Total Trainwreck (7 page)

After curling my hair, I take another look in the mirror and sigh, relieved to see a semblance of the fuckable fox that first stepped onto this yacht. Now, to get this damn bodysuit back on. I zip the waist, but am still left with two slinky pieces of black silk that need to meet around my neck somehow. Maria had to do it for me earlier. I simply couldn’t get it to hook. With drunken fingers, I’m totally hopeless. There’s a knock on the door. God bless Spence! Coming to my rescue again. I throw open the door. But the eyes meeting mine aren’t warm and brown.

“Need some help,” he guesses by the way I’m holding my clothes together.
No, not from your hands I don’t
, I think to myself, and swallow hard against the breath that’s already racing through my throat. I say nothing. Standing and staring like an idiot. This is not good.

Inside me, civil war rages. I should walk away. Show up at the party naked if I have to. I’ve given him an ultimatum he’s yet to answer. But, my feet stay planted. My arms begin to shake, tired of holding my clothes together. The only thing they want to hold is him.

He steps around me into the bathroom and takes the black silk from my hand. “You look gorgeous tonight,” he whispers against my neck. The heat of his breath pops chill bumps over my chest. They run down me, tightening my nipples and curling my toes. His fingers carefully push my hair to the side, causing sweat to dampen those bumps. “I have to confess, when I saw his hands on you I wanted to break them.” He miraculously finishes the clasp then runs his hand over my exposed rib cage exactly where Spence’s hand went.

“Good,” I spit through my teeth, and turn on my heel. “Now you know how it feels.” My eyes narrow and I want so badly to hate him. I dig deep, searching for that familiar angry rage. I find nothing. Devon shakes his head.

“It’s not at all the same. I’d never touch Heather like that.” Devon’s fingers trace down my arm and he takes my hand. I stare at our clasped hands, knowing I should rip them apart. Where is that fiery bitch in me that used to be so good at this? “You’re the only one I want.”

Now it’s my turn to shake my head. I look into his eyes, ready to turn and leave, but the hollow look darkening his gaze stops me. He’s just as lost as I am. Just as desperate to find a way back. Being apart is impossible for both of us.

There isn’t a single part of me that doesn’t want a single part of him, and when he squeezes my hand, silently pleading for an answer, a spark so fiercely hot scorches through me I swear I’m on fire. Oh, what the hell am I thinking? I love this man. I don’t want to leave.

“You shouldn’t be here.” My voice is weak and trembling as I try to do the right thing. It isn’t lost on Devon.

“Then tell me to leave.” He steps closer, reaching around me to close the door.

“You should go,” I say, shaking my head and studying the taut, tan skin glowing under his white shirt.

“No, not like that. Tell me to
leave
.” He clicks the doorknob into its locked position. With every sense so deliciously heightened by him, the soft sound startles me. I jump against him and he quickly closes the distance between us. I step back. The cool wooden door meets my bare back. Fire in front. Ice behind. What’s a girl to do? “Tell me to leave and I’m gone.” His lips brush against my cheek. The irresistibly male scent of him—something more innate and carnal than any cologne could ever be—does crazy things to me. Like steal the ability to speak—no, to scream—a simple word like
leave
.

Instead, I roll my head back, opening my neck, inviting his lips to do something that will make leaving impossible. He wastes no time. Diving lips-first onto the soft flesh below my ear like it is manna from the heavens, he pulls me against him. A helpless moan escapes my throat, and I throw my arms around him, pulling him to me with all the pent-up need I’ve been wrestling with.

His hands trace down my sides, up my back and under my hair, searching to undo the clasp he just secured. I’m shaking with need, want and a heavy desire that makes my thighs slick together. I reach for his waist, remembering a belt and the way his white shirt tucked in over it. God, his waist. That damned V that gets me every time. My eyes are closed, head rolled back, relishing every lick he lays on my flesh. I fumble with the belt, button and zipper, but manage to find my way to him. He springs into my hand, every bit as ready as I am.

Devon still fumbles with the clasp at my neck. Growing frustrated, he whips me around. Slams me against the door and swats my hair to the side.

