23. Juliana

TWENTY-THREE

JULIANA

Being on the arm of Hayden Kingston is the closest brush with stardom I'll ever experience. I don't know how much time has passed, it's all a blur, but the one thing I do know is suddenly the entire world wants to be my friend.

Hayden weaves us through a mob of rowdy party guests, all of whom glance our way at least once. "Oh my gosh, I love your heels!" a girl squeals from behind. I swivel my head, finding her trailing me like I'm Regina George. "Where'd you get them?" she asks over the blaring music.

I shoot her a smile, the forced one I've worn since my arrival. "Thanks, girl!"— girl, really? Who are you, Mei?— "They're from—"

Shit. Where are they from?

Uhhhhhh... Static buzzes through my brain.

"I'm sure you could guess, Emma." Hayden stops in the middle of the crowd, his hand sweeping down my backside, igniting sensations I'd rather not acknowledge—like the twinge of annoyance at him knowing her by name. "I'd only buy my girl Prada."

I arch an eyebrow, recalling his correctness.

"They were a gift, then?"

"Yes," I lie.

She smiles at me, but there's no missing the jealousy clouding her gaze, and I must be ten different shades of twisted from the satisfaction it brings me. When her eyes flick back to Hayden, I can practically make out the dollar signs in them as she bites her lip.

Before I'm able to contemplate my actions, I lean into his touch, placing a hand on his bare chest, between the flaps of his unbuttoned polo. I don't say anything, wouldn't know what to say in the first place, to mark him as my turf— my FAKE turf, I correct myself. This is all part of our agreement. That's all.

I peer up at him from beneath my lashes, noticing his smirk growing wider.

"My Juliana's spoiled rotten. Aren't you, baby?"

His deep tenor rolls across my skin, setting my cheeks ablaze. As for what's going on between my legs, well, I might as well jump in that infinite pool right now, lest I stand a chance of lying to myself later.

Giggling, I manage a shy, "Maybe."

In the reflection of his sunglasses, I watch Emma's nose crinkle. "Thanks for the invite," she says, before sauntering off.

I bite back a smug grin, although judging by the way Hayden cocks his head at me, I think he sees it, anyway. His lips part—surely on some snide remark—but I clear my throat before it surfaces, adding ample distance between us. When I bump into someone's damp backside, I apologize, even though I doubt they can hear me above the music.

"I thought you said today was a small gathering," I huff, air-quoting with my fingers.

"What do you mean? This is small."

My lips purse.

"It is." He gestures with the flick of his chin. "My rooftop terrace—coupled with the entertainment rooms—holds five-hundred guests comfortably. This isn't even half that."

With a scoff, I watch him take a long sip from his red Solo cup. "First off, I doubt that. Second, since when is a two-hundred-person party small?"

"It is in my world." He winks.

I roll my eyes, just as he takes off again. With a sharp inhale, I catch his shoulder, following close behind, before the crowd swallows me whole. "Where are we going now? Haven't you introduced me to enough people?"

Yes , my mind answers for him. Yes, we most definitely have.

From the moment I stepped through the elevator, he's pranced me around, introducing me to so many people that I doubt I'll remember a single name come tomorrow. Never have I lied to such an extent, dodging questions left and right regarding my family and how I came to know Hayden. So much so, that I'm surprised my tongue hasn't fallen off or my nose isn't the size of Big Ben, considering I fabricated at least twenty different stories.

Fortunately, there's a saving grace—the reason I've yet to crawl out of my own skin, managed to keep my social anxiety at bay in the most unlikely of environments, and haven't locked myself in my room by now.

Alcohol.

No, not me. I'm stone-cold sober. But everyone else? They're either so heavily intoxicated or high on who-knows-what, they won't possibly remember anything tomorrow, least of all the holes in my vague stories. Sure, maybe they'll recall my face or name later, but that's about it.

"Just a bit longer!" Hayden tugs me along.

"But my feet hurrrrt," I whine.

He stops by the edge of the pool, glancing down at my cramped feet. "You can take those off, you know. They're hot and all, but I wouldn't want you losing a toe."

"And risk stepping in garbage? I think not."

"Hey now, that's my party you're talking smack abou—" He sucks in a breath, noting the plastic cups and confetti at his feet, even a flip-flop or two. "Guess the cleaning crew hasn't made their rounds yet... Okay, yeah. There's a spot we can chill for a bit."

Thank God.

He retraces our steps back the way we came, flicking his head over his shoulder. "Do you really not want a drink? I mean, a real drink."

I flash him my plastic water bottle. "I'm good."

"Okaaayyy, whatever you say. I could have the catering staff whip you up something special—anything you want."

"It's fine, rea—"

Wait a minute. Actually...

He whirls around, hope sparking in his features, until his eyes meet mine through his dark glasses—then all that hope slowly dwindles. His shoulders sag, low and defeated. "Oh, no—Juliana, no."

"Hmmm." I tap my chin. "Something special, you say?"

"Nononono. Seriously? Pick something else. Literally, pick any other drink but that one."

I flash him a toothy smile.

Finally. It's about time this party got kicked into high gear.

Gosh, we should've come up here a lot sooner.

