We ate at a small diner further down the road before continuing on. I was still angry, so angry from what Everett had said. But I didn’t eat my hate this time, not like I had eaten the pizza. I ate calmly. Slowly. Just to annoy him. I ordered three waters with limes and ate the flesh from each lime leisurely. But Everett saw through it, saw through my attempts to annoy him. And he just ignored me, writing in his notebook the entire time, before I gave up and we got back on the road.
An hour later, our stop for the day came into view. “Las Vegas?” I asked, unimpressed.
“For someone who doesn’t care about anything, you sure hate a lot of things.”
“I never said I hated anything.”
“Okay, supreme dislike.”
“I think you see what you want to believe, Everett.”
“Why do you think that?”
I unbuckled my seat belt. “I don’t hate anything. I don’t love anything. I do not care.”
Everett pulled off the road into a gas station. “Buckle up, Parker.”
I bristled. “No.”
His eyes cut to me. “We are in Vegas. Do you know how many people drive drunk in this city? Don’t be stupid. Wear your seatbelt.”
“No,” I said again, lifting my chin up.
“Fine,” he said before opening his door. I watched as he walked to my side of the car. My heart jumped and I reached frantically for the lock. I was too late.
He swung open the door. “Buckle up, Parker,” he said again.
We were staring at each other, fire in our eyes, anger in his voice and defiance in mine. “No.”
“You’re a shitty actress.”
“I’m not acting,” I protested.
Everett climbed up the step into the Jeep, so he was leaning right into me, his hands braced on the car and on my seat.
“You may not care about yourself, but you’re not an idiot. You don’t gamble with your life. That’s the smartest thing about you, to be honest.”
If his words could have color, they’d be red. He was mad. The maddest I’d ever seen him. “You don’t know me.” My words sounded weak in comparison. I was a mouse, like Mira said.
“You ran from me the night we met. Don’t you remember? You run away from situations you feel threatened in. You’re cautious. But you’re not even sure why, because you don’t care about yourself. Nothing about you makes sense. But I still know you.”
“You know nothing.” My jaw was clenched. I was mad. Mad at him, mad at myself for letting him get to me. Mad because he called to me on a deeper level, a level I didn’t understand.
“Shut up, Parker. Just shut. Up. Stop talking. You sound like a petulant child.” He leaned further in, so close I felt the brush of his hair on my face. “Grow up. Unbuckling your seat belt was a stupid idea. Against the rules.”
“Whose rules?” I asked, anger making my cheeks warm and my voice loud.
Everett shook his head, exasperated. “Well let’s see, besides the law,” he said, his voice stating the obvious. “My rules. Wear your damn seatbelt.”
“If you get to make rules, I want to make some of my own too.”
Everett leaned back, leaving room for me to breathe. He laughed without humor. “Yeah, sure Parker. What are your rules?” He didn’t sound like he cared.
“Stop invading my space, first of all.”
Everett stepped of the step, and was now standing on the ground outside the car, arm braced on the door. “Sorry, can’t promise that.” But he wasn’t really sorry.
I crossed my arms across my chest, annoyed. I let my eyes drift over the Las Vegas strip ahead of us and a thought occurred to me. “Okay, one rule. No drinking of any alcohol.”
I could tell Everett wasn’t expecting that. His eyes grew wide. “You can’t tell me not to drink, Parker.” His voice had lowered.
“You can’t force me to use a seatbelt.”
“Yes I can.”
“No you can’t!”
Everett leaned back in the car. “You could die, Parker.” His voice was just above a whisper.
“Alcohol can be deadly too.”
He shook his head. “Do I need to say it again?” he asked. “I am dying, Parker. Every second could be my last.”
“Yeah, so let’s speed it up by drinking until you’re obliterated. You want to say I’m stupid? Well you’re stupid too!” I put a hand on his chest and pushed. I couldn’t breathe. Not with him in my space, his scent invading my nostrils.
Everett stood outside the car and watched me for a minute, seemingly in thought. “Okay, rules. Let’s make some. Each rule I make, you get one too.”
I sat back in the seat, relaxing. “What if one of us breaks the rules?”
“We’ll come up with a punishment.” His eyes glittered, and the side of his mouth lifted. It sent a jolt of desire through my body. I repressed the shudder I felt and nodded, swallowing.
“Okay.”
“Let’s get to the hotel and make the rules. Then we’ll go out.”
The hotel turned out to be a room at one of the nicer hotels right on the strip. It was a suite, thankfully, with two separate bedrooms. I needed to be alone, to have the space to think away from him, away from everything he brought out in me.
