The answer must satisfy him, because his expression relaxes. “When all of this is over, I’ll take you out to dinner. In whatever flavor you like. If you want.”
It’s my turn to study him, doing my best to keep the worry off my face. This energy between us feels like fireworks, chemistry, all the things I’ve read about but never experienced, but I’m still afraid that because of my inexperience, I’ll read into things, see things that aren’t there. My knee-jerk response is to laugh, give him an easy out, but again this proximity between us seems to force honesty out of me. “Like a date?”
I wait for him to frown, step away from me, but he holds his ground, and my gaze. “If that’s the flavor you want from me.”
Now I’m the one to frown at him. Why does all of this—attraction, desire, feelings—have to be so complicated? Why don’t people just say what they mean? “Is that the flavor you want fromme?” I challenge back.
Thad’s eyes drop down to my lips, then lower. He swallows heavily before meeting my gaze again. “I want to taste whatever you’re willing to let me taste.”
My jaw drops. Heat floods my cheeks, my body, as the words sink in. He grins at me again, squeezing the hip he’s holding on to, before he abruptly steps back and lets me go. “Think about it. Get back to me.”
And with that, he’s gone.
Chapter 35
Helen
Ido think about it. I can’t stop thinking about it—especially since I’ve promised to not leave the room, so all I can do is pace in place like a caged animal, picking at the memory like a scab.I want to taste whatever you’re willing to let me taste.
I might be a virgin, and a former sister, but I know what he’s talking about. (At least IthinkI know what he’s talking about… I’m pretty sure I know what he’s talking about.) I’ve read lots of romance novels, after all, and I have a subscription to HBO. So. I’m pretty sure I’m caught up on most of the sex stuff, even if I haven’t personally experienced it. Hypothetically speaking, if he meant what I thought he meant, then I would potentially be very excited to let him…taste me. Hypothetically.
After almost an hour of fretting over it, I realize I’m driving myself crazy. I need to find something to distract myself, to help pass the time, and ideally stop thinking about tasting altogether.
A nice hot bath sounds like just the ticket. I can do a little face mask, shave my legs and any other body parts that need to be groomed. Not for any specific purpose, of course. And not as a response to Thad commenting about wanting to taste me. Definitely not.
Except, I realize as I move to grab my nonexistent bag, I don’t have a razor or anything that will make a bath feel truly luxurious: bubbles, face mask, the like. The hotel shampoo might do in a pinch, but if I’m going to be stuck in the room all night, I want to have a truly spa-like experience, not make do with whatever is available.
I remember spotting a little hotel shop off the lobby when we checked in earlier today. They should have at least a few of the things I’m looking for. And even though I’m technically leaving the room, I won’t be leaving the hotel, so I won’t be breaking my promise to Thad.
As I make my way through the lobby to the shop, I keep a careful eye on the people milling through the hotel as well as the people I can see passing by on the street outside. I know from the many mafia-themed romance novels I’ve read that my leaving the room creates the perfect opportunity for someone to kidnap me, forcing the hero into a dramatic showdown to reclaim his love. As fun as that is to read about, having almost been kidnapped, I can now safely say that I have no desire to repeat that experience. And as tempting as it might be to wonder how Thad would react if I were to actually be held for ransom, I’m not confident that I’m the kind of woman who would inspire a dramatic showdown.
Although…during my attempted kidnapping, Thad did rush onto the scene, throw himself across a car, and tackle a mobster who was holding a gun.
But that was because he still needed me to find Dean. Wasn’t it?
I’m shopping and keeping half an eye out on the world around me, when I look out the window to the street and do a double take. Before I can check myself, I run outside, waving my arms. “Hey, Deltas!”
The group of sorority girls has transformed pretty significantly into sleek, dark, sexy outfits now that night is falling. I’m not sure I would have recognized them if they weren’t in a huge cluster—and I’m really not confident that I could pick out any one of them individually. Still, I feel weirdly happy to see them. Or maybe I’ve just been bored in the hour or so since Thad left me on my own in the hotel.
Luckily the Deltas seem just as enthused to see me. “Helen!” they chorus, while a few crane not so subtly around me to search for my missing companion. “Where’s Thad?”
I…did not really think this through, I realize as I try to come up with an explanation for why Thad has ditched me here at the hotel. Thinking quickly, I improvise. “We had tickets for the Carolina Belle—you know, the floating casino? Since my bag got stolen, I didn’t have anything to wear, but I didn’t want Thad to miss out on the experience, so…” I shrug, hoping that gesture will fill in the blanks of my story.
“No way!” Cassie exclaims, as ever the self-appointed spokesperson of the group, looking at the others in disbelief. “We’re going there tonight, too! Why don’t you come with us and surprise him?”
This…was not an alternative I’d been planning for. And honestly, it’s a very good reminder why people shouldn’t lie—me, in particular. Not only is it morally wrong, but I’m really bad at it. “What a weird coincidence,” I stall as I try to come up with another reason. “Thad has our tickets, though, and I think you have to buy ahead. I won’t be able to get on.”
“We got you covered, girl! Caitlyn pregamed a little too hard and passed out at the hotel. You can use her ticket.”
“Oh.” That’s convenient…and a little concerning. Hopefully Caitlyn is okay…but that’s the least of my worries as I realize I’m running out of excuses. I motion down at myself again. “I can’t wear this on the boat.”
“Definitely not,” another girl chimes in, eying my rumpled sweater and jeans with horror.
Cassie waves it off like it’s of no consequence. “Our hotel is two blocks away, and I’m sure between the ten of us we can find something else for you to wear.”
The girls all agree enthusiastically—except for the one who was so put off with my (very normal!) outfit, who adds, “We’ll need to do hair and makeup, too.”
Before I can really process that, or even fully agree to any of what’s happening, I find myself being whisked off down the street by a gaggle of sorority girls, not quite sure how to stop what’s been set in motion.
