Chapter 8

Lucy and I are the last to arrive at the hotel. There isn't another soul in sight by the time we reach the lobby. It's eerily quiet other than an older lady behind the desk idly watching the news on one of the surrounding televisions. When she sees us coming, she raises her eyebrows in surprise.

"Flight 282?" she asks.

We both nod.

She sucks in a sharp exhale. "I thought everyone had already arrived. Not to worry, though! We still have one junior suite available for the night." She smiles, the corners of her endeared eyes crinkling. "I think you'll be very comfortable there. It's so cozy and romantic."

My stomach drops, anticipating Lucy"s reaction to this little misunderstanding. Personally, I"d sleep on the concrete at this point. I just want this day to be over.

To my surprise, Lucy bursts out laughing, the tension in the air dissipating instantly. "Oh, that"s a good one!" she says, wiping a faux tear from her eye. "Me and him? A couple? Can you imagine?"

"Sorry, ma'am, but you are mistaken—terribly, terribly mistaken," Lucy continues. "Never in a million years would I ever date this man. In fact, if I, by some stroke of God himself, even so much as thought about him in such a way, I would have no choice but to claw my own eyes out because I simply wouldn't be able to look at myself in the mirror anymore."

The lady laughs in response and I can't help but feel like I'm the butt of some private joke between the two women.

She turns to me, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Hey, Noah, should we tell her about our torrid love affair? The one where we hate each other"s guts?"

I can"t help but chuckle. "Yeah, it"s a real Romeo and Juliet story, minus the romance and plus a whole lot of bickering."

Lucy nods, turning back to the receptionist with a grin. "In all seriousness, though, we"re definitely not together. We"ll need separate rooms, please. Preferably on opposite sides of the hotel, if possible."

The receptionist laughs, visibly relieved. "I completely understand. I"m sorry for assuming! Let me see what I can do about those separate rooms."

As she types away on her keyboard, Lucy leans over to me, lowering her voice. "You know, if we were a couple, we"d probably end up killing each other before the honeymoon was over."

I snort, shaking my head. "You"re not wrong. But hey, at least it would be an entertaining way to go."

Lucy rolls her eyes, but I swear I catch a hint of a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

The receptionist"s smile falters as she scans the computer screen, her brow furrowing. "Oh dear," she mumbles, a hint of concern creeping into her voice.

Lucy and I exchange a glance, our momentary camaraderie replaced by a growing sense of unease.

"Is everything alright?" I ask, already dreading the answer.

"Um…unfortunately, due to all of the redirected flights, we only have one available room tonight. Otherwise, I would have to contact one of our sister locations and?—"

"W-well this is unacceptable from the airline, look ma'am we're two grown adults who can't be expected to share-" Lucy begins, going into full Lucy-mode.

I make an executive decision. "We"ll take the room, ma'am," I interrupt. "And I'm so sorry for her attitude. She forgot to take her medication this morning. Thank you so, so much for providing this free room for us tonight." I pointedly look over at Lucy with a smile that could not possibly be interpreted as anything close to pleasant. "Right, Luce?"

"Right, Noah," Lucy grits out, glowering.

If I were smart, I would probably regret any and all decisions that have led me to this point because, from the glare I'm receiving from Lucy, I would guess my chances of surviving the night are not good. But alas, the only thing I can bring myself to care about is getting up to that godforsaken room and changing out of these airport-germ-infused clothes.

We eventually get the room key, and as soon as we're out of the receptionist's sight, Lucy smacks me right in the arm.

I rear back, crying out. "What the hell?!"

Lucy stops and I have the vague thought that if anyone catches us standing here yelling at each other, we're definitely getting kicked out.

"Self-righteous douchebags pay a tax. That was the tax." She smirks. Her eyes are wild and her untamed brown curls frame her face in a way that makes her look powerful, like the kind of woman they carve statues of.

I hate it.

I gesture in exasperation toward the front desk. "That poor woman does not care about your dramatics, Lucy. There was no other solution, it"s late, the room was free, and it's only one night. What was I supposed to do?"