Everett had refused my offer to help pay and it bothered me deeply. Something to add to the rules, I supposed.
I was sitting on the deck just off the living area of the suite, eating limes that I’d brought along in the cooler. The sliding glass door opened and Everett stepped out, wearing his usual all black. In his hands were his notebook and a pen. He took the seat across from me before flipping open the notebook. He flipped past the first several pages until he reached a blank page. I tried to keep my eyes disinterested, but Everett was right; I was a terrible actress. Everett looked up at me from beneath dark brows, catching me eyeing the pages filled with his scribble. He closed the notebook and put his hand on the cover, pulling it towards him.
He put down the single piece of paper before uncapping the pen.
“Rules,” he said as he wrote the word at the top of the page. “Ladies first?” he asked, arching an eyebrow.
“No drinking.”
“Do the rules we make apply to both or just one of us?”
“Both.”
“Okay,” he said before writing, “No drinking” on the first line. “Seatbelts,” he said, adding it next.
“We split the costs for this trip,” I started before Everett held up a hand.
“No.” It was one word, but it was said firmly with no room for argument.
But I was all about arguing, especially today. “Yes,” I replied. “I’m not your girlfriend, not even your friend. I don’t want you paying for me on this trip.” I shifted in my seat. “It makes me uncomfortable.”
“Maybe I want you to be uncomfortable,” he said, his voice low.
I set my mouth in a line. “Well you’re an a*shole. I want that added to the list, Everett.”
“Everett is an a*shole,” he repeated, writing the words underneath “Seatbelts.”
I huffed, annoyed. “You know that’s not what I meant,” I said, yanking the pen from his hand and grabbing the paper. I crossed off the last line and wrote, “We both pay.”
Everett sat back in the chair and pulled out a gold lighter. It was the same lighter I’d seen him fiddling with the first night we met. I was momentarily distracted, watching him flick the lighter over and over.
“What next?” I asked, when I’d snapped out of my daze.
Everett closed the lighter and put it in his front pocket. “No falling in love.”
I rolled my eyes, something I was beginning to realize was second nature in response to much of what he said. But I added it. “That goes for both parties,” I said, reminding him of our agreement.
“I’ll be dead before I could ever fall in love,” he said, nonchalantly.
“That’s my next rule. No talking about dying, Everett. It’s obvious. You’re not letting it be the white elephant in the room. It’s the main attraction. So, just stop. I don’t need to hear it every five minutes.”
“Fine, then no lying. Add that next,” he insisted. He leaned forward on the table, bringing himself closer to me. “That’ll be easy for me, hard for you.”
I eyed him, annoyed. I watched him look at me, as if this conversation didn’t bother him in the least. He wasn’t nearly uncomfortable yet.
“No black clothes.”
His eyebrows shot up. “What?”
“No black clothing.”
He shook his head. “No way in hell,” he growled. There it was: the anger. Finally.
“Yes.”
“All my clothing is black.”
“What you wore to breakfast with Charlotte wasn’t.”
The question I’d had on the back of my mind since meeting Charlotte, seeing him wearing a color other than black.
“Because Charlotte is a work colleague. Or was. If I wore all black to work, people would assume I was depressed.”
“Are you?” I asked pointedly.
He narrowed his eyes. “No. I wear black because it’s comfortable. It’s me. I work with depressed middle school kids. I try to project happiness when I’m at work, hence the color.”
“You’re essentially saying that black is unhappiness then.”
Everett stood up then, signaling he was done talking about it. “That rule isn’t going to happen, Parker. What do you know about happiness, anyway?”
He walked back into the suite through the sliding glass door. A second later I was on my feet, following him.
“Hey!” I shouted. He turned around, weary-eyed.
“I told you, that rule is not going to happen.”
“Then talk to me like a normal, rational human being. Tell me why.”
He shook his head, his anger still simmering. “Because I like black.”
“That’s not all it is. You said you always tell the truth,” I protested.
Everett stalked toward me. The power in his stride, the fire in his eyes, caused me to step back. “I haven’t lied. We said no lies. Not full disclosure. Unless you want me to add that as one of my rules? Because then I can push you, push you until you break.” He was inches from me, yet again invading my personal space. “Until you’re a hundred little pieces. Do you want that, Parker?” he breathed, the warmth from his lips fluttering over my face. And then he kissed me.
It took just a second for my brain to catch up. And then I was clutching him by the front of his shirt, grabbing fistfuls of his tee as I tried to pull him as close as possible.
Everett was devouring me. Absolutely devouring me. His lips were bruising, crushing against me. His tongue whipped in and out of my mouth, a gesture that mimicked what I wanted to happen between us.
