"Sweetheart. Cut the bulls.h.i.t, okay. This was supposed to be an exercise for you to ask for the things you want. s.e.xually and otherwise. Come straight out and ask him. This isn't high school and he certainly isn't Trager."

"And if he doesn't have the same feelings?"

"Then you move on, just like the rest of the world does when things are over." There was a brief hesitation then she huffed loudly into the phone, "But why would you think he wasn't into you? He's been showing you a good time, right?"

"Yeah...It's just...I'm starting to really like being with him. And I have to keep reminding myself to hold back, you know?" I sighed into the phone. "He's my boss and keeps telling me how emotionally unavailable he is. We can't possibly have anything more than what it is right now." I stood up and rubbed my hands down my face. "I just don't want to be one of those women. I know I can't change anyone. I know there's no such thing as the one-forget it-this is stupid. We're having fun. I'm forgetting about Kevin. It's all good. It's just s.e.x. Good s.e.x. Really good s.e.x."

"That's a girl! On another note... A bunch of other people got their walking papers at the magazine. This rag is going down."

"I sent an entire years worth of articles to Remington Holt. He doesn't want to see what's right in front of his face. I could do this. I could save that magazine, but he just won't let me."

"I know. So maybe you should talk to Jameson."

"Yeah, I guess so." There's no truth behind my words, because I am still too d.a.m.n scared to.

Pleasures.

That was the name of the strip club we stood in front of.

There was a line of men just inside the door, laughing and knocking fists with each other. The only other girl stood opposite me behind a plate of thick gla.s.s, wearing a sheer ballroom gown that looked more invisible than anything else. "Welcome to Pleasures, I hope you enjoy your time here," she purred over my head toward Jameson. She gave me a nonchalant smile and rolled her eyes to the next group of men in line. I wondered how she came about working in a place like this.

Jameson threaded his fingers through mine and tugged me along the dark lobby; through a group of bouncers who practically stripped us down and dressed us right back up. "This was your fantasy, sweetheart. Just remember that."

Why the h.e.l.l would this be a thought in my mind I had no clue. I guess it was something I always wondered about.

We walked into an enormously crowded room that centered around a cl.u.s.ter of stages with poles and half-dressed women of all sizes. Smoke billowed white and thick through the air and a slow, erotic song thumped lazily through the speakers.

Jameson nodded to a pet.i.te c.o.c.ktail waitress that wore a shiny leather cat suit and flicked a few dollar-bills into her hand. He leaned down and spoke with her, but I heard nothing of what he said. The music was too loud, but the heat in her eyes as she watched his lips as he spoke to her captivated me. Was it her job to make him feel wanted? Or did she honestly want him? His eyes flittered down to her lips and back up to her eyes as she spoke back and my chest burst into heat. I darted my eyes away quickly, wanting to get rid of the unwanted ache beneath my ribs. I had no right to Jameson. No right. Just three weeks. Three weeks in paradise and we never spoke about them being exclusive. Yet the thought of him touching someone else the way he touched me was agonizing.

Around us, men watched the dancers, eyes half cast, lips against their drinks-hands squeezing the knee of their pants. The dancer closest to me was slithering along a narrow catwalk on her hands and knees, completely naked. She eyed me and leaned back on her heels, facing me. Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s were tiny, capped with miniscule brown nipples that she fingered and rubbed for my viewing pleasure. Her eyes looked bright, young. I wondered if her parents knew she was here. I wondered if someone slept next to her at night and blocked out the leers of the men that surrounded her. I suddenly felt dizzy and my stomach rolled angrily. This place wasn't s.e.xy at all. It was full of sadness. Desperation.