She opens her mouth to say something but hesitates and closes it, tight. Her eyes ignite. It's like she's channeled all of her energy into her stare. She doesn't say a single word, and that almost makes it more alarming. She just wordlessly continues walking, and after a brief moment of debate, I follow after her.

When we reach the elevators, still not uttering a single word to each other, she presses the up arrow. The doors open, and we step inside. The tension is palpable. It's as though the entire building might burst into flames at any moment.

We reach the eighth floor, and I trail after Lucy to a door marked 804. She stands next to it and stares at me expectantly. Once I suddenly realize that she"s waiting for me to unlock it, I hurry forward to get us in. I push the door open and step aside, allowing her to enter first. I follow her inside, catching the door before it closes behind me.

Wow, this suite is huge.

Lucy drops her bag on the floor and turns to face me, her expression a mix of confusion and frustration. "Why did you accept the room switch so quickly?" she asks, her tone more curious than accusatory.

I pause, considering her question. "I guess I just didn"t want to make a big deal out of it," I admit, shrugging my shoulders. "It"s been a long day, and I figured it would be easier to just go with the flow."

Lucy nods, but there"s still a hint of discontent in her eyes. "I get that, but..." She hesitates, as if searching for the right words. "I didn"t appreciate how you spoke to the receptionist about me, like I"m some sort of…crazy person."

I wince, realizing how my words must have sounded. "I"m sorry, Lucy. Really. I didn"t mean to imply that you"re crazy. I was just caught off guard by the whole situation."

She sighs, running a hand through her hair. "I know I can be a bit... intense sometimes. But I don"t like being made out to be the bad guy, especially in front of strangers."

I nod, feeling a pang of regret. "You"re right. I shouldn"t have spoken about you like that. It was disrespectful, and I apologize. But, in my defence, you had just said to the lady that you would claw your own eyes out if you ever looked at me in a romantic way…"

Lucy looks at me and bites down on her plump lip. My eyes seem to be fixated on her mouth. She mulls over my words for a moment before giving a small nod. "Thank you, Noah. I appreciate your apology. And I guess I was a little out of line, too." She holds her head back for a moment and breaths deeply. "I'm almost hoping that I do miss this wedding. It's my dad's third one, and it will be terribly painful," she explains, then waves her hands around.

"Sorry, it's nothing for you to think about. My problem."

I'm tempted to ask more but something in her tone tells me this isn't the right time.

Wanting to lighten the mood, I tilt my head and give her a playful smile. "So, does this mean we"re roommates now? Should we establish some ground rules, like no leaving dirty socks on the floor and no hogging the TV remote?"

Lucy rolls her eyes, but I catch a ghost of a smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. "How about we start with you sticking to your side of the room and I mine?" she suggests, raising an eyebrow.

I chuckle, holding up my hands in mock surrender. "Fair enough. I think I can manage that."

As Lucy retreats into the bedroom, I hoist my bag over my shoulder and make my way to the couch. It"s not going to be the most comfortable night"s sleep, but at least we"ve managed to clear the air a bit.

I settle onto the couch, feeling a sense of relief wash over me. It"s been a roller coaster of a day, but maybe, just maybe, Lucy and I can find a way to coexist without constantly butting heads. My mind wanders to Lucy, the bedroom door is ajar, and I can see her moving around swiftly. She reaches up into a cabinet and her top rides up exposing the small of her back. Looking away, I shift discreetly on the sofa, clenching my jaw against the sudden tightness in my jeans.

I need a drink.

I wander into the kitchen and find the fridge to be fully stocked with those tiny bottles that I haven't even considered touching since my prom night, when I booked a room for my date and myself. I know I'm not seventeen anymore, but I vaguely remember the receptionist mentioning that any and everything in the room was comped, so I really only have one option here.

