My Life as a Holiday Album (My Life as an Album #5) - L.J. Evans Page 0,67
taking long strides through the bar with his cousins and sibling catcalling and hollering after us. It was fucking embarrassing. It was fucking pissing me off.
My stomach lurched. I was afraid I was going to throw up.
The cool air hit me, instantly sending chills over my bare back exposed in my midriff blouse. Mayson set me down next to a huge SUV that belonged in a military movie.
Edie came hurrying over, her baby weight not getting in the way of her graceful movements. She’d always been tied in my head with a dancer. I tried to remember if that was because she’d been one. I wasn’t sure. I didn’t keep tabs on Mayson’s family.
I heard the doors unlock, and I turned to get in, holding back a wave of nausea that hit me. Before I could hike myself into the tall vehicle, Mayson lifted me and put me in the seat. He grabbed the seat belt and buckled me in, looking into my eyes as he went by, stilling, eyes going to my lips and then back to my eyes.
Kiss me, my body screamed, but my blurry head was still objecting.
“Are you going to puke?” he asked.
I wanted to laugh at his unromantic words—so not anything that would be in the romance movie my girly heart was aching for.
I shrugged because, in truth, my stomach was still rolling.
“Here.” Edie was shoving a plastic grocery bag in our direction. Mayson put it in my lap and then climbed around to the other side, sitting next to me.
Edie started the SUV, and the motion made my stomach loll to one side.
“Can you take me to the hotel?” I asked and then leaned my head against the window so I wouldn’t be tempted to use Mayson’s shoulder as a resting place.
There was silence, but I could feel the exchange going on between the two of them. Words spoken with only looks.
Then I fell asleep.
I woke to Mayson carrying me again. It wasn’t that late, maybe seven or eight, but as the drunk left me, the tiredness kicked in. My body was tired of being on high alert for days. My body was tired from the alcohol. From the stress. From missing―with all my heart―the man who was carrying me now.
From being wounded.
For years, I’d ignored the attraction between Mayson and me. I’d ignored it while I dated other guys and felt not even an ounce of the pulse in my veins that I felt when he and I were in a room together. But I’d promised myself I wouldn’t ruin what the three of us had. The friendship. The magic we built in words together. And then, a random reach for sheet music had turned into a tentative kiss that had let to pure passion and sin and dismantled our world.
Then, he’d left me naked in his bed and forgotten to call for a week.
The pain hit me again. Him leaving. Him not calling. Cole telling me he wasn’t coming back. Damn tears leaked out of my eyes. Tears I didn’t want to cry.
When he put me down, I was on a bed. His bed. Blue-and-white plaid in a room that was all male. I wiped at my eyes when he turned away, but he caught the movement anyway, and I saw the tick of his jaw again as he struggled with emotions.
He sat down on the bed next to me without a word, his hand journeying to the zipper on my right boot. It was mid-thigh, meaning his hand grazed the bottom of my miniskirt and made my entire body jump to attention with how close he was to my core. It remembered what it felt like for his hands to be there, teasing me, stroking me, making me moan his damn name.
But he didn’t touch me. He just slowly undid the zipper and pulled the boot off before repeating the motion with the other one. He placed them on the floor and then got up, digging in a dresser and returning with a long-sleeved T-shirt.
“Here,” he said.
I shook my head. Too tired, too strung up, and yet, too alive to move.
“Stop being stubborn. You’ll be uncomfortable sleeping in that,” he said.
“Fine.” I pulled the crop top off and threw it at him. He pulled it away and then held his breath as he took in my black lace bra. I shimmied out of the leather skirt and threw that at him, too. This one, he just let hit the floor.