Flame - Erin Noelle Page 0,7
the parking lot, prompting me to do the same. If he’d have taken one more damn minute, there’s a good chance I would’ve started masturbating right here in the driver’s seat, desperately needing to take off some of the heat that the arrogant, dark-haired hottie inside the restaurant sparked inside me. An act that would be questionable at best on the list of acceptable, dignified behaviors.
Damn James Levi. Within a half-hour of meeting him, he’s already got me itching to break the rules, which sets off all kinds of warning bells in my head. It’ll probably be in my best interest to steer clear of him at the wedding on Saturday.
But who am I kidding?
From the plush crimson and cream draperies and linens to the intricate, hand-carved wood furnishings, to the majestic, eye-catching three-story fireplace, the opulent lobby of Victoria Pointe Lodge reeks of greed and gluttony. Women dressed in the season’s latest Boho chic show off their surgically enhanced cleavage and collagen-filled lips, while lounging around with cosmos. Their practiced resting-bitch-faces track my movement across the floor and disdain oozes from their pores.
The men, on the other hand, stand around making small talk with one another about sports and politics, as they lazily sip bourbon that most likely costs more than a month’s rent on my apartment. Each and every one of them takes their turn undressing me with their eyes, all fantasizing about what I’d look like without this dress and spread eagle for them. Most of them don’t bother to hide their lustful perusal.
I’d be lying if I said I don’t get a kick out of this.
Knowing I could get every one of these snobby bitches’ men to cheat on them in a heartbeat is my way of telling them all to fuck off while they silently rip me apart from head to toe, starting with my untamed, windblown hair and ending down at my Target sandals. Of course, I would never act on it; married dudes aren’t my thing. But knowing I have that power over them shields my ego from their judgmental, icy glares.
At this perfect portrayal of elitism at its best, a sense of pride in my family’s simple and subdued, holistic, mountainside resort surges through me. Despite the tremendous success my parents have had with Fire on the Mountain, especially in the last several years with the increase of tourism due to the legalization of marijuana, they manage to keep the property modest yet well-appointed, and themselves humble.
“How did you get a room here?” I whisper to Rory as we wait to check in. It’s not that I don’t appreciate the sentiment because I do . . . I totally do. However, I’m also aware he lives on a bartender’s budget and probably doesn’t have the money to burn on a place like this just so we can get our rocks off without listening to Crew and Hudson do the same. It’s not like he needs to impress me out of my panties.
He leans over and brushes a kiss across my cheek. “Don’t worry, Kota. I recently made a connection here, and I thought you’d enjoy the Jacuzzi suite after stressing over finals the past couple of weeks. Just ignore all the hoity-toity assholes who think their shit doesn’t stink.”
I grab his hand and intertwine our fingers, my wide smile brimming with appreciation. His thoughtfulness proves what I already knew about him: Rory Tanner is one of the good guys. If only I was interested in a serious relationship, he’d be at the top of my list of candidates.
But I’m not.
And neither is he.
So for now, I’m content with simply fucking one of the good guys . . . ’cause his good becomes the best kind of bad when his clothes are stripped away.
“Thank you,” I murmur as we step up to the reservations desk, and before releasing my hand to sign the paperwork, he gives it a quick squeeze and replies, “My pleasure.”
Minutes later, we stride across the marble floor toward the elevator bank with nearly every eye in the room on us, all of them wondering what a couple of young punks like us have planned in a place like this. As we wait for the next car to arrive, I can’t help but give them a small preview of what I have planned once we’re in our fifth-floor room. Pressing my body flush against Rory’s side, I lift up on my toes and begin to trail kisses across his jawline