a band he doesn’t even know.
God, I know I shouldn’t be bothered over learning that, but I am. I can’t help it. Stepping aside so that an over-glitzed woman on wobbly heels can come into the elevator, I shake my head, my movements stiff. “I’ve got to do laundry before Heidi and I pack up to go back to L.A., tomorrow night.”

Cal snorts. “You’re officially the lamest person I know.”

As the doors close, I flip him off. Laughing, he shakes his head and returns the gesture.

“Should’ve gone with him,” Glitzy says. She’s balancing herself in the corner, squeezing her knees together like she has to pee. Releasing a massive hiccup, she adds, “He was hot and looks like that guitarist from that one band.” She bites her lip and scrunches her face, seemingly trying to remember the name of the band.

Thankfully, the elevator shudders to a stop on the second floor before she can venture a guess.

“Thanks for the advice,” I say as I speed walk off into the hallway.

My room is an inferno when I step inside. My plan to sink myself into a scalding bath flies out the window, so I throw my license and credit cards inside the nightstand drawer and grab my iPod from its spot under my pillow. I drop my change purse inside my laundry bag and leave the room, and this time, I take the stairs to the dungeon-like basement where the laundry room is located.

I’m the only person in the laundry room, and it’s probably because everyone else in this city had the good sense to go out tonight. I slide in my earbuds, turn on a random playlist, and since I have access to all the machines, I sort my clothes into three piles—whites, darks, and my delicates—instead of the two loads I planned on.

While the washer runs, I wait patiently without looking at my phone, but as I load the dryers, I can’t help but finally check.
Still nothing from Wyatt or Lucas.
I have too much pride to contact Wyatt, so my brother is the lucky recipient of my text message.

12:43 a.m.:
Call me about Sin tomorrow, okay? Love you, Lucas.

Since it’s 1:43 in Atlanta right now, I don’t expect him to reply. I lay my phone facedown on one of the machines and crank the volume on my iPod even higher.  As I insert quarters into the gleaming white Whirlpool dryers, I can’t resist singing along to Weezer. “...my love is a life taker.”

The next line of “Say It Ain’t So” is cut off because I notice a new scent in the small laundry room. It’s clean and masculine, and as I breathe it in, the only image that comes to mind is the top of Wyatt’s head visible between my legs.

“I didn’t Foursquare where I was this time,” I say softly.

When Wyatt presses his tall body up against my backside, my muscles weaken. He gently removes my earbuds, and his lip ring teases my skin as he growls into my ear, “I’ve never seen someone’s hips move like that to
that
song.” He’s always disliked
that
song because the lyrics are about addiction and heartbreak, and they hit a little too close to home, reminding him of his parents. He doesn’t mention this though as he places my iPod beside my phone. He brushes his fingertips down my chest, skimming over my breasts, until they finally stop at the closure on my jeans. “And no, you didn’t have to Foursquare yourself this time.”

No, I guess not when we have a mutual friend who’s bound and determined to see us together
.
Cal and I are going to have a serious heart-to-heart about his inability to keep his mouth shut.

“Did you get your car?” I breathe, turning to face him.

He nods and returns his hands to the button on my pants. I step backward, and he follows until I bump into the dryer.

“And I’ve got a pocket full of...”

His voice trails off as I run my palms over his back pockets, and foil crunches in the left one.

“I thought you forgot about me,” I admit.

He crushes my body to his and shakes his head. “Never, Kylie.”

I reach up and touch the sides of his face, threading my fingers into his wheat-colored hair.

“And besides, I called and messaged you many, many times.”

My lips quirk up skeptically. I ease away from him and flip over my phone to see if I have any missed calls. There are none from Wyatt. “Did you dial the wrong number?”

“Unless the wrong number has your voice on the answering machine, beautiful.” He plucks his phone from his back pocket and scrolls through a list of names. When he reaches mine, he recites the number. “That’s right, isn’t it?”

“That’s my home number, babe. I use it, like, once a year.” I pull his phone from his grip and examine the entry he’s made for me. A soft, almost nervous laugh bubbles from the back of my throat as I realize he has my numbers saved backwards—my cell phone is listed as my home number and vice versa. As I correct both numbers, letting him know about the mix-up in the process, the irritation I’ve felt the majority of the night drifts away.

Wyatt kept his word, and he came down here to find me.

He sought me out for our last night together.

Realizing this sends both pleasure and pain throbbing through my chest. My body threatens to crumble, but I hold on to the dryer behind me for support.