I sigh deeply, propping my bare feet atop the bamboo coffee table that matches the cabana, shielding us from the sun's setting rays, and sink into the couch. Wiggling my sore toes, I observe the party below. From the vantage point on our private balcony, the music is still loud but a bit more manageable, as I sip on my Shirley Temple.

Hayden pinches the bridge of his nose, as if I'm physically hurting him. "I can't even look at you right now."

I slurp louder, smiling when he groans.

"If someone asks, say it's a vodka cran."

"Who's gonna ask?" I gesture toward the empty seats. "Don't worry, Hayden, no one's here to see me cramp your style."

With a smirk, he drapes an arm across the backside of our couch, the movement flashing the grooves of his tan abs. For a split moment, his fingertips brush my shoulder, stirring a flock of butterflies in my gut. "You're right," he says, gazing down at the party below. "Guess I lucked ou—"

He sits up straight.

"What's wrong?"

"Sit on my lap," he answers quickly.

"What?"

"Hurry. Before they see."

"Before who sees?" I whip my head back and forth, searching the crowd, until I spot a group of eight or so—half girls, half guys—heading toward the balcony's private staircase. "I thought you said you needed a door code to get up here."

"You do, but they're Jeremy and I's close friends. I gave it to them."

I fold my arms. "That doesn't mean I have to be on your lap."

"You really think they'd believe I took a girl up here, just to talk? All alone?"

My gaze ping-pongs back and forth, from Hayden's eyes widening like saucers, to the group below, who must've just made it to the party. In other words, they're not drunk yet. I gnaw on my lips, contemplating my other options that clearly don't exist, until they're at the foot of the stairs.

Fuck.

I shuffle to the other end of the couch, my heart lurching when Hayden picks me up by my waist and sets me onto his lap, a whirlwind of skin-on-skin that tousles both my hair and my brain. I fix my bangs, grappling for a sense of control, except when I do, I find myself not facing away from him but toward, completely straddling him.

"Uh-uhm..."

My breaths puff out on jagged waves as the warmth of his chest seeps into my palms, my knees digging into the couch cushions on either side of him. Adrenaline spikes through my brain at his presence, much too close to mine and mine much too close to his, and God does he smell good and—

He sweeps my hair off one shoulder, his voice hoarse when he says, "Close your eyes," as his capture mine, bluer than the pool below, than any ocean wave or mountain spring.

When I don't move a muscle, his hands trail down my spine, torturously slow, a shiver following their wake, before he grabs two fistfuls of my ass. By now, I can barely make out his words a second time, drowned out by the blood pounding in my ears.

"Close your eyes."

"But why—"

His lips latch onto my neck, right as I hear what I believe is a door click, but I'm not sure, not when I'm incapable of forming a single coherent thought.

I inhale sharply on contact, going rigid, as does he, until he kisses my skin lightly, cautiously, like the first taste of some delicate appetizer. And the groan that follows has my eyes fluttering shut and back arching into him, before he grips my nape, angles my head to his liking, and dives in for more.

A moan breezes past my lips, then another, when he works up the length of my skin, stopping at the crook between my neck and jawline. He suctions there, the noises from his lips resounding through the air, as he threads fingers thread through my hair, tugging at the root, focused on that one spot.

The attention is suffocating, so intense that I squirm in his grasp, panting like a wild thing, my cover-up riding up my waist as I sway my hips, my center sliding across something harder than granite.

"Mmmmm." His growl caresses my ear, full of hunger and untapped control, rippling a shudder through me. He bucks back against me, the movement spreading my legs farther and blooming pleasure out from my core.

Then my hands are in his hair, exploring its silkiness, while he suctions harder and harder, his teeth branding my delicate skin and tongue darting between his lips in tandem to soothe up the burn. Stifling another moan, I rock back and forth, building a sensation so sweet that—

A snicker breaks through our space, coupled with some juvenile woos and ow-ows!, enough to free me from my lust. Just barely.

"Ohhhh, man," a male voice teases. "Should we leave you to it, big dog?"

A possessive growl rumbles against me, this one nearly primal and tinged with anger, before Hayden's lips pop from my skin, releasing their suction. "No, come on in," he says, his voice like gravel.

And it isn't until he helps me back into the spot next to him, while giving his friends the shortest introduction of me possible, that shame burns my cheeks, shrinking me until I'm so, so small.

We didn't need to take it that far. What was I thinking? Was I even thinking? Now I'm sitting here, with a puddle in my bikini bottoms, throbbing between my legs, and a bruise forming on my neck, hardly able to look a single person in the eye, sitting around my brother's friends who—

I arch a brow. Who don't give a flying fuck???

Bros in polos or no shirts at all take their seats across the coffee table, and some right up next to us, while girls in scanty bikinis plop down on their laps. In a mere minute, they're taking bong rips, throwing back shots, setting up a game of beer pong, and filling the cabana with loud chatter.

I blink. Is it just me, or did they not just watch the intro to a live-action porno?

With my mouth ajar, I swing my head, finding Hayden staring down at me, smug as ever. But why? Why is he so pleased when his friends couldn't care less and I apparently have nothing to be ashamed of?

