Falling in between, p.19
Falling in Between, page 19
“Well, I mean, I get why you didn’t. You didn’t want it to go anywhere, and when it did, you got scared, so I think subconsciously you not telling him was just your way of self-sabotaging. It’s what you do best.”
A few tears streak down my cheek which I quickly swat away.
“Doesn’t he have social media? Facebook? Instagram? Hell, Snapchat?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Okay.” She plops beside me on the couch and places her hand on my knee. “Do you want me to be brutally honest here, or do you want me to say things to make you feel better?”
“Honesty. Always, from this point forward, honesty.”
“I think you fucked up—royally fucked up.” She throws her arms around me and squeezes. “But I love you.”
I think about Elijah and the empty seat next to him. I think about how heartbroken I’d be if the situation were reversed, and my chest aches. He had no idea how much I cared about him, and now, I doubt he ever will. Tears trickle down my face, but I fight the emotion, trying to keep it tampered down. My wishy-washy self, my stupid fear of being hurt has just cost me something I never thought I’d have.
And so it seems, all along my fantasy was being in love with a man who made me feel safe.
27
Two weeks later.
Bleak, gray clouds cover the horizon, hiding every bit of blue there may be, and while it’s not raining, it feels like the sky could burst open at any moment. After my first time flying alone, I’m exhausted and slightly hungover. It wasn’t until after my third glass of wine that my nerves became manageable. My tolerance for the snoring man whose head kept falling onto my shoulder—not so much.
A cool breeze bites through my thin T-shirt and leggings. Adjusting the gym bag slung over my shoulder, I listen to the hum of the city. The sirens sound less brash, the sputter of the engines is oddly heavier. The bits and pieces of conversation I hear on my way down the street are laced with English charm. Elijah was right, if you listen closely enough, each city has its own accent.
As it turns out, Steph has borderline FBI skills when it comes to tracking people down. One shady website and forty bucks later, and I had Elijah’s address in hand. I canceled my clients, booked a flight to London, and here I am, lost among rows of white townhomes with navy flower boxes on the windowsills.
Townhome number fifty-two is the only one without flowers on its ledge. My stomach knots when I step to the door and raise my hand to knock. I pause, inhaling as I stare at the toe of my Converse. Even after mulling this conversation over in my head for two weeks, I’m still not exactly sure how to say: I lied about my name, but I love you.
Just as I knock, I hear a car door slams shut on the street behind me. The sound of Elijah’s voice catches my attention. My heart clenches when I spin away from the door and spot him as he rounds the back of a black Mercedes. His charcoal gray suit clings to his wide frame, the red tie against the stark-white shirt provides a sense of power. And while he looks every bit the successful businessman he is, the careless way his hair is styled gives him a playboy edge.
The passenger door opens, and a pair of long, feminine legs swing out. He moves to the side of the car, waiting for her to exit. He shouldn’t be waiting for her to exit. I swallow when his hand lightly touches the small of her back as she steps over the curb. I made a mistake… Oh my God, I made a mistake!
They exchange a few words, all the while his attention is glued to his phone. When he eventually glances up, he stops mid-stride. The smile on his face falls, his entire expression crumpling the way my heart is at this very moment.
The woman glances between us. I feel my cheeks sting with heat.
“Lucy,” he says, confusion setting his brow. “When you get to the meeting would you tell Charles and David that something’s come up? I’ll sign the contracts tomorrow.”
“Yes, Mr. Banks.”
“Thank you.” And then he stalks toward me, carrying that air of confidence he can’t seem to shake.
The closer he gets, the harder it is to breathe. It’s only been two weeks, but it seems like ten months, and by the time he stops in front of me, I’m ready to crumble like a dead, autumn leaf.
He doesn’t say a word, doesn’t ask one question, just pulls me into his warm embrace.