“I can be upstairs in fifteen minutes, and then we can...” I stop speaking for a moment, my eyebrows pulling together, as he leans far over to lock the laundry room door. “What are you doing?”

I gasp when he jerks me to him, finally undoing the pesky top button of my jeans with his other hand at the same time. In one rough motion, he drags the denim along with my panties down my hips.

Oh. My. God.

His hands spread across my ass frantically, and the initial slap he gives my backside sends a delicious sting across my skin. Bending his head slightly, he plunges his tongue into my mouth. I kiss him back just as greedily, meeting the slightest movement of his mouth with my own. As I taste Guinness on him, I remember the night of my twenty-first birthday when we downed too many Black Velvet drinks at the Halloween Rock Ball where YTS was playing. We’d had sex, hard and frantic, in the dressing room’s bathroom before they went back on stage to play.

“You taste so good,” I murmur.

As he glides his finger between my legs, a look of satisfaction takes over his face. I fumble with the button on his jeans just as he flicks his tongue across his fingertip, savoring my flavor.

“Not as good as you taste,” he growls. “Bend over, Ky.”

He doesn’t wait for me to comply. He simply turns me around, so I’m facing the dryer. I grasp the sides and lean over it, shuddering at how the warmth from the machine spreads through my chest, at how the vibration sends more heat spiraling to the pit of my stomach.

Wyatt draws away from me only for a moment, but when he returns, I feel him, hard and long, against my bare ass. “You know this isn’t it for us tonight,” he says, cupping my sex.

When I mutter, “It better not be,” he chuckles into my ear and glides his cock between my slick folds. He slides himself against me, back and forth, testing my wetness, before thrusting into me.

A sigh escapes my lips, and I grip the corners of the dryer tighter. I rock my hips back and forth, meeting his deep thrusts. He presses his lips to my bluebird tattoo and groans.

“Fuck, Kylie, you feel so good. So right.”

Reaching around me, he squeezes my clit softly, and I gasp.

“Don’t stop. God, don’t stop.”

Because I need this from him. I need everything he can give me tonight, so I can move on and not want more.

“Harder?” He rubs my center in quick circular motions.

Strands of my dark hair cling to my damp forehead as I nod. “Please.”

With his free hand, he clutches my hip and slams into me. I just know that I am going to scream. I’m going to scream, and the hotel staff will rush down here to find us screwing like rabbits over their brand new Whirlpool dryer. Then, I’ll be banned from The Veranda for life.

For this, though, it’s worth it.

As the moan builds in my throat, he lets go of my hip and slides his finger into my mouth. When I bite down on it, hard, he releases a low noise. “Come for me,” he orders roughly.

I shake my head. “Not yet, not until—”

“Come for me,” he repeats. “You’ve got me all night. You’ve got me for as long as you want. I want to hear you come.”

I’m still moving my head furiously from side to side even as the orgasm rips through me. I tighten up around him, clenching his cock inside me, until a moment later when he trembles. We don’t make a sound or a movement for what seems like hours.

At last, I feel his lips part between my shoulder blades. It takes a second, but I finally make out what he’s saying.

“That’s my fucking girl.”

Breathing heavily, I turn around, so we’re face-to-face. He touches his lips to my forehead, then to my lips, and finally, to the tip of my nose. “Thanks,” I murmur. I place my palms flat against his chest, not to push him away, but so I can feel the unsteady drumming of his heart. “I mean it. Thanks.”

Keeping his blue eyes on my face, he slips my jeans back up and grins when I shift uncomfortably. “I meant what I said, Kylie. You’ve got me for the rest of the night. I don’t want there to be any—” He’s cut off by the doorknob jiggling.

I mutter a curse and scramble to button my pants and adjust my halter-top as he pulls up his jeans.

“Kylie?” Heidi’s muffled voice filters in from the other side of the door. “Please tell me you’re in there. I lost my key to the room, and it’s booked under your name, so they won’t give me a replacement.”

Relieved, I sag against Wyatt’s chest, and he strokes his hand down my spine. This slight motion brings me close to unraveling, even closer to spinning out of control. Gripping a handful of his t-shirt, I clear my throat before answering Heidi. “Yeah, let me grab my stuff. I’ll be upstairs in a few, okay?”

“Why’s the door locked?”

Wyatt grins, but I place my finger over his mouth and give him a warning glare. He retaliates by squeezing my breast.