Be brave, Parker, I thought to myself.
My hands found his shoulders and I lifted myself up. His arms moved to wrap tightly around my waist, bringing us so close that I could feel every ridge of muscle from his body to mine. His hands slid down, over my backside, cupping my bottom. My entire body ached to be closer. The next thing I knew, he was lifting me up, and so I wrapped my legs around his waist.
He carried me through the living room into his room. My heart picked up, thrumming hard in my chest. His hand slid down one leg, stopping at the skin behind my knee. I was wearing shorts, which allowed for his hand to travel up and down the back of my thigh, his fingers pressing into skin. I wanted to feel his hands everywhere, all at once. I wanted the pressure of his hands all over me. I wanted to be buried in his touch.
His hands snaked back up to my back, where the waistband of my shorts met my skin. He hooked his fingers into the waist band and yanked, muttering a curse in my mouth. I reached between us, unsnapped the button there and a second later, he set me on the ground, yanking my shorts down to my ankles. I shook them off, kicking them away. When I looked back up, he was whipping his shirt off his head. My eyes greedily took in the side of his torso, all lines and ridges and ink. My eyes caught on the words on his ribs, under his heart.
“This world has only one sweet moment set aside for us,” I whispered. The words were vaguely familiar, and though the words weren’t extraordinary by themselves, when strung together in a sentence, they resonated with me. I looked up at Everett and saw him staring intensely at me. He brought his hands up to frame my face.
“No talking,” he whispered back.
“Okay.”
He grinned, the skin around his eyes crinkling. It was then that I noticed how bright the room was. It was the middle of the day, and the sun streamed through the curtains, lighting up the entire room. My eyes darted to the window, but Everett grabbed my chin firmly in his hand and turned his face to me. “Just you and me, Parker.” His voice brought me back to the moment. I nodded, swallowing hard.
He moved his hands to my waist and bunched up the fabric of my top. “Off,” he said, slipping his hands underneath the bottom hem of the shirt. The moment the pads of his fingertips grazed over my torso, my stomach muscles clenched. He grinned, moving his hands up over my ribcage, pulling the tank with him. When he was up over my bra, I lifted my arms and allowed him to pull the tank top off. When I was free of the shirt, his hands came down to my shoulders, rubbing the tension from them. I closed my eyes and let out a breath through my mouth. And then his hands moved, down my arms. When his hand reached the scar along my left arm, I opened my eyes and held my breath.
His thumb ran along the raised skin, but his eyes were locked to mine. When he reached my wrist, he pulled up my hand and placed a kiss in the center of my palm, all the while keeping his eyes on me, with me. I suppressed a shudder, scared. I wanted to get back to the heat of the moment before. This more than sex. All I wanted was sex, not intimacy.
I slipped my fingers in the top of his jeans and pulled him close. With my thumb and forefinger, I unsnapped the top of his jeans. I moved my hand to the top of my zipper before I felt Everett picking me up and tossing me onto his bed. A second later he covered my body with his. “I’m in control.”
“No talking,” I replied, repeating his earlier demand. He smiled softly again before sitting up, straddling me.
He looked down at me, seemingly taking me all in. I wasn’t uncomfortable with my body. I was ambivalent about it. The way Everett was looking at me was anything but ambivalent. He placed a hand on the center of my chest and pulled it down, tugging on the center of my bra before moving on. I heard him hum in his throat and I reached up to touch him.
He caught my hand on its ascent and held it still. He shook his head and trapped my wrist between his middle finger and thumb. I narrowed my eyes and lifted my other hand, only to have it trapped the same way. He shook his head again, before leaning forward and holding both of my hands in one of his, bringing our hands to rest above my head. I squirmed, my body’s instinct to fight him taking over. I bucked my hips, but he pulled back to eye me. He held me still in his stare. But it only lasted a moment before I twisted my hands, releasing them from his grasp.
Before he could try to trap them again, I grabbed the back of his head and yanked, pulling his mouth to me, kissing him and then pulling back. I breathed against his lips for a moment, more to catch my breath than anything. And then his teeth tugged my lip and I moaned. I couldn’t even be embarrassed.
One of his arms came to wrap around my back, supporting me as we kissed partially inclined on the bed. His hand slid open the snaps of my bra. Everett leaned back on his legs, pulling me up with him until we were sitting up straight, facing each other. My bra hung loose on my shoulders. His hands glided up my arms to the shoulder straps. He teased me then, his fingers playing with the straps, tugging them nearly free and then running his fingers under them.