Jameson pulled me through a group of tables following the pretty c.o.c.ktail waitress and led me to a small round table with two seats. A small sign bent over the surface read Reserved. My eyes scanned the room another time before I sat down in the chair Jameson pulled out for me. I wanted to examine the entire room-take stock of every little thing around me. Yet all I saw-all I felt was a deep emptiness. Two tables from us a dancer, waitress-whatever, had her legs straddled over the lap of an older man. He was almost bald except for a dozen or so bright white strands of hair that seemed to spring from his ears, and dressed in a stained wife beater shirt and a pair of thin, worn out jeans. The woman looked adoringly at the man with a sort of wild desire, pressed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his face, and whispered things close to his ear. She leaned her head back and darted her tongue out over her bottom lip. The old man laughed wide with a completely toothless grin-a gold wedding ring glinted blindingly off his left hand.

"What would you like to drink?" Jameson's voice murmured against my ear, startling me back into facing him. Bleach? Rubbing alcohol? Antibacterial Soap?

"Something in a clean bottle," I answered, idiotically.

Jameson leaned back and quietly spoke with the waitress again. She pressed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s against his arm as he spoke to her then added her inner thigh into the mix. I heard the rush of blood pound through my skull and a layer of cold sweat beaded above my eyebrows.

Once our beers were served, we drank in silence. The only constant was the steady hold of Jameson's eyes on me. "Does this excite you?" he asked, reaching up and running his finger softly beneath my chin.

"No," I said, swallowing hard, not wanting to look at him.

He c.o.c.ked his head to the side and smirked.

I blew out a heavy breath and shook my head. "I just keep thinking about all the girls and their stories. About why they're here. Is that weird?"

He shrugged and leaned back. "Is that what you want to really know while you're here?"

I wasn't sure. Did that make me prude or frigid?

With a flick of his hand, he called our waitress back over and made her stand closely between us. She watched him in rapt attention-his eyes were still fixed on mine. "Ask her. Everything you want to."

My eyes darted up to hers. She turned her attention to me, and suddenly, I was the center of her universe. Her eyes lit up and her smile was wide, beautiful, and just for me.

"How old are you?" I asked hesitantly.

"Twenty-two," she answered, giggling and biting down on her lip.

"Have you always wanted to do this?" I said, darting my eyes toward the stage.

Her smile grew wider. "I'm in college. Studying to be a make-up artist. This pays the bills for now." She leaned in further. "I don't dance yet; I'm just a c.o.c.ktail waitress. But I can't wait until I start dancing up on the stage. I'd like to get bigger b.o.o.bs before I dance though."

What the h.e.l.l do you say to that?

"Oh. Well your b.o.o.bs look wonderful just the way they are..."

She edged closer to me. "I like your b.o.o.bs. Lift up and let me see them."

"Um. No. That's not gonna happen," I snorted, leaning away from her.

Behind her, I could see Jameson laughing. Then he slid a bunch of dollars into her hand and the next thing I knew, she was rubbing her a.s.s and b.o.o.bs all over me. It was so shocking it paralyzed me. Her skin was soft and smelled like dark vanilla and low moans rumbled from her throat. I squeezed my eyes shut to stop myself from throwing the b.i.t.c.h off my lap and running like h.e.l.l, but the minute I opened them, all I saw was Jameson. His eyes locked on mine, lips parted and breathing getting heavy. Was watching us turning him on?

The waitress looked back over her shoulder and crawled slowly onto his lap and my heart tore right out of my chest. Sparks of painful heat burst out along my skin as her t.i.ts bounced before his eyes and her a.s.s pushed into his lap over and over. His jaw locked tight. I watched the muscles of his face clench and twist as his eyes flittered back and forth between us.

It hurt like h.e.l.l. I didn't want him looking at her and comparing us. I'd just come up lacking. I just wanted him to look at me.

My hands fisted against my legs and I wanted to scream and rip her off him.

That's when I realized-when I finally faced the truth-I didn't want to see him with someone else. I couldn't. I was completely falling for him. His eyes were back on me while she grinded her a.s.s into him. A heavy feeling spread across my chest and burned in my belly. I gave him a shaky smile, the only thing I could muster, and I stood up to leave. I needed too. Let him go home with her tonight. Or whatever it is that goes on here.

