29
Nine years ago
As Lilah approached the hotel bar, she wasn’t sure whether she was hoping he was there or hoping he wasn’t.
They’d left things ambiguous: he’d wrapped her in a hug once they’d exited the stage after Intangible’s presentation, murmuring “Buy you a drink later?” in her ear. But if he’d meant at the UBS after-party, they’d barely had a moment to themselves, spending the whole night swarmed, shaking a never-ending supply of hands.
When she got back to her hotel room, she considered staying there. She was exhausted, her voice withered to a rasp from shouting over the music for hours. But though she eyed her bed, she found herself touching up her makeup, dabbing perfume behind her ear, smoothing out the wrinkles in the overpriced cocktail dress she’d been wearing all day. It wasn’t that late yet, a quarter after midnight. Even if he wasn’t there, she might as well have a drink on her own, decompress a little after the overwhelming day she’d had.
But when she rounded the corner and spotted Shane leaning against the bar, she knew she’d been lying to herself. If he hadn’t been waiting there, she would’ve turned around, gone back to her room, and had her heels and dress off before the door even closed behind her.
He hadn’t noticed her yet. He was facing the main entrance, obviously trying to play it cool, but giving himself away by glancing up anxiously every time someone passed. She tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach she always got when she saw him, amplified by a hundred tonight.
She was just having a drink with a co-worker, that was all. A co-worker you’re way too attracted to, after midnight, at a hotel you’re both staying at, the you-should-know-better voice in her head whispered. She pushed it away, coming up behind him, placing her hand between his shoulder blades without thinking twice about it.
He’d changed out of his tux, into jeans and a T-shirt, the cotton warm under her palm. He looked at her, not bothering to hide his grin, sending one of her own spreading across her face in response, like he’d dropped a pebble into a pond.
“I thought maybe you were sick of me already,” he said.
“Not yet. Although it feels like I barely saw you all day, is that weird?”
He shook his head. “No, I know what you mean. This whole thing has been fucking crazy.”
The bar wasn’t especially crowded, but it was light on seating, so she stood, too, her shoulder brushing his. The bartender came to take Lilah’s order, and she hesitated. She’d only had one drink at the after-party, and her buzz had already worn off. White wine felt safe enough.
Once the bartender poured her glass, Shane lifted his whiskey, and she did the same.
“So, what should we toast to?” he asked.
Lilah looked down at the bar, then back at him. “Maybe just…the future?”
The corners of his eyes crinkled, her gaze dipping straight to his dimple.
“To the future. It’s coming for us, no matter what.”
She meant to take it slow, but that first glass was gone before she knew it, buoying her to the perfect level of tipsy—not enough to be impaired, just loose-limbed and playful, everything he said somehow the funniest thing she’d ever heard.
By the time she was halfway through her second glass, they were comparing childhood scars, which was mostly a transparent excuse to touch each other. She tried not to shiver when his fingers brushed over the raised line on her forearm where she’d gotten five stitches after being thrown from her bicycle. In return, she’d lightly tilted his chin up with her fingertips, feeling the mottled spot he’d busted open trying to cannonball into his friend’s pool from their roof.
There were empty chairs on either side of them now, but they ignored them. He was close enough that she could smell the faintest hint of toothpaste on his breath, beneath the whiskey. He brushed his teeth before this. The thought sent a giddy thrill through her.
He’d hoped they would end up this close.
“So tell me, Lilah Hunter,” he drawled, his vowels long and lazy, as he leaned even closer. “You got someone waiting for you at home?”
She took a long sip before she responded.
They probably should’ve discussed this already, but neither of them had been eager to bring up their personal lives while shooting the pilot. Now, though, she could admit to herself that it wasn’t out of professionalism. She hadn’t wanted to know.
She lowered her glass and shook her head. “I just got out of a longish relationship. Two and a half years, on and off. We broke up before I moved to L.A.; I didn’t want to do the long-distance thing. He lives here, though—we’re actually getting breakfast tomorrow before the flight.”
“Oh yeah? And you’re still holding a candle for him?”
“You mean carrying a torch?”
A self-deprecating smile played at the corners of his lips. “Shit. Holding a candle is, like, no one else can compare, right?”
“Right. Yeah. But no, no flames of any size anymore. We’re just friends. Sort of. I do hate him a little bit. But I don’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing that. So…breakfast.”
His eyes glittered with amusement. “Right. Of course.”