“Rip it!”

He does. Seconds later, the two pieces of flimsy silk slide over bare skin and hang from my waist. The zipper holding it all together is much more accommodating. It gives way and the black silk puddles at my feet.

In another rush of need, Devon spins me back around. A hand fists the hip string of my thong. It snaps under the pressure and disappears. Devon scoops me up. My legs circle his back. I work the buttons of his shirt. We stumble to the bathroom counter. My bare ass hits cold marble. Seconds later, I’m filled with the sensation of him charging into me. Fuck the buttons.

I brace myself. One hand on the mirror to push down on him, the other on his lower back to pull him further in. I want this to hurt in a glorious way that will make me remember him with every step I take for the next week. I need that. I need to know how much he wants me. His hands circle my hips. He slides me to the edge so I can take every inch he has to give me.

Our lips find each other. He slides out of me. Our bodies tense and then find each other again. We moan wildly at the wicked way we come together. As long as I live, I will never feel anything that compares to this. It isn’t just fucking. It’s a total-body sensation that rings from the core of my sex to the tips of toes. Every touch, every thrust, radiates through me, electrically hot. It’s a high I can only get when he’s inside me. This is what I want. What I need. What I will spend the rest of my life needing.

Again and again, he fills me, then slowly, painfully pulls away. The coming I love, the leaving I hate. Over and over, he works against me, building my need to a point that’s ready to blow. Sex like this is always so fast and hot. Our need is such that we never last long. At least not the first time. We need a warm-up fuck to get it out of our system.

My insides clench tightly around him. He knows what it means and responds, growing bigger with the next thrust. We’re going to do this together. Because that’s how badly our bodies need one another. I’m balanced on the edge, ready to tip over and forget everything but us. Us.

Us.

“Stop.” I hear the word before I realize it’s me saying it. Devon pulls away and looks at me with the strangled, sweat-soaked glare of a man desperate to lose his load. “Stop,” I say again, pushing his hands off me. Seconds ago I was ready to embrace orgasm bliss. Now it’s completely gone.

“What the hell? We’re right there.” He is beyond frustrated, moving again in me like I must be mistaken.

“No, Devon, stop.” I push against him again. His rock-hard erection pops out of me. A suction sound echoes in the now-silent bathroom. He takes two backward steps to catch his balance, unable to believe what I’ve just done.

“What the fuck?” he asks again, bewilderment and blue balls seizing his body.

“Tell me something. What’s changed?” I ask, resting my hands beside me on the countertop’s edge and leaning forward. I stare at the floor so his damn navy eyes can’t snake charm me.

“Nothing’s changed. I still want to be with you.” His voice is desperate, searching for words that will change my mind and spread my legs. His words are the exact ones I need to hear. But they close my thighs and turn the key. I nod knowingly, still looking at the floor. They’re still HeaVon, and until that changes, loving him is pure hell.

“Exactly.” I shrug and slide from the counter. My sex is so tender and swollen I wince.

“Carly, wait.” He comes at me, cock slapping against his thigh, groping in the dark for words. “This is us, Sunshine.”

“Don’t call me that!” I snap, and bend for my clothes. I throw them on, searching for the words I need to say to him. Realizing it’s over, he turns to button his fly. I sigh and run my fingers through my hair, straightening the curls in the mirror. I use a bobby pin to hold the pantsuit around my neck.

He shakes his head, still searching for an answer.

“You’re right, Devon. This...” I run a finger between us “...is exactly the same. I can’t be the other woman. Loving half of you isn’t enough. I need it all.” I look down, pretending to search for my heels, but really needing an excuse to avoid eye contact. Telling him no sucks in every way it can. Especially with an orgasm still cocked and loaded in my crotch.

I can only assume my words are the right ones, because he turns back to me, pants hanging open and face blank of every emotion but urgent regret. But I can’t stop now. I lean against a nearby shelf and step into my heels. Emboldened by my new height I lean over and kiss his cheek like this is a final goodbye.