I rest my cheek against the soft material of his suit. The scent of leather and spice wrap around me, soothing my tired muscles, and I don’t know how I ever expected to live without him.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
“All that matters is that you’re here.” He moves back just enough to cup my face. “I missed you so much, Demi.”
My insides rattle with guilt and worry. Before I confess my sins, there’s one thing I need to do. I drop my bag from my shoulder and grab the memory box from inside, practically shoving it into his hands.
He traces along the path of stars carved into the side, then strums a fingertip over the strings. The sullen notes carry into the wind. “Is this made from a cello?”
“Yes. A cello and the stars, because being vulnerable is the only way you can truly ever love someone.”
His brow wrinkles. His jaw twitches, and when he looks at me, he looks at me like I am everything in the whole world. He goes to kiss me, but I place my palm to his chest and take a step back. If I wait too much longer, I’ll never be able to stomach this.
“And honest,” I say. “You have to be honest, and I’ve not exactly been honest with you.”
His expression falls flat, and I take a breath. “My name’s not Demi, Elijah. It’s Charlie.” His eyes narrow, and I look at the ground.
“You lied about your name?”
Panic twists through my chest like jagged blades. I just need to get it all out and over with. “I was never supposed to see you again,” I blurt. “But then I did see you again, and you called me Demi. I didn’t think it would go anywhere so what was the point in explaining it then? You were this sexy guy who I had no business getting involved with.” My face is growing hot, and I’m still staring at the ground. “I’d never even sexted until you, and besides, you were leaving in a month’s time. It all happened so fast, and then when I went to get on the plane the ticket was for Demi, not Charlie, and I lost my phone and just. I just… I would have been here two weeks ago had I not been such a dumbass.”
There’s a pause. A moment of silence that seems unbearably long. He must hate me, and I expect his face to be full of anger. But when I manage to glance up, I’m met with an amused smirk.
“Charlie?” He holds out his hand. “I’m Elijah. Would you like to have some coffee?”
Dropping my chin with a laugh, I nod. “I’d love to have coffee with you.”
He slams his mouth over mine in a hard kiss. His tongue thrusts against mine and just when I reach the point I can no longer breathe, he nips at my lip and pulls away. “I could never get enough of that,” he says, sliding my bag from my shoulder. He sets it along with the box inside his apartment, then he takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine as we start down the street.
When we stop at the crosswalk, he shakes his head on a laugh. “Lied about your name. I should have known to expect a little chaos when dealing with you.” He squeezes my hand. “But I must admit, it makes for a good story.”
We have coffee in a tiny pub a few blocks over, then wander through the congested streets of London, past Piccadilly and through Trafalgar Square.
Red, double-decker buses line the streets, and tourists take pictures by the pigeon-covered lions at Nelson’s Column. Oddly, the area reminds me of New York, but with a less hurried atmosphere.
The closer we get to the fountain, the soothing sound of Beethoven’s “Moonlight Sonata” floats above the rumble of the buses and the chatter of the crowd. Pigeons take flight as a group of school children part, revealing the source of the melody. A white-haired man sits behind a cello, eyes closed as he plays.
Elijah stops. I notice the deep breaths he drags in, how his gaze hones in on the bow, the way his jaw tics. I lean my head against his shoulder to subtly let him know I’m here.
Once the song has ended, Elijah approaches the man, I assume to give him money. And hand him cash he does, but not before he leans down by the man’s ear.
Nodding, the man glances at me, hands his bow over, then steps to the side.
Elijah takes a seat on the concrete ledge of the fountain. His fingers pluck at the strings before he slowly drags the bow across them. He closes his eyes, and I cover my mouth with my hand the second I realize he’s playing “Take Me to Church.”
My heart pounds like the wings of a caged bird, as the sad melody of the cello carries across the square.
I move to sit beside him, watching every movement and relishing in each note. By the end of the song, he’s lost in the music, his body swaying with each sweep of his arm.
Once he’s finished, he hands the bow back to the man, and then thanks him before turning to me.