“What about you?”
“Well, I don’t know him, but I’m happy to hate him, too.”
She laughed, nudging his shin with the toe of her shoe. “Come on.”
He shook his head, his smile still teasing. “Same as you, nothing serious since I moved to L.A. Although maybe I should’ve locked someone down before all this happened. Now how will I know if anyone likes me for me, or because I’m a big fancy TV star?”
“You won’t. But once you’re drowning in pussy you probably won’t care.”
He snorted. “Now there’s an image. What a way to go.”
She fought to keep a straight face. “It’s true, though. You should be glad you’re single. It can be tough on a relationship, when one person starts getting a lot of attention. Hard to avoid all that temptation.”
“That’s not really the temptation I’m worried about,” he said, almost to himself, then knocked back the rest of his drink. When he glanced at her again, though, the laughter was gone from his expression.
She knew she was blushing, her reaction hopefully hidden in the low light. She felt tongue-tied and awkward for the first time all night, so she turned back toward the bar, finishing her wine, too.
“It does kinda feel like we have something here, though, doesn’t it?” he asked.
She held his gaze for a long moment, trying to figure out his angle, his expression infuriatingly blank.
“With the show, you mean,” she said.
He nodded. “Yeah. Seems like it might actually go somewhere.” He paused, his eyes flicking over her face. “I’m glad…I’m glad you’re with me. That we’re in this together. I heard it can be lonely at the top.” The side of his mouth quirked up sardonically.
“It can be lonely no matter where you are.” It slipped out more melancholy than she’d expected, and she bit her lip, self-conscious.
His brow creased a little, and he shifted his weight closer. “What about here?”
She shook her head slowly, her gaze never leaving his, unsure what the answer really was. Both felt true: no matter how much she was enjoying his company, she felt a strange, desperate ache expanding inside her the longer they stood there.
She leaned in, murmuring in his ear like they were sharing a secret. “I’m glad you’re with me, too.”
He pressed his hand to her lower back, sending an electric current shooting up her spine, hot and cold all at once.
“What do you think? Another round, or should we call it a night?”
It felt like they were on the verge of something—a wave cresting, lifting them high; it was still unclear whether they’d be able to ride it safely to shore, or whether they’d get pulled under, thrashed, bruised, barely escaping with their lives.
It thrilled her, that unknown. The potential in it. Her heart thundered in her chest, her skin prickling with heat.
They weren’t done yet. They’d hardly even begun.
“I could do one more.” She glanced over at the corner, where two plush armchairs sat angled toward each other across a small table. “Should we move over there? I think I need to get off my feet.”
Something unreadable flickered in his expression. “Sure.”
She smiled, nodding her head in the direction of the bathroom. “I’ll be right back.”
As she washed her hands, she let the cool water run over the inside of her wrists for an extra moment, locking eyes with her own reflection, trying to see what he saw. Blown-out pupils, pink cheeks, a look in her eyes verging on feral.
She looked like someone about to make a big, bad decision.
When she returned, he was sitting in one of the armchairs, both drinks on the table in front of him. She came up behind him, placing a hand on his shoulder, and he jerked at the contact.
He glanced up and they locked eyes, her stomach turning molten at the expression on his face, the same one she’d just seen reflected back at her in the mirror. The next thing she knew, his arm was around her waist, pulling her smoothly into his lap, her arms circling his neck automatically, legs dangling over the arm of the chair.
She wanted to laugh, but it died in her throat at the intensity of his gaze. He didn’t kiss her right away, though. He just looked at her, brow slightly furrowed, eyes tracing her face like there was a secret message printed on her skin that he could only decode up close.
She reached up and cradled his jaw in one hand, his late-night stubble rough against her palm, and pressed her thumb gently into his dimple, almost without realizing she was doing it. He smiled, the corner of his mouth rising to meet her thumb, and leaned in, closing the gap between them at last.
It was gentle at first, the way he kissed her. More tender than she’d expected. She could tell how hard he was working to hold himself back, though, from the tension thrumming through his body, his ragged breath; a delicious kind of frustration coiled low in her abdomen as his lips teased, explored, savored, his spring-loaded restraint slowly driving her out of her mind.
“Fuck, you smell amazing,” he murmured. “I just want to…” He turned his head, teeth grazing the edge of her jaw, stopping short of a bite.
