Chance (The One More Night Series) (10 page)

Last night, a hot stud fucked me sideways, Aunt Marion.  And he was hung like a horse.  And there was a long time there when I couldn’t even see his face because it was buried between my legs.  So guess what?  I’m actually the good girl gone to waste.
 

“I just need to make it through grad school—then I’ll have my fun.”

“You’ll be too old for any fun at that point.”

“Too old?  I’ll be twenty-six when I graduate.”

“Chéri—don’t you know anything?  Twenty-six is the new forty-six.  I’m telling you from experience, men like them young.  The younger the better.”  She hesitated, and when she spoke again, her voice was conspiratorial.  “But you’ve already had some fun, haven’t you, cookie?  No girl who looks like you goes to the big city and successfully renounces all of the boys, despite the Catholic guilt trip your mother has suffocated you with over the years.  So spill it, Abigail.  Who’s the lucky guy?  Or shall I say, who are the lucky guys?”

The only way to get through this was to tell her the truth, which she’d never believe in a second.  On the other hand, if I balked, she might suspect something was up.  “Actually, I had sex last night, Aunt Marion.”

“No you didn’t.”

“In fact, I did.  I was serving drinks at this fancy charity event when this guy totally picked me up.  Turns out he’s a billionaire or something.  And by far one of the most attractive men I’ve ever met, not to mention one of the most attentive and sexual.  Don’t tell my mother this, but we went for hours last night.  It was incredible.  First we made out in an elevator, then in a hallway at The Plaza, and after this old broad at the hotel caught us and condemned me for being a terrible daughter, we went all out in his suite.  I think he went down on me for a good thirty minutes just so I’d be wet enough to accommodate him.”

“I—you’re lying.”

“Of course I am.”

She sighed.  “If only you’d just take a cue from me and do it already.”

“I will when I’m ready.  But right now, it’s all about work and school.”

“God, that sounds boring.  I think you should take a lover.  Or a series of lovers.  Maybe even a lesbian lover, just to mix things up.”  Again, I heard my mother’s raised voice in the background.  “Here’s a surprise—your mother thinks I’m a bad influence on you, because she’s coming at me now with one of those plastic crucifixes of hers.  Nothing says ‘I Love Jesus’ like a plastic crucifix bought at Wal-Mart.  We’d better cut this short, cookie, before I have the devil cast out of me.”

“I always love talking with you, Aunt Marion.”

“Same here, sweetie.  I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“Before I’m exorcised, here’s some advice from an old pro.  Take a lover.  Have some fun.  But when you finally do get your game on and hook up with a man, don’t get all emotional about it, OK?  Just do him, enjoy it, and move on to the next one until you find the right one—if that’s possible.  It hasn’t exactly worked out that way for me, but who knows?  Maybe someday it will.  I am, after all, nothing if not an eternal optimist.”  She paused.  “Martha, if you even dare press that crucifix against my forehead, I swear to God I’ll pull a Linda Blair on you.  We’re just joking.  You know how I am, and your daughter needs it.  Fine, I’ll get off the phone.  Obviously, I’ve corrupted her enough.”

“You’ve hardly corrupted me,” I said. 
I let that happen on my own, not that I really regret it.

“Tell that to your mother.  She wants me off the phone before I do any further damage to your character.  So
sayonara
for now, sweet cheeks.  Give me a call at home if you ever need any pointers in the man department, and your aunt will give you a mother lode of advice.  Kisses, darling girl.  Kisses, kisses.  I miss you like I miss a good lay.  And pray for my soul, because your mother is about to try to steal it away from me.  You should see the fire in her eyes.  Oh, get that thing away from me, Martha!  Stop shaking it at me!  I told you, there’s nothing wrong—”

The line went dead.

When I hung up, I wondered how many lies I’d just told, but decided it didn’t matter because nothing I’d said was intended to hurt anyone.  I’d only told them to retain my privacy, and hopefully I’d achieved that.  I was a twenty-five-year-old woman, after all.  My family had no right to expect full access to my personal life.  Those days were officially gone.

I went into the kitchen, put the phone down on the table, and reached into the fridge for a bottle of water.  I took a long pull on it, and felt the liquid ride its way down my throat and into my stomach.  I was that warm.