I grab as many shooters as I can hold and approach the back bedroom, where Lucy sits on top of a white duvet, typing away on her phone. I stop in the opening and do my best to knock on the door with my elbow, since my hands are otherwise incapacitated. When she looks up, I hold the bottles in the air and smile warily.

"Peace offering?"

She watches me for a moment, just as apprehensive as I am, before she finally nods and tosses her phone behind her.

I sit on the floor with my back pressed against the foot of the bed and crane my neck up to look at her as I pass a couple of the bottles. We both tear open the lids and nurse our drinks in silence. Every few moments, I think maybe I ought to say something, but then I change my mind. She doesn't want to be friends or hear anything from me—she's made that painfully clear. Still, some instinct in me wants to make her like me. I just have no clue why. I click through a few playlists on my phone and pick one I think is the most universally liked, a mixture of pop and rap music. We fall into a comfortable sort of companionship, listening to music and thinking. I am thinking of all the job applications I'm going to have to do when I get home. It is exhausting constantly applying, putting yourself out there, making it to interview and then being rejected. Or missing your interview because of an unfortunate series of bad luck.

"You think I'm a bitch, don't you?" Lucy asks sometime after I've returned from the third—fourth?—trip to the fridge for more refreshments. Maybe it's the way the world is slowly starting to blur around the edges, or maybe it's the sadness in her voice, but I sit up from where I've been lounging on the floor, whirl around, and shake my head. So what if, realistically, the thought of her being not-so-pleasant has crossed my mind a time or two today?

"I don't, Lucy," I say. "Seriously. I think you're stubborn, and…yeah, maybe you can be a little harsh, but hey—me too, right? None of that stuff makes you a bitch. You just know what you want is all. I know that I sucked in college. I was a douche," Her eyes widen, and she leans forward. "I…I wasn't used to the attention, and I loved it. Home life sucked, and college felt like an escape for me. It isn't an excuse I know that. But I've changed since then, I promise. I've tried to be nice to you now. If you'd just give me a chance, I'm sure I can convince you I'm really not such a bad guy." I take another long sip, too used to the foul taste to even wince at the way it burns my throat. I haul myself up onto the bed next to her and sigh heavily. "Ya know somethin'? I wish I were half as confident as you are. Maybe then my life wouldn't be such a mess."

The confession feels easy to make to Lucy. I hide my current situation from some of my college friends, worried about what they'll think of me. But she already thinks the worst of me, so what's there to lose?

Lucy's head tilts diagonally, and her brows furrow in a way that makes this entirely too adorable crease appear between them. I want to reach out and run my thumb across it until it smooths out, but I resist. Instead, I focus on the way some of her perfect, coily curls drape over her forehead and down her neck. Some of the strands have escaped from the knot she's tied them up into atop her head. They look so soft and shiny. My fingers start to twitch toward her, but I manage to stop myself at the last minute, forcing myself to look away as she hums sadly.

"Your life"s not a mess," she says softly. "You"ve got that fancy interview, don"t you? What"s it even for, anyway?"

"It"s for some big corporate insurance firm," I reply, bracing myself for her reaction.

Lucy scrunches her face in distaste. "I know, I know. It isn"t anything exciting, but the pay jump would be huge, plus the employee benefits are great and..." I trail off, noticing the look of disbelief on her face.

"So... that"s what you want to do? Be an "insurance broker"?" she asks, her tone skeptical.

I feel my defences rising. "No, Lucy, I don"t. I want to teach kids. I want to go back to college and retrain as a teacher. I want to inspire kids like my sisters, to help out the next generation and have stability. But I can"t, not yet."

Lucy"s expression softens, a flicker of curiosity in her eyes. "Why not?"

I sigh, running a hand through my hair. "I have to get on the ladder somehow. I can"t afford to retrain yet, to go back to school. I"d have to reduce my work hours, and it just wouldn"t work. Not right now, anyway."

Lucy nods, her face etched with understanding. "Yeah, I get that. So, let"s look at it this way: get to this interview, wow them with the famous Noah Laurier charm..." She says my name with a hint of sarcasm, but somehow, it still sounds like music to my ears. "Land this crappy insurance job, make some moolah, then go back to school! Simple, right?" She grins widely, as if she"s just solved all of my problems. I wish she had.

