“Always.” He chuckled, right on my heels.
But it wasn’t funny because I felt the truth behind that one word. I used to think Graham’s efforts to impress me were his way of hoping I’d run to Lila and gush about his amazing life, to gush about him. And sometimes I did. Maybe that was why they ended up together. However, they were in fact together. There was no need to impress anyone any longer—least of all me.
I turned around so quickly he had to grab my shoulders to keep from knocking me over. “Why?” My head canted.
His eyebrows furrowed. “Why what?”
“Why try to impress me?”
He rubbed his full lips together, but it didn’t hide his smirk. “It’s the challenge, Evelyn. It’s always been the challenge with you.”
“So if I confess that I’m impressed, will the challenge be over?”
“Oh, Evie, Evie, Evie …” He bopped the tip of my nose with his finger, pushed his glasses up his face, and brushed past me. “It will never be over.”
By that point, it was hard to recall the exact moment I sold my soul to the Devil. Was it when Dad’s kidneys failed? Or was it before that? Was it that day in a bar off campus where a handsome guy everyone simply referred to as “G” bought me a beer and bet me two more that USC would kick Stanford’s ass? If it wasn’t that day—because I bet on Stanford and they made the most incredible comeback in the fourth quarter—then it was six months later when I lost a bet and didn’t have the money to pay up. Graham agreed to take payment in the form of my misery. Three shots of tequila.
One.
Two.
Three.
I honestly don’t remember how we got from the bar to his condo. I just remember him suggesting we do something stupid “just for the fuck of it.” Not hell of it; I really think he said fuck of it. It made me giggle. He later blamed my “adorable” giggle on his hands pulling off my shirt and groping my breasts over my bra. I remember thinking it was a bad idea, but I couldn’t recall saying the actual words because I apparently giggled again, which made him want to pull down my jeans. I for sure knew that was a terrible idea. As I started to express my opinion, he yanked the crotch of my panties aside and let his tongue assault me. Well, I let his tongue assault me because three shots of tequila and a warm tongue sliding between my legs, teasing my clit, felt pretty damn good that night.
Sloppy. That was what I remembered about that night. Everything was sloppy—his groping hands, his face with me on it, the way he fumbled for a condom after giving me an orgasm.
The awkward, drunk probing for the right place to stick his dick.
The quest for my breasts when he couldn’t unlatch my bra.
The condom slipping off three thrusts in because he only rolled it halfway on.
The debacle of the second condom attempt when he couldn’t get the packet opened.
The begging for me to let him go bareback and pull out.
A horrid, embarrassing, awkward, drunk night of the worst sex ever between two friends.
The next morning, we woke up on the floor—yeah, because we were too drunk to make it to the bedroom—half clothed and sulking in the silent embarrassment of the line we crossed.
On a sigh, I shook my head to rid those memories from the forefront of my brain before scraping my flip-flops along the stone drive to the front door, the gates of a new kind of hell.
“We have rooms for the kids next to yours.” Lila nodded toward the left.
I followed her through room after luxurious room, basically eight houses the size of mine, before we reached the “wing” of the house that would be ours for the next few days.
“Graham and I had Laura, the estate manager, get a few toys for the kids to make them feel at home.”
“Lila, you didn’t have to do that. We brought some toys, and there’s a beach and a pool,” I replied.
“Franz can sleep in here.” She grabbed the handle to a door on our right.
“No. That’s Anya’s room.” We turned toward Graham’s voice as he, Ronin, and the kids caught up to us.
“Whatever.” Lila shrugged. “It doesn’t matter.”
“But it does.” Graham plucked Anya from the floor, tearing her hand from Ronin’s hand. “This is a room for a princess.”
Lila opened the bedroom door. When Graham pushed past her, entering first with Anya, Lila stumbled back a few feet, eyes flared, lips parted. My face morphed into similar shock at the room painted in soft shades of pink, a plethora of little girl dolls and toys, and a wood chariot toddler bed in the middle of the room.