"Where are you going?" he asked in a husky voice.

"I'm not feeling so well," I mumbled, "I need some air."

"Okay," he said, as the woman-the girl-continued to dry hump his crotch. Her hands were wrapped around his neck, her little bikini top was pulled around her perfectly rounded little b.r.e.a.s.t.s and her nipples were brushing up against his jaw. "If that's what you want. I'll catch up with you later." His eyes glanced from me to her nipples and back to me.

If that's what I want? I wanted to throw cold water at them and stop them from doing what they were doing. She looked like a dog in heat. I wanted him to run after me. Tell me he didn't want her. I wanted him to tell me he only wanted me. I wanted to be enough.

d.a.m.n it. This was all wrong. I shouldn't be feeling this way.

I needed to get back into reality. He wasn't mine. I had no right to be jealous. I had no right to anything. I walked quickly out of the club and jumped in the first cab I saw, praying like mad the driver didn't turn out to be a serial killer, although with the way I was feeling right about then, he'd be the one found chopped up in a suitcase in the back of a stripper's car.

When I arrived back at the villa, I changed into a comfortable sleep shirt, slid under the safety of the bed covers, and curled into a ball. How could he do that to me? How could any man stay there with those women when the people who really feel something for them are waiting for them back home or in stupid fake honeymoon suites?

A minute later, I heard the door to the villa open and heavy footsteps thump down the hallway. Within seconds, James climbed into bed next to me and wrapped his arms around me. The feeling of relief was unreal. My eyes burned with emotion as I hugged his arms and nestled in closer to him.

"You okay?" he asked, warm breath tickling my ear.

All I could manage was a grunt.

"It's hard to talk to people and tell them how you really feel. What you really think, huh?" he whispered.

"Easy to say things through email or private messages," I murmured, "or when intoxicated."

"You should just say the things you want, Lex. I told you I'd give you anything you needed here." Here. Only here. That was the catch, wasn't it? That was the thing that hurt the most. We had a time limit and the fantasies in my head had been projected into the far future where we were something other than the fun we were having. "Tell me what you want, Lex."

I bit down on my lip and squashed up my face to stop any emotion from peeking out. Even though we were playing this fantasy game together, I could never tell him what I really wanted. His answer would be a resounding no and that would mess up the time we had left. "Just stay with me tonight." My voice shook with stupid, stupid insecurity. Moronic vulnerability. What we all at one time suffer from. f.u.c.k, guys don't get it. All us women want is to be wanted. Cherished. We didn't want to have to ask for it or beg for it.

And we wanted to be enough to deserve it. We want to feel like someone knows we're worth it. We want someone to stay. Pick us out of the rest of them. Be everything for that one person.

He crawled under the covers and slid in behind me, molding the length of his body perfectly around mine. A knot twisted itself deep beneath my breastbone, spreading a disorienting warmth low into my belly.

"I think about sleeping like this every night," his voice was low-his lips pressing against the back of my neck and sliding slowly, reverently over the base of my skull and across the soft skin of my shoulders.

The heat from his mouth kick started a steady throb between my legs. My ribcage felt as if it twisted tighter -I could barely breathe in deep enough.

I tilted my head over my shoulder, the one his lips covered, the one his tongue was darting out gently licking, and looked at him.

His eyes pierced mine and my heart nearly beat out of my chest from the sudden heavy emotion and ache that pulled at my heart.

"You didn't like tonight," he whispered between kisses.

"No, I didn't," I said, tilting my head back around so I didn't have to look into his eyes any longer. His hand reached up and held my face, pausing for a moment then continuing with the a.s.sault of my skin with his tongue.

"All I saw was you. All I wanted was you." The tip of his tongue fluttered down my back, sending chills and heat along my spine. He nipped at my ribcage-just below my shoulder blade, and I gasped from the contact. "I came back here for you."

"Why?" I squeaked out, biting down hard on my lip. His feathery soft kