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Chase jumps up. “I’ll take you back to the hotel.”
I open my mouth to argue, since his suggestion has danger written all over it, but Liz beats me to it. “Great! That actually makes me feel better,” she says, also standing. “I’m meeting a friend here in about five minutes, and I didn’t want to be rude.” She gathers her large sack purse from the back of the chair. “You two go on. I’ll just wait for my friend at the bar.”
A weird, nonverbal communication happens between Chase and Liz. I stand there awkwardly in my boots trying to think of a way out of the ride. Nothing comes to mind.
I’m not sure if my lack of ideas stems from my brain freezing on me or from my subconscious wanting to find out if Chase gives as good a car ride as he does elevator rides.
My subconscious is a slut.
13
CHASE
My sister truly does deserve a pony. I know Liz isn’t meeting any of her friends. But she took one for team Chase. The look she sent me basically told me I owe her. Again.
A stab of panic hits me when I think of what’s at stake for Liz if I somehow screw up at Moore’s.
But I won’t. I can’t.
“So great meeting you, Bell.” Liz steps forward and hugs Campbell. When she steps back, my sister looks slyly at me before saying to Campbell, “Don’t let my brother get away with any crap.” Then she blows me a kiss and walks to the bar, a bounce in her step.
“Your sister is kind of cool,” Campbell says, still looking after Liz’s retreat.
“You have no idea.” I rub my chest, trying to ease the panic.
“She must take after your mother.”
I burst out laughing, the panic leaving and only humor remaining. Stan may consider Campbell a pathway toward failure, but obviously his opinion is just as outdated as he is.
“Let’s get out of here.” I thread my fingers through hers and lead us out of the speakeasy. Campbell frowns at our clasped hands, and I think I may have overstepped. But then, as if a switch flipped somewhere inside, her frown disappears, and her fingers tighten around mine.
We grin at each other before maneuvering out the secret door and down the stairs. It hits me that I’ve never been happier than when Campbell is near. She has a way of exaggerating the good and dimming the bad. Part of me wonders if that shouldn’t scare me a bit, but I can’t drum up any fucks to give.
Instead, I concentrate on the victory of her hand in mine. With Campbell, I’m sure holding hands is just one battle of many I’ll need to win before the war is over.
After all, love is a battlefield.
* * *
“My hotel is that way,” Campbell says, jerking her thumb to the left while I turn my car right.
“Yep. It is.” I look straight ahead, changing gears.
I can actually feel her eyes narrow. “Is that a ‘yep’ as in I-momentarily-forgot-and-I’m-about-to-turn-around, or ‘yep’ as in I-never-intended-to-take-you-to-your-hotel?”
I ease around the city’s traffic, loving her annoyed tone. “It’s more a we’re-gonna-finish-what-we-started-in-the-elevator kind of yep.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see her mouth drop open in a perfect O. I groan. “Goddamn it, Bell.” I brake hard at an upcoming traffic jam and turn to her, my eyes narrowing on her open mouth.
Reaching out, I rub my thumb over her bottom lip. “I know you’ve been hiding from me since Winston’s.” She stiffens at my words but doesn’t refute them. “You don’t have to be afraid. I’m serious when I say I’ll turn around if you tell me to. I’ll drive you to your hotel and watch as you walk into the lobby. Alone. I won’t push anymore. And saying no won’t interfere with work.” I rub her lip again, holding her gaze with my own. “I’m not that guy.”
I can almost hear the thoughts whirling through her mind as she sits there silently, leaning in a fraction to my touch. “I don’t mean to kidnap you, it’s just that…” I rake my hand through my hair, trying to find the words. Meeting my eyes, she looks turned on but unsure and a little lost. Just when I feel rejection and defeat stir in my chest and I’m about to turn the car around, her tongue slides out, the tip tickling the pad of my thumb. My fingers, resting on the side of her face, bite into her skin at the contact.
“Fuck, Bell.” I pull her toward me hard and fast. Our mouths collide, and it isn’t pretty. It’s teeth and lips and grunting, and it’s hot as hell. It’s over a week’s worth of wanting forced into a kiss. Her hand reaches down and palms me through my jeans, the zipper biting into my dick. But that’s okay, I need it. Without that sharp dose of pain, I would’ve already come in my pants just from the need rolling off of Campbell in waves.
My knee knocks hard into the gear shift, and the seat belt cinches me back when I try to lean further into her. Soon the sound of honking horns snaps me out of our ravenous sex fog. The traffic jam has cleared, and New Yorkers aren’t patient with idle drivers.
Quickly, I pull back, shift gears, and shoot down the road, making a hard right into my building’s parking garage. No valet tonight. I don’t think either of us want so much as the doorman seeing the condition we’re in. Thanking all the unsolicited dick pics that allowed me to purchase my own parking spot, I throw the car in park, unclip my belt, and reach for Campbell. She stops me with a hand on my chest and a seductive smile. Slowly she drags her hand down my chest and starts unbuckling my belt.
“It’s okay, baby, we can go up—”