Wait. My shoulders droop. If his friends don't give a crap... that would mean...

He smirks, resting a hand on my thigh.

There's no reason to stop.

As I'm about to protest, his thumb begins tracing tiny circles along my skin, causing me to suck in my bottom lip. A shadow of satisfaction clouds his eyes, before he turns his head and starts up a conversation with the man to his right, which I can hardly hear.

Then I all but melt into the couch, not uttering a word to another soul, unbothered if they care or I care or anyone or anything. I just focus on his touch, which keeps a constant pace and steady pressure as it grazes down the inside of my thigh, but never close enough to where I want it.

The. Entire. Time.

For how long, I don't have the slightest idea. But by the time the group exits the balcony with bottles full of booze in their hands and a craving for the dance mob breaking out down below, only a sliver of the sun peeks above the horizon.

The door shuts, leaving us alone.

I don't move. I don't jerk back like always. I only sit, speechless, as the gears in my brain belonging to desire and common sense grind in a deadly duel. My gaze flicks up and down, between Hayden's wanting stare and his hand, still on my thigh.

"I'm... I'm going to..."

"Yeah?" He angles his head. "To what?"

"To get..." I swallow, grappling for my dignity. "To get a drink."

His eyebrow quirks, noting my Shirley Temple on the table, half full. But before he opens that tempting mouth and convinces me to stay, I'm already on my feet, heels in hand, rushing for the door.

I picked a bad day to wear my hair up.

Sitting on a barstool, sipping a glass of cold ice water, I brush my ponytail in front of my shoulder, hoping to conceal the hickey that's surely forming on my neck. Embarrassingly enough, it's my first time having one, and even though the sun has fully set behind the city skyline, I feel like I'm sporting one big flashing, slutty bull's eye.

What's worse, is I still feel him on my skin. His lips, his hands... even his voice resides in my mind, whispers between my ears. Tantalizing sounds I can't unhear that urge me to go crawling back to him and—

"Damn, girrrl!" a voice I know so well squeals over the music. "You look incredible."

Shit, shit.

I banish the dirty thoughts from my brain, praying Mei won't read them on my face. "You already saw me today," I say, adjusting my hair once more. It's true, she did see me at her apartment all morning, when she slaved away at my makeup and hair, working a curling iron I'd certainly give myself third-degree burns with.

She steps up to the bar right beside me, and as she orders her drink from the bartender, I raise an eyebrow at her tall beachy heels and leopard-print bikini, her backside swallowing up the G-string. Dang, looks like I'm not the only one who got all done-up. Although, to someone like Mei, this might actually pass as a small gathering.

She smirks, giving me an up-down over the rim of her sunglasses. "That's true, but I didn't see all this. You put together such a cute outfit."

"Well, I have Pinterest to thank for that."

She shrugs as the bartender returns with her seltzer. "Thanks."

"Would you like another water, Miss?"

"Oh, no. I'm okay." I thank him before turning back to Mei, but as I do, my hair slips off my shoulder. My eyes widen, just a fraction while I brush it back into place. But when our gazes meet, hers twinkle with mischief.

"Seems like you've been having some fu—"

"So!" I interrupt, the surge of adrenaline amplifying my voice. "Did you just get here?!"

She bites down on a laugh, instead giving me a smile, one that says we'll talk later. "No, I've been here for a while. Just mingling—ran into a few people I know."

"Uh, huh. Uh, huh." I nod, nursing my water.

"I saw you a few times, actually."

Sweat nicks at my brow. She couldn't have seen... what happened, right?

"Only from afar, though—that's why I freaked out when I saw you up close. I hardly recognized you, especially without your glasses, but I assumed it was you earlier..." She lets her sentence fade, like bait on a hook, fishing for information as she takes a long sip, eyeing me over the top of the can.

Where is she going with this?!

When I don't bite, she twirls a strand of her hair between her fingers. "You and Hayden, you two seem a little... touchy."

My stomach drops. I haven't a clue what she did or didn't see, but she saw enough. "Mei..." I put on a poker face. "Everything's fake, remember? It's just part of the agreement."

"Mhmmmm, sure, sure."

"I'm serious. I have zero feelings for him. Zero."

Who are you trying to convince there, baby? I hear Hayden's voice inside my head, who shouldn't even be there in the first place!

"Okaaayyy, whatever you say. Well, do you want to know what I think?"

I roll my eyes. "No, but you're gonna tell me, anyway."

"Yep." She props an elbow atop the bar, scanning the terrace. Then points. "See that man?"

Sighing deeply, I play her little game, following the line of her gaze, searching and searching through the crowd, until—I gasp.

...until I find the man.

On the opposite side of the terrace, Hayden sits at the edge of the pool, his shins submerged in the water glowing off his shirtless chest in the night, as cigarette smoke puffs from his lips, billowing over his blond locks. His friends from earlier either sit or stand beside him, chatting and dancing to the beat, oblivious to his territorial demeanor.

As he stares right at me.

"I can't speak for you, Juliana, but that man right there." Mei flicks her chin, and for once, not an ounce of playfulness or teasing seeps through her tone when she says...

"He's not pretending."