“I can’t let you break me again.” My whisper is hot and hard to hear. I pull away, knowing my words found their mark. He’s crushed. Totally leveled to the point where his brain cannot even process what I’m saying. This is either really good or really bad. I can’t stick around to figure out which one. Because I mean it. A girl can only break so many times before she shatters.

I arrive at my designated seat beside Spence as the opening credits finish rolling. Inside I’m crumbling. Outside, I’ve pulled it together, because it’s what I have to do. Spence’s nose curls. He smells sex on me. Everyone in a ten-foot radius does. I reek of the salaciously musky odor that can’t be passed off as anything else. Spence takes one whiff and glares at me like he’s about to kill me. I swallow hard, lean into him and shake my head.

“It’s over.” My voice cracks. He stills when my weight falls against him and sucks air through his teeth, but says nothing more. After what feels like a mini eternity, he wraps an arm around me and hands me a black coffee.

Chapter Ten

My phone buzzes somewhere in the darkness. I’m alone. Tangled in sheets and not a clue where the damn thing is. Swimming through cool white folds, I find it and hold it to my ear still half asleep.

“Hello?” My voice is scratchy and hoarse. I swallow against the razor blades lining my throat. The damn thing keeps beeping. I squint and realize it isn’t a call. It’s a text.

Last night...WTH?

Whaaa...? I bolt upright in bed, rubbing my eyes to be sure I’m not seeing things. I read the text again. And again. A text like this, after a night like that, from a man like Devon Hayes requires CIA-level analyzation skills. I fire up a smoke and force my brain to think.

If he were pissed, it would read nothing more than
WTF?
Or he wouldn’t text at all. He’s reaching out for a reason.
Last night
implies he’s mind-fucked by what happened, which is a total no-brainer after I turned his balls bluer than his eyes. It’s those three little dots that change the entire tone of this text. Three little dots that make it seem like maybe he’s got some regrets.

Once the party wrapped, I proceeded to drown my sorrows, certain he would never speak to me again. But now this. If I didn’t know better, I’d say my disappearing act unknowingly bounced the ball back into my court. But, hungover as I am, it’s way too early for games like this.

Responding immediately looks pathetic anyway. Instead, I haul my aching ass into the shower. The water is hot, steamy and everything. I step into the spray and my muscles release, taking with them a scorching ache from my throat.

Last night. I don’t even know where to start. It was hot in so many ways. I thought walking out of that bathroom would be the death of me. But I somehow turned it around, kissed the right asses and became the toast of Academy society by the time the boat docked. When I step from the shower, there’s a text from Maria with a link to a webpage.

You’ve got some work to do ;)

I pull up the website and a full-body shot of Spence and me arriving at Bootsy Bellows fills the screen. I look hot. Like hotter than I remember looking. The photo must be retouched. Photoshopping is totally expected of a scandalous back-page gossip site like this. I laugh to myself because everyone wants to pretend they don’t waste their time reading this shit. It’s called Hollywood’s Most Fuckable,
and I guarantee you everyone reads it. How else are you supposed to know how you stack up in the real world?

This morning, I’m on the list. Finally. The sexy-as-hell Gucci pantsuit and a two-thousand-dollar hairstyle did the trick. I’m sandwiched between Mila Kunis and Megan Fox. I’ll take those odds. Any day. Besides, nobody’s seen the movie yet. I’ll be number one once it’s released.
I’m coming for you, Kate Upton!
I think, totally drunk on my sexy success.

Work to do, my ass.

I respond to Maria, and am so enamored with my back-page fame I almost forget to text Devon. Mainly because my brain has the capabilities of a rock right now. But once I’m dried off, I wrap the towel around me and grab my phone. How do I respond? I type and erase several options before deciding honesty is the best policy. I don’t want to play games anymore.

I meant every word I said. Half of you simply won’t do.

I haven’t the first clue where this budding maturity comes from. Normally his texts have me salivating and scheming up our next rendezvous. And there’s a huge part of me that wants nothing more than to fall into his arms. The larger part of me knows that’s only a temporary fix. I’ve got to play big-girl games to win this round. As much as ignoring him sucks, it’s the only way I’ve ever gotten his attention.