I grab his face, pulling him toward me and tenderly kissing his lips. “Thank you,” I whisper.
He sweeps my hair behind my shoulder. “Thank you for existing and giving me a new reason to play.”
Epilogue
Elijah- One year later
The wind churns around me as I lean against the balcony railing, taking in the lights of the skyscrapers that lay across the river. The smell of motor oil and water carry in on the breeze, and I suck it deep into my lungs.
London was meant to be an indefinite move, but love requires sacrifices on both parts. Charlie forfeited half a year, so I surrendered part of the London division, turning it over to Lucy’s able hands.
The glass door slides open behind me, and I turn around to Charlie stepping out in nothing but an open silk robe. I’ve woken to her every day for the past year, and still my chest aches when I see her. She’s like an extension of my soul walking outside of my body. One I always want to keep close to me and safe. One I’ll always cherish.
“You know what you’re doing, don’t you, Mrs. Banks?” I ask, sliding my hands beneath the robe and pulling her flush against me.
“I’ve learned a thing or two over the past year.” She laughs the same carefree laugh that first drew me to her, and I fall more in love with her each time I hear it.
My hand creeps from her back to her supple ass. “You’re so fucking sexy,” I say before nipping her lip. “Let me fuck you on the balcony.”
Her mouth play at my throat as her fingers nimbly work the zipper of my slacks. Just when her hand grazes my cock, my phone vibrates in my pant’s pocket. I ignore it, fisting her hair and tugging her head back.
“Elijah,” she breathes, swatting at my chest. “Answer it.”
“But I need this.” I bite at her neck, desperate to draw her attention away from the buzzing phone.
“Elijah!”
With a groan, I fish my cell from my pocket and press it to my ear.
“I know you two are trying to have adult time and all,” Steph says.
I can hear Lily whining in the background.
“But your three-month-old just projectile vomited all over me. It was like a scene out of The Exorcist. Well, without the entire spinning head thing.”
Before I can say a word, Charlie’s taken the phone and pulled her robe closed. “Does she have a fever?” She paces the length of the patio. “Okay, try giving her the pacifier. Maybe take her out on your porch and sing ‘Itsy Bitsy Spider’ that usually calms her down.” Charlie throws her head back. “Steph just sing the damn song to her! She’ll be fine until we get there. Maybe twenty minutes if the traffic’s not too bad. Okay?” Charlie pauses, nodding her head. “Okay. See you soon.”
When she hands back the phone, she shrugs. “Steph isn’t babysitter material.”
“I’d have to agree,” I say, glancing down at my hard cock before I zip my pants.
Charlie smirks. “Ride with me, and I’ll take care of that.” She turns to walk inside, but I grab her and spin her around, pressing my lips to hers in a hard kiss.
There are countless women in the world, but only one who could fulfill every fantasy I’ve ever had. Only one that could make me see the beauty in giving up a part of yourself to fully experience love.
Charlie is the song of my heart, and our daughter, Lily is now the star in our sky.
Exrated- Short Excerpt
Hudson Matthews, the godfather of porn, has his face eyelevel with my cock—so close I can feel his warm breath blowing the tip of my dick. My pulse is banging in my ears. I’m sweating bullets. What the fuck am I doing here?
I wasn’t exactly searching the classifieds for a job in the adult entertainment industry. Shit just kind of happened. I work at Dancing Dicks, an all-male strip club. You meet a lot of women at a club like that—you can fuck a lot of women at a club like that, and I may have accidentally fucked one of the girls that works here. I had no idea she was a porn star—not that it would have mattered , but she mentioned how much she made and dropped my name to Hudson, which is how I ended up on this…whatever this is—interview, cock inspection…
His gaze narrow as he nods his head. "Okay. Good size. Good girth. You got a good looking dick, man."