She inhaled sharply, then pulled his face back to hers, sucking his bottom lip into her mouth before kissing him deeply, unable to take it any longer. He groaned low in the back of his throat when her tongue brushed his for the first time, one arm clutching her closer, his other hand tangling in her hair.
She melted into the warmth of his body, their kisses turning feverish and demanding, his hands teasing her now, stroking her bare arms and legs, splaying over her waist, touching her everywhere except where she really wanted. Soon, she was squirming in his lap without meaning to, his breath hitching every time she shifted against the bulge in his jeans, her thighs squeezing together, desperate for relief.
She couldn’t remember the last time she’d gotten this worked up from just a kiss, like she might come from the slightest brush between her legs; but then, it wasn’t just a kiss. It was the wait. The anticipation. The way his eyes had swept over her when she’d shown up at the bar, when he’d first seen her in this dress, when they’d sat across from each other in that audition waiting room.
Plus, he could really fucking kiss.
Eventually, he pulled back, resting his forehead against hers, his voice hoarse. “Jesus Christ.”
“I’m Jewish,” she muttered, her brain too scrambled to come up with anything else.
“Well, so was he.”
She giggled, which turned into a whimper as he buried his face in her neck, his stubble scraping the sensitive skin before his lips soothed it, tasting her racing pulse with his tongue. She clung to him helplessly, finding his mouth again, her heartbeat staggering between their shared breaths. His hair was soft between her fingers, just long enough to hang on to, so she did, tightly.
There was no other way this night could have ended, she knew now. It might not go any further than this, making out like teenagers who had nowhere else to go. But it would. It had to. Every part of him she’d lingered over with her eyes felt even better under her palms, and she was feeling selfish, greedy. She wanted more. She wanted to own him. She wanted every hair, every scar, every inch of skin and ripple of muscle to be hers—even if it was just for tonight.
Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the tail end of a couple of scandalized glances thrown their way, cutting through the haze just in time, yanking her out of the alternate reality where she was seconds away from literally sucking on his fingers in a public bar.
“Shit,” she mumbled, hiding her face in his neck, her cheeks burning. “Do you think…there are a lot of other people staying in this hotel, right?”
His laugh rumbled against her, his palm skating down her back. “Seems like it, yeah.”
“You know what I mean. Upfronts people. UBS people. Do they know it’s us? Are they looking?”
“Some of them are looking. But I don’t think they recognize us. I think we’re just being…”
“Embarrassing?”
“Are you embarrassed?” His voice was low and husky in her ear.
She raised her head, then shook it, surprising herself.
“Do you want to stop?” he asked in that same tone, his hand firm on her upper thigh, rubbing his thumb in soft circles, sending tiny sparks shooting across her skin.
That one was easy. “I really, really don’t.”
“Good.” She thought he’d kiss her again, but instead he just studied her face, reaching up to brush a piece of hair out of her eyes. “Did you know this was gonna happen?” he asked quietly.
“I had a feeling. Did you?”
“I didn’t want to get my hopes up. But I really fucking wanted it to.”
She took his hands in hers, intertwining their fingers, unsure whose were shaking.
“What else did you hope would happen tonight?” she asked.
He let out a deep, unsteady breath, shaking his head. “Nothing we can do in this chair without getting arrested.”
She could get addicted to the way he was looking at her, if she wasn’t careful. Let herself be fooled into thinking it meant something. That it was actually about her and not the thrill of the chase, the excitement of the unknown, the intoxicating blend of inevitable and wrong.
The whole thing felt bigger than the two of them, the only logical next step in the surreal situation they’d been thrown into. Even if the casting had shaken out differently, even if it hadn’t been Lilah, she knew without a doubt he’d be down here anyway, in this same chair, some other Kate draped across his lap.
She looked down at their hands, then back up at him. The sour turn of her thoughts must have been written all over her face, because he was studying her with concern.
“Where’d you go?” he murmured.
She shook her head, brushing it off, trying to smile. “I’m right here.”
She leaned in to kiss him one more time—a slow victory lap after a pulse-pounding sprint—then eased off his lap, grateful her legs were steady enough to hold her. She tugged him to his feet, too, leading him wordlessly toward the elevator, their drinks abandoned and untouched on the table.
She wasn’t going to let her brain ruin this for her. There didn’t have to be anything profound about this moment, no deeper connection than lust and loneliness. It didn’t matter that it wouldn’t ever go anywhere.
They were probably better off if it didn’t, anyway.