I pull on a brand-new Lululemon yoga outfit and run a comb through my hair. Am I going to work out? Hell no. But ridiculously expensive yoga pants are accepted as fashion these days. Who’s stupid enough to argue with that?

My phone
bings
again. I stare at the text, expecting some kind of groveling response. Instead, it’s a link to an article. Devon Hayes doesn’t pander to anyone. Even me. I click on the link and gasp when the headline pops up.

Carly Klein & THE MIGHTY FALL: The Awards Season Game Changers

It is the most ludicrously seductive thing I’ve ever read in my life. I’m not that good. I mean, I’m pretty fucking fabulous in a lot of ways. But as an actress, I’m nothing special. Am I? I skim the story, reading all about my unbelievably convincing portrayal of a medieval teenage concubine and admiring my blond-bombshell photos from last night.

I’m practically floating down the hallway, compliments of my big, overinflated ego, when I turn the corner and find Spence and Maria sitting together on the couch talking low over cups of coffee.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, wrinkling my brow at Spence.

“I brought you girls coffee.” He nods at the cardboard gallon of Starbucks sitting on the counter. “Congratulations, by the way.”

“The award talk?” I give him a bigger-than-life smile.

“Yeah, way to go. You’ve officially become the toast of the town.” He raises his coffee mug in a salute.

I bow graciously and take a cup from the cabinet.

“You were all over the entertainment news shows last night. They loved you,” Maria adds. Guilt punches me square in the gut for not inviting my best wing-woman last night, but the studio would’ve totally lost it. I’ll find a way to make it up to her.

“Um...I don’t really remember leaving Bootsy’s.” I grimace when I sit down. Usually when I can’t remember things, it’s not a good sign. Spence cocks his head to the side.

“Do you really want to know?”

“Not really, but I think I should.”

“Well, you puked in my SUV and immediately passed out.” Spence says this matter-of-factly, like it’s all another day in the life.

“Sorry.” I wince. “Did I fuck up my outfit?”

“No. Thankfully, you insisted on stripping out of it right before you puked. The assistant came by earlier and got everything.”

“Good. What time is it?”

“Noon,” Maria answers with a bored expression.

My phone rings and I pull it from my sports bra. “Ugh.” I roll my eyes. “Hello, Jerrie. Sorry you couldn’t make it last night,” I say sarcastically. Why in the hell my agent didn’t come to the biggest screening of my life is beyond me. So what if she’s in New York? They make planes for that. I point at my phone and excuse myself to my bedroom for some privacy.

“Congratulations, Carly. Have you heard your award buzz?”

“In fact, I have. Devon just sent me an article from the
Hollywood Reporter
. Seems I’m America’s darling again.” I wince at using Devon’s name so casually, but Jerrie doesn’t seem to notice.

“That was nice. Did he mention they’ve moved up production on the second film?”

“No,” I answer, my voice ticking up in surprise.

“They want to capitalize on the buzz. You’re expected back on set next week.”

“Next week?” I repeat. Why didn’t he mention this last night? I mean, we didn’t do much talking, but I feel like something should have been said.

“Well, yeah. Sure. Has my advance cleared?” I ask nonchalantly as if money is my only concern.

“Yes. You should start getting regular checks by week’s end.”

“Good. And Maria’s is set up, too?”

“Yes, Carly, but I don’t like the idea of you funding her life.”

“Too bad. Maria is the only family I’ve got. She can have whatever she wants.”

Jerrie pauses for a moment, certainly trying to think of how she can drive the point home. I swear, if she tells me one more time about how she thinks Mike Tyson and MC Hammer lost all their money trying to help family I’m going to poke my eyeball out. I’m not them. They’re not me. Maria is family. That’s the end of the discussion.

“I’m sorry, Carly.” Jerrie’s voice, for the first time maybe ever, sounds truly sympathetic. Is this the best morning ever? Everyone is apologizing to me when I’m the one fucking things up. I knew how powerful an amazing film performance could be, but this is just crazy. I’m momentarily shocked, but I don’t miss a beat.