Impatient, I shrugged forward so the straps slid off. The cups stayed on my breasts. Everett looked me in the eyes while he brought both hands up to cradle the bra.
He paused. We stared at each other, breathing heavily. I felt nearly drunk on desire and anticipation. The room was clear of sound, but full of sound too. Deep breaths, raging heartbeats. And then everything happened at once.
Everett pushed me back down, flat on my back on the bed. In a flash, he whipped off my bra and tugged my underwear down my legs and off, onto the floor. And then he stood at the side of the bed and stripped himself of his clothing. I stared, brazenly. His body was beautiful, but not because it was perfect. It wasn’t. He had scars down his ribcage, biting into the ink he had there. His stomach was sculpted, tanned like the rest of his body, but there was another scar cut into one side of his belly. Imperfections were what thrilled me, not the shape, color or size of his body. My eyes traveled further down; his desire was evident. I looked up at his face, watching him watch me.
He climbed back over me, slowly. And then he laid on me, covering my body with his. I felt every inch of his body against mine. His eyes were on mine, his face so close it was all I could see. His lips touched my cheek, the side that wasn’t marred by the scar. His lips moved up my temple and down again before settling on my own lips.
“Mmmm,” he moaned against my mouth. He kissed like I was a meal to savor. I squirmed again, desperate.
“Everett.” I bucked my hips slowly, indicating what I needed.
He sighed, blowing warm air into my mouth. He moved his lips to my chin, to my neck, over my shoulder, and around my breast. His lips moved down my torso as he reached for something next to my hip. I heard the wrapper being opened.
“Thank God,” I whispered.
I felt his returning smile against my stomach before he stood back, slipping the condom over himself. He climbed back onto the bed and in a flash he was inside of me. I couldn’t help it, I gasped. And then he moved. Again, and again, until my head was thrown back, my eyes closed, my breathing ragged. I felt pressure on my * and opened my eyes, staring into his ice blue ones. Before I could close my eyes again, he spoke, his voice deep, gravelly. “Look at me, Parker.” I couldn’t help it; I did exactly as he asked. And when he saw me slip over the edge, spiral into my bliss, his own eyes closed and he hammered his final strokes, falling onto me afterwards.
We were silent for several moments then, Everett’s face next to my right cheek, his breath in my ear. I stared up at the ceiling while my heart beat leveled out. I tried to make my mind blank, but it rebelled, unable to think about anything but Everett.
It was the first time I’d had sex since before Morris Jensen had cut into my life. Three years. There’d been a reason I’d avoided this sort of thing. I knew it would be hard to have such a physically intimate connection with someone and keep emotions from the situation.
I didn’t want to feel. I wanted to roll out from under Everett and walk away casually. And the fact that I knew I couldn’t do that was terrifying.
Everett turned his head and kissed my ear. “Stop,” he said, before delivering another kiss to my cheek this time.
“Stop what?” I asked, a tiny bit breathlessly.
“You know what. Stop the turning in your head. You spent too much time in there.” He turned his face so I could feel him staring at my profile. “It was fun. That’s all.”
Ouch. For some reason, that hurt more to hear than a messy confession of emotions.
I must have frowned slightly because Everett leaned over me. “You know what I meant, Parker.” But I didn’t. Did he just make me another Charlotte? I refused to meet his eyes, confused by my feelings.
His hands framed my face, forcing me to look at him. “It was fun. I want to do it again. Soon. Let’s add it to the rules.”
I frowned again. “Add what, exactly?”
“Sex. Lots of sex. No feigning me off with an excuse of a headache or some other bullshit, because that would mean breaking the no lying rule. And breaking the rules equals punishment.” He cocked his head to the side, a smile lifting the side of his lips. “On second thought, please break a rule. I’ve love to punish you.”
I squirmed, uncomfortable with his weight and his words. I tried pushing him off.
“No, Parker. We’re going to lay here next to each other for a little bit. No running. Add that to the rules as well.” His cheek was pressed to mine again. Each word he spoke grazed his facial hair on my cheek. I found it soothing, the bite of his stubble against my flesh. So soothing, my eyes closed, relaxing.
“Right underneath ‘no black clothing’?” I asked, sweetly.
He huffed and laid down, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me so we were facing each other on our sides. “Can we change that one, slightly?” he asked.
“Depends.”
“How about I can’t wear all black clothing? Like say, black shorts and a color tee. Or vice versa.”
“Hmm. Okay.” I felt sleepy all of a sudden, probably thanks to the warmth of being wrapped up in his arms. I turned my face to his and inhaled, the smell of cool rainwater filling my nostrils. “You smell good,” I murmured, slipping into sleep.