Temporarily.
Will I be able to walk away when it’s all over?
“Think about it.” Jason lays a lingering kiss on my lips. “But please don’t take long.”
We don’t speak as Jason hails a cab and brings me back to the studio to collect my clothes and purse. When I’m dressed, the same cab brings us to the hotel. Jason holds my hand on the way through the lobby and I notice how everyone reacts to him. Men nod, like they can sense his heroism and want to pay their respect. Women duck their heads or full-on stare. He doesn’t seem to notice any of it, but I know he does notice, don’t I? I know he’s not aloof or uncaring about how he presents himself—he told me about the bagel shop. I know him. And with my hand tucked so tightly in his grip, I feel known, too. Protected and appreciated. By Jason. By the time we reach the elevators, my nerves are like tiny bottle rockets. Is he going to stay the night with me? Am I actually going to let him?
Who am I kidding? If he kisses me, I won’t be able to say no. Just having his commanding presence so close to mine has me vibrating head to toe. My brain won’t stop replaying all his admissions. He’s dreamed of me. I’m worth the wait. I taste like sugar. But won’t spending the night together be as good as a yes to his proposed temporary arrangement?
“Um…” I stop at the hotel door and turn. “I-I’m not sure—”
“I know, beauty queen.” He lowers his head and gives me a kiss that spins me in a web, my head going so light I think I’m floating. “I want to stay. I need to stay and make you moan all goddamn night. But I can’t exist on a half measure of you anymore, Naomi. Stolen moments that end too fast. Give me all, for just a little while.” Another lingering kiss, followed by a rough exhale. “Come home to me safely tomorrow.”
I can only stand there on knees made of rubber as he walks away, biting my lip so I won’t call him back. It’s not until twenty minutes later when I’m showering off the butterflies that I realize he called St. Augustine home. And I didn’t even question it.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
EndoftheInternet.net
Username: IGotAnswerz9
Let me be plain. The only one with a motive to kill Naomi was Getaway Girl herself, Addison Potts. Classic love triangle situation.
Next!
Jason
The Florida humidity must have driven me goddamn crazy.
That’s the thought that ran through my head on the drive home from Daytona last night. Actually it’s still there, pinging around like a nickel in the dryer. It’s ten o’clock in the morning and I’m pacing the driveway in a cloud of cigar smoke. Restless as a pitcher in the bullpen waiting for the green light from his manager.
Or rather, from a blonde with a dream mouth.
It’s Sunday morning. She doesn’t have pageant practice scheduled with Birdie. It would be totally natural for her to laze around in a fluffy hotel bed, browse Daytona for…whatever women browse for and come back later in the day. Here I am again, though, hobbled by having her safety out of my control. It seems like years have passed since I found out Naomi was sleeping in that shit bag motel, but I can still recall the feeling of fear. Fear that she might reject my offer to live above the garage and stay. Being helpless to convince her otherwise.
This restlessness inside me is stronger now. But it’s different.
Last night, when I found her walking mostly naked down the street, my first reaction had been total and utter denial. That couldn’t be her. This couldn’t be happening. Who the hell got close enough to paint butterflies on her tits? How fast could I get her away from everyone with a cock? Typical man concerns. I’d been ready to read her the riot act.
Until she’d turned her head and I’d seen her profile. She’d been…blooming. A light shone down on her from some unseen source—maybe my imagination—and I realized I’d never seen her like that before. I’ve been caught up in my never-ending need to fuck her, being frustrated and confused and amused by her. Because of that, I’ve missed how she’s changed. Until last night. She’d told me in her own words that she’d come to St. Augustine for an adventure and she’d gone out and had one. She’s been having them.
I sit down on the bumper of my boat trailer and grind out the cigar stub under my boot. I check my watch for the ninth time in as many minutes. The street was always too quiet for my taste. In my line of work, quiet meant loud was about to happen. With Naomi’s exhilarated expression in my head, I want to hear a Range Rover turning the corner. I want to be the one to make her look like that next time. Eating her pussy in an alley was all I’d had to work with on short notice, not that I’d heard any complaints. The need to do better is relentless, though.