"Uh..." What the fuck do I say to that? "Thanks…"
"I think you'll do just fine in this industry." He walks behind his desk and sits down, the chair creaking under his weight.
"But...” I shake my head, “No guys. Ever. That's a deal, right?"
"Sure. No guys. I'll have Amanda type that in your contract, if we sign you."
I start to pull my jeans back up—
"One more thing," he says. "Go ahead and beat one out, would you? Need to see if you're a dribbler or a shooter. That's gonna be one of two clinchers on whether you get the job."
I stand, holding the waist of my jeans and staring at him silently. "Like," I shrug, "right now? Just jerk off—right here—in your office?"
"Yeah." His face remains expressionless. "You signed the waiver. My dick's not out. Not like I'm gonna rub one off. It's just part of it, and if you can't handle busting a nut in my office, well, then how the hell are you gonna bust one in front of an entire crew?" He shuffles the papers on his desk. "I mean, you're a good looking guy.” His eyes drag over my body and it makes my dick loose a good inch. “And a good looking guy with a cock like that—" He points at my crotch. "Well, they're hard to come by. You could be the next big thing, so just get on with it." He pushes the piece of paper toward me, and I stare at the figure he wrote down earlier. Goddamn, that's a lot of money to let someone tape you fucking other people. This is not amateur, middle of the road porn. This is the fucking holy grail of the porn world. This man is porn himself. Walking, loaded porn.
He grabs a remote set on the desk then flips on the TV hung on the far wall. The sound of fake, breathy moans immediately fills the room and my attention swings to the screen. Two girls are going at it. I swallow. Never would I have thought I would find myself in this position: in a man's office, beating one out to two chicks fucking each other on an 80-inch plasma screen. But for the kind of money written on that piece of paper, well, you do a lot of shit you never thought you would. I mean, being a porn star...how bad can it be? It's not like my family’s going to fess up if they stumble across one of my films.
Taking a shallow breath, I fist my cock, and focus on the screen and the amount of money on that piece of paper. "I mean..." I stop jerking myself, but don't look at him because that would just be too fucking weird. "Where do you want me to shoot my load?"
"I don't care just as long as it's not on the chair, that shit stains."
There’s a first time for everything in life, but never did I imagine that one day Hudson Matthews would ask me to beat off in his office, and then pull out a measuring tape to see what kind of distance my ejaculation has.
Read for FREE on KU. Click here to read: Exrated
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Acknowledgments
Writing books takes a team, and I am lucky to have an amazing one.
Leddy and Steffie: All the love. All the damn love for the silver sharpie you know whats. You guys are the best and saved my ass! I offer you my left nipple as an offering of gratitude. But seriously, you two are epically amazing!
Jen Lum, what can I say. You read this book ninety-seven million times. You are the best. I hope you know I truly appreciate you and you are a very dear friend!
Kerry Fletcher. Again, bless your soul, the tamer of the squirrels. Thank you for all you do. For wrangling my acorns and keeping the nuts in the tree. I adore you!
Emily Smith-Kidman: If you don’t know the true meaning behind being squirreltastic by now, you never will. Thank you for helping make sure I get my stuff done and ensuring that everything goes as it should. You’re the best publicist. I appreciate you so very, very much!!!
Michele Catalano, thank for the beautiful cover. It truly helped bring the story to life, not to mention it’s super steamy.
Reggie, thank you so much for finding me the perfect fucking picture! I love this one sooooo much. It’s fantastic.
Ellie McLove, thank you for working me into your schedule and catching the screw-ups. LOL.
Thank you Social Butterfly for all the amazing PR work you do.
Autumn, thank you for swooping in last minute!!!
Lauren, my ginger. Thanks for my love muffin even if you hate the contemporary side of me.
GFY Edits: GFY. Really. You’re the shit!
Caleb, thank you for being one of my reasons (the girls are the others). I love you more every day. Even after fifteen years. You’re my person, always have been, always will be, and that’s for damn sure.