I exhale sharply. "Oh, you mean the interview that I've got maybe a ten-percent chance of making? It's in—" I glance down at my watch and grimace— "eight hours. Eight hours. And we're still stuck in North Carolina. You're right, Lucy. My life isn't a mess. It's a nightmare."

Lucy laughs softly. It's such a sweet sound that I find myself looking up at her in wonder. She looks so different with the warm, yellow light of the lamp illuminating her from behind. She doesn't seem so tough, so rough around the edges. She looks like something nice and comfortable, something that should be adored. Her eyes crinkle happily, and her sweater hangs delicately off of her brown shoulder. I'm sure that if I could reach out and feel the warmth of her skin, it would be like silk.

"No…your life isn't a nightmare, Noah," she tells me with a lazy smile tugging at her lips. She leans back on her hands and looks up at me through thick, black lashes, the shadows of the dim room elongating her face. "You just focus on the bad things instead of the good. It's what you did in school too, you'd analyze books so critically, often missing the beauty of the stories" she laughs to herself, "I always found it so infuriating, I wanted to shake you, make you see what I saw."

"Hey, don"t underestimate yourself," Lucy's tone turns serious as she searches my face. "You"ve got what it takes, Noah. You"re smart, driven, and you clearly care about making a difference."

I feel a warmth spreading through my chest at her words. It"s been a long time since someone believed in me like this, since someone saw past the fa?ade and recognized my true aspirations.

"Thanks, Lucy," I say, my voice thick with emotion. "That means a lot, coming from you."

She shrugs, a playful smirk on her lips. "Yeah, well, don"t let it go to your head. You"ve still got a long way to go, Laurier."

I swallow thickly. My hand trembles nearly imperceptibly as I reach out to brush a stray eyelash from her cheek, the power of unexpected desire momentarily unravelling my poise.

I look at her again taking in every blemish and bump on her skin and still finding them painfully perfect. Like everything else about her, they appear to be in a state of organized chaos. She tilts her head back as she idly stretches, and the contour of her jaw sharpens.

My breath hitches and I can feel the alcohol affecting the reasoning part of my brain. I know I have to leave—immediately. I can't look at her like this.

I stumble to my feet and stagger toward the door, muttering something about needing to leave. Lucy calls after me.

"Noah?"

Despite my better judgement, I stay in the room. Slowly, I move back toward the bed where she waits, watching me so fastidiously. But then I stop myself.

No. I have to go.

I can't go.

This isn't right.

What do I do?

Lucy makes the decision for me. She slides off of the bed and closes the space between us. She's nearly my height, but she's just short enough that she has to look up at me through her lashes, and it makes my knees tremble. There's no more than three inches of room between us. I can feel the heat radiating from her body, and I hate how much I crave it.

I tell myself it's just the alcohol. I don't want her, and she certainly doesn't want me. We're just drunk. But the thought of her beautiful smile—those thick, full lips—and her taunting little laugh. She has always captured my attention. I know that she's intoxicating enough without the cheap vodka lowering my inhibitions.

"I know you hate me," she mutters, her gaze flickering across my face before landing on my lips. They stay there for much too long before returning to my eyes. "But that doesn't mean you can't want me."

"Jesus, Lucy." My words are rough and agonizing. I might not be ready to admit to myself how much I want her, but I know that right now, I need her.

In one quick movement, I push her up against the wall. She gasps in surprise, her eyes wide and bright with desperation. I reach out and caress her soft cheek, burning with heat, and get consumed by the need to touch every inch of her body.

"Is this okay?" I ask her. She was already nodding eagerly before I finished the question.

I tug my fingers through her frizzing curls and lean in close enough to smell the vanilla lotion lingering on her neck. I was right. In response to me, her back arches and her eyes flicker shut. I move slowly and with purpose. I want to cherish every moment of this—every moment of her.