The power of a cold shower
, I thought. 
One can’t come soon enough.

But when I started back toward the bathroom, my phone rang again.  I stopped short, and just looked up at the ceiling, knowing who it was even before I picked it up.  After that little exchange with my aunt, my mother likely would be ready to launch into full damage control.  But did I want to hear it?  Not exactly.  Still, I should probably just get it over with and assuage her fears.  Otherwise, she’d just call throughout the week until she got me on the phone.  I grabbed my phone, and my heart stopped when I saw who was calling.

It wasn’t my mother.  It was Chance Caldwell.

For a moment, I just stared at his name on my screen.  How in the hell had he gotten my number?  And why was he calling me?  Should I answer it or ignore it?  Elle would have told me to ignore it.  Earlier this morning, she’d warned me away from him.  My mother would have told me to run to the nearest church and cast myself at the foot of Christ.  Brooke would have told me to stand by my one-night stand, and be done with it.

But Aunt Marion, the heroine of my youth?  She would have urged me to take it.

So what the hell?  I took it.

CHAPTER TWELVE

“Hello?” I said.

“Abby?”

His deep voice resonated through the phone as if his fingers had just lightly brushed against my lips, the nape of my neck, the tips of my breasts.  Was just hearing his voice enough to undo me?  Apparently. 

But I couldn’t wrap my head around the reasons why.  I didn’t know how to describe what I was feeling, but I knew that whatever it was, it was enough to make me vulnerable to him.

Which is dangerous.  Keep it together, girl.  Find out why he’s calling.

“This is she.”

“This is Chance.”

I pretended to act surprised, because frankly, it was the closest to how I felt right now.  My heart was beating so hard in my chest, it was ridiculous.  Why was he calling me?  Had I forgotten something in his suite?  I must have, but what?

“Good morning,” I said.

“Did I wake you?”

“Not at all, but I have to ask—how did you get my number?”

“I sensed that was coming.”

“Why wouldn’t it?”

“First of all, let me reassure you—I’m no stalker, OK?”

“Well, that’s a start.  But seriously—how did you get it?” 

“When I woke this morning and saw that you were gone, I was disappointed.  I thought we’d at least have breakfast together and talk before you left.  But you decided otherwise.  Why did you leave?” 

“Isn’t that what one does after a one-night stand?”

“Not necessarily.”

“You’d probably know more about that than I would.  I told you last night that you were my first.”

There was a beat of silence before he spoke.

“You sound tense,” he said.  “Did I do something wrong last night?”

You did nothing wrong last night.  The problem is that you did everything right last night.

“No,” I said.  “You did nothing wrong.  It was just a rough morning when I came home, that’s all.”

“Care to elaborate?”

I told him the truth.  “When I came home this morning, my girlfriends were out of their minds with worry because I always come home after work.  I hadn’t called or texted them when I went to your suite, and they were rightfully pissed off at me because I hadn’t.  But that’s my fault, not yours.  When I told them where I’d been, they insisted on finding out who you were, so they did a Google search on you.  When photos of you popped up in an image search, you were immediately declared a playboy.”

“They deduced that from an image search?”

“In almost every photo, you were with a different woman.”

“Did anyone bother to check the dates of those images?”

We hadn’t, and now I had to wonder why he’d asked.  Was he implying that they couldn’t have been recent?  Clearly.  “No,” I said.  “There were too many of them.  And frankly, it didn’t occur to any of us to look.”

“Maybe you or your friends should look.  At one point in my life, I had my fair share of fun, Abby.  I’ve dated and slept with a lot of women.  But that also was a good two years ago, if not longer.  I’m not apologizing for my past because I don’t regret any of it.  But I can tell you with certainty that those images are old, and that those days are over.”

“Why?”

“Because it got boring.  Because I wanted something more.”

“Then how do you explain last night?”

He hesitated before he spoke, but when he did, he sounded frustrated. “That’s the thing,” he said.  “I can’t.”

What does that mean?

“You know, you still haven’t answered my question,” I said.

“Which question?”

“How did you get my phone number?”

