AllFreeNovel
Share Us
“Soft.” I scoot back until I can lay my head on the pillow. “Really nice, actually.”
“Hm,” Tuck hums. I notice the indentation of his tongue as he traces it slowly around his inner lips.
“Much better than the floor, I bet,” I quip, dipping my toe into joking around like we did before the car incident.
Tuck’s expression grows cloudy, his prominent Adam’s apple bobbing on a swallow. “Guess I’ll never know.”
There’s something about the way he says that …
Tuck looks way too good in a tuxedo.
Way too good.
I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. Tuck’s tall frame with his wide shoulders, trim waist, and lean muscles is a tailor’s wet dream. He was sure to look good dressed up.
But this good?
Women have been ogling him all night. Students from the other colleges, professors, administrators, donors, they’re all shamelessly getting an eyeful of Tuck McCoy. His cocky smile, wide and toothy and glimmering, makes it clear he notices, and doesn’t mind one bit.
He’s so at ease here. I guess growing up rich, he feels comfortable mingling at a glitzy affair where everyone’s dressed up with a flute of expensive champagne in their hands.
Me? I feel out of my element. I grew up in a much more bohemian atmosphere with my parents and their actor-slash-artist friends.
After a little while, though, I slide into the mingling groove. I talk with some students from a college in Maine, and they’re cool. I meet an art professor from a college in Massachusetts who spent time working in stage production on Broadway, and we have an interesting conversation.
Then comes the disaster of the evening: the dinner.
I assumed that an event like this would have great catering. I was wrong. The meat is chewy. The vegetables bland. The potatoes hard and undercooked.
Not only that, but there’s no dessert.
Who caters a fancy event and doesn’t even offer dessert!? Maybe I shouldn’t complain. Judging by the rest of the food, it’s not likely the dessert would be good, either. Hard to screw up dessert, but I suspect they’d find a way.
I hardly eat anything on my plate. Afterward, I have to sit through over an hour of monotonous post-dinner speeches by university administrators with a growling stomach.
There’s more mingling after the speeches. I have a couple more conversations, but quickly I’m starting to feel all mingled out.
I also notice that I haven’t seen Tuck around for a little while. I wonder if he ditched and went back to our room.
Our room.
My pulse stutters, chills dancing up and down my back.
Then a pang of guilt tugs at my chest. I’ve seen Tuck wince in pain a couple times tonight. He’s tried to hide it, but I’ve noticed. Especially when he lowered himself to sit down at his table for dinner. His hand has shot to the small of his back more than once this evening.
I can’t let him sleep on the floor. I’ll take the floor myself. He might put up a fight. He probably has some stupid idea of chivalry in that macho brain of his that says he can’t let a woman sleep on the floor.
Not that the antics he’s known for on campus have chivalry written all over them.
Still, I think he’s hurting bad enough that I’ll be able to force him to accept it.
Then, I spot him. Through the window panes of the closed French doors on the other side of the room, I see Tuck standing on the balcony. He’s got his forearms propped against a railing with his back turned.
When I step outside, I expect to be wrapped in the harsh cold of a New England night, barely able to stand it long enough to ask Tuck what he’s doing freezing himself to death out here.
But, instead, I’m greeted by the warmth of bronze-coated patio heaters. It makes this balcony comfortable even in my sleeveless dress, though I can still feel the crisp chill in the air. It’s nice.
I sidle next to him, mimicking his position as I lean forward and rest my arms against the stone railing.