My lips find their way to the tender skin beneath her ear. The noise she makes when I finally begin to suck on the saltiness of her skin only makes me slow down even more. I make my way down her jaw, my hand playing with the hem of her sweater until I feel her shiver. I move my hand under the fabric and take my time trailing the length of her spine. She's trembling, her goosebumps rough against my fingers.

My lips are millimeters away from hers, then we brush together, so briefly that it makes her whine. She tastes like coconut, I think. Her hand reaches out and curves around the back of my neck, pulling me in closer and closer until our lips connect. Somewhere deep down, I know that this is wrong. I know she hates me and I hate her and this is a truly terrible idea, but when I feel her tongue slipping into my mouth and her fingers raking through my hair, the only thing I care about is how right it feels. Her body fits so perfectly against mine and all I want is her.

I pull away from her just long enough to pull her shirt over her head. She's left in only a modest bra and jeans that expose the hem of her lacy, black panties. For a moment, all I can do is admire her, the contrast of her hard, dark nipples against the innocent white of her bra. Her trembling body. Her whimpering breaths. She watches me through heavily-lidded eyes, as if she's daring me to touch her in places no one else ever has before.

She's so delicate, with sweat dripping down her forehead and back. I run my hands down her sides as I lean in and press kiss after kiss along her jawline, down her neck to her chest. I fall to my knees, and as I suck at the skin just above her waist, I tug at her tight jeans that hug her just right. I peel them away from her. As her back arches, her hip bones thrust in my face. I grasp her thick, squeezable thighs, marveled by how easily they fit in my hands, just as easily as my shoulders fit in hers as she claws and tears at my arms and back. I push myself even further into her touch. I want her to leave marks. I want to be marked as hers so anyone who sees me knows that I belong to Lucy Marino and no one else.

I kiss down her hips to her thighs, and make my way to the center of her legs, which she pulls wide open for me. I pull back and gaze up at her, and the pleasure I get from watching her crane her neck back and whine is almost mind-numbing. I think that she must be an angel, because I've never seen a human so perfect before.

Her head falls forward, and she looks down at me with a face-splitting smile. I make a mental note of every dimple, every line, every drop of sweat and recite them to memory so that I never forget this moment.

"You're beautiful, Lucy Marino," I tell her breathlessly, to which she softly laughs, clawing her fingers through my hair and tugging at my scalp. I hear her breath catch in her throat as I finger at the hem of her underwear and feel her shiver against me.

"Just fuck me already, Laurier." The words are clenched and desperate, and I don't hesitate in pulling her panties down to her knees. I take her waist in my hands, feeling the firmness of her skin against my fingers and move in to taste her.

Yes, Ma'am.

But first...

Usually so tightly reserved, as my tongue dips into her, Lucy becomes almost unhinged. Freed from the cage she keeps herself in. She moans softly and it's the sweetest song I've ever heard. I sneak a peek up at her, being sure to move my tongue agonizingly slowly, and see her head thrown back, her dainty chin pointed at the ceiling, her eyes closed as though she can't bear to look at me.

"Holy shit," she breathes between moans. I squeeze her thighs and spread them wider, upping my speed just a little. She clutches a fistful of my hair in response, rocking her body against me, trying to press herself harder against my tongue.

So, I go faster. I squeeze her soft, perfectly round cheek, and this elicits a squeal of delight from her.

Her breathing hitches. I'm loving every second of this. The taste of her. The uncoiled snake she's become. Our rhythm. Her moans.

"I...I..."

I know what she's going to tell me, so in an instant, I pull my head back, my hands squeezing her behind again as I smirk up at her between her legs.

She all but glares at me when her eyes open and meet my gaze.

"I don't think so, Lucy. Not yet." Slowly, I get to my feet, and my hands go to undo my belt. The alcohol might've been a bit much, but it has also boosted my arrogance. I know what Lucy wants. I know what I want. And I know I'm going to give her a night that'll be impossible to forget. "I'm just getting started."