“Simple.  I asked my assistant to call the hotel, find out who catered last night’s event, and see if there was a person on the wait staff named Abby.  They found your name, and my assistant got your phone number for me.”

“Why?”

“Because I enjoyed last night.  I liked being with you.  I liked… all of it.  Especially watching you come.  Being able to make you come by barely touching you.  But maybe that’s too intimate for you?”

I wasn’t sure whether it was.  Last night was the first time that I’d truly experienced sex without limits.  I felt sexually awakened because of what he’d done to me.  My first boyfriend, Mark, didn’t know what the hell he was doing when we were together—but how could he?  It wasn’t his fault.  We were both young, still in high school, and trying to figure out how it all worked.  Brian had a few more experiences under his belt, but sometimes sex with him was awkward, especially when he drank too much and couldn’t keep it up.  He was a selfish lover.  What he and I had together was what the girls and I now termed ‘college sex.’  Brian knew just enough to make things mildly interesting when he wanted to—but it was never anything exceptional.  There were too many times when he’d get himself off, and then pull out without considering my own needs.  Typical college sex. 

But Chance?  Chance was different.  After spending one night with him, I’d experienced the sort of highs that I’d never thought were possible.  He’d shown me what sex could really be between a man and a woman.  And I had a feeling that what he’d revealed was just a start.  He had much more within him.  I knew it. 

And so did he.

“Did I offend you?” he asked. 

“You didn’t offend me.  Last night was liberating.”

“That’s an interesting way to put it.  May I ask why?”

“Because I wanted a man to take control of me for once.  You did.”

“Did you enjoy it?”

“I think you know I did.”

“So why did you leave so quickly?”

“Because I thought last night was it between us, and that today was a new day that wouldn't include you.  I considered myself just another notch in your belt, which is fine, Chance.  I mean that.  We both went into last night knowing what it was.  When we were finished and you were asleep, I decided to leave.”

“I wish you hadn’t.”

I had no choice.

“I have an admission to make,” he said.

“What admission?”

“I saw the first note you left.”

My throat tightened.

“I was tossing out some coffee grounds this morning when I saw a crumpled piece of paper lying on top of the trash.  The handwriting on it wasn’t my own.  I picked it up and read it.  What you wrote was heartfelt.  Why did you decide to throw it away and leave the other note?”

I closed my eyes at the thought that he’d read the first note.  Why hadn’t I been smart enough to just rip it into pieces?  Or to stuff it in my purse?  It was a moment before I could gather my thoughts and answer him honestly.  “I wrote that note too quickly,” I said.

“Which means that you wrote exactly what you were feeling at that moment.”

“Maybe.  But after I wrote it, I came to terms with what last night was—two strangers enjoying each other for a few hours in bed.  The second note respected that.  The first note horrified me.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know why.”

“I think that you felt vulnerable in that moment.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

“You know, I have the note in front of me,” he said.  “I’ve saved it.  Maybe I should read it to you.”

“I know what I wrote, Chance.  There’s no need for you to read it to me.  So, I have to ask—why are you calling?” 

“Isn’t it obvious?”

“Not yet.”

“Then let me clear it up for you.  I want to see you again.  The second note you wrote was all about throwing up barriers.  So, meet me tonight for dinner, and let me tear those barriers down.”

“There’s no tearing them down.”

“I think there is.”

“To what end?”

He didn’t answer, but whatever he was thinking didn’t matter because I already knew that I wanted to see him again.  My aunt was in my head, urging me on.  
Take a lover.  Have some fun.  But when you finally do get your game on and hook up with a man, don’t get all emotional about it, OK?  Just do him, enjoy it, and move on to the next one until you find the right one—if that’s possible.  It hasn’t exactly worked out that way for me, but who knows?  Maybe someday it will.  I am, after all, nothing if not an eternal optimist.

Just talking with him now and hearing his voice was enough for me to want to have sex with him again.  I wanted him to take me where he’d taken me the night before.  Soon, he’d be off to the next city and he’d forget about me.  I’d move forward with my life, just as the other women who’d slept with him had.  So, why not have a second-night stand?  Why not pull an Aunt Marion and continue to live?