“You should be. It’s my money,” I say emphatically. Hell yeah, she should be sorry, telling me how to live my life. That’s not what I pay her for.

“No. I mean I’m sorry about your dad.”

“Dad? What about him?” Did I tell her about him showing up?
No way. I forgot that as soon as I could. So what the hell is she talking about?

“You haven’t heard.” From the sound of her voice, I can see the blood draining from Jerrie’s face. She gasps and slaps a hand over her mouth, hitting the phone receiver in the process. “I thought you knew. I never would have...” Her fingers muffle her words.

“What, Jerrie?” My voice sounds all high and weird, so weird Maria comes running down the hallway to my room, Spence right on her heels.

“He’s gone. He was hit by a truck in front of the district attorney’s office this morning.”

My heartbeat pounds silent seconds off the clock. I’m stunned, eyes clicking all around, trying to find something to make what she is saying make sense. Because it doesn’t. I forget how to breathe, sucking in gasps of air and spitting them back out. He told me he was dying. Honestly, I thought he was lying. This is my dad, after all. And even though he hasn’t been part of my life for years, the realization that he will never be part of my life ever again is something that won’t stick inside my brain.

He’s dead. Dad’s dead. I can’t process it. All I can see are his eyes. His yellow, drugged-out, hooded, sad eyes that always remind me of me. He’s gone? No way.

“Dad’s...dead?” Every ounce of energy I have goes to balance the mess swirling in my brain. I sink to my knees, stunned by the realization.

“I’m so sorry,” Jerrie says. I don’t hear anything else. The phone slides from my hand to the floor. Maria picks it up and ends the call. Numbness takes over and I sit, staring straight ahead at white walls.

“Carly...” she says, not knowing what to say. Instead, she wraps her arms around me. We rock back and forth like little kids, our cheeks pressed together. It’s ridiculous that my father’s death has any kind of effect on me, but I don’t pull away. I just stare straight ahead. Spence is sitting on the bed. He’s pulled up the story on his phone and is now reading it aloud. “Jack Klein...district attorney’s office...hit by a truck...killed instantly.” I only hear the important words.

I push away from Maria, sitting back on my heels and hugging my knees to my chest, searching for any kind of emotion. Where’s the rage that used to boil through me at the mention of his name? The hate-filled rants that spewed from my mouth whenever anyone would listen? The anger. The hurt. The disgust. I want to feel something...anything. But I don’t. I’m not sad. I’m not angry. I’m not anything. I’m just numb.

I don’t care about my father. Not anymore. There was a time when his love was all I wanted. But that time is long gone. There was a time when him rotting in hell was all I wanted. But that time is gone, too. The only thing I share with him is DNA. But it’s not like I want to celebrate this either. He’s dead and that sucks...especially getting hit by a bus. But he’s dead and it’s not going to affect my life in the least. Until the other morning I hadn’t seen him in years. So much for making things right for me. Or whatever the hell he vowed he was going to do.

“Are you okay?” Maria asks, brushing my hair back and placing the coffee cup back in my hand.

“You know better than anybody how I feel about my dad,” I say, and she nods her head. “I just...I feel like I should care. But I don’t.” I shrug and look from her to Spence.

“That’s okay.” Maria nods encouragingly. “He doesn’t deserve anything from you that you don’t want to give him. If this is how you feel, that’s fine. What was he doing at the DA’s office?”

I smirk at her like she should know. “When has my father not been in trouble with the law?”

“True.” She nods and smacks her lips in agreement.

“I should go.” Spence stands and jerks a thumb toward the door. He looks uncomfortable as hell. I laugh and shake my head.

“Deserting me at a time like this?” I give him a bewildered look and he bites at an uneasy smile. “You can’t go.”

“Oh yeah?”

I shake my head again. “Nope. We have to send dear ole Dad off in style.”

“Okay, how do we do that?”

“We get fucked up.” I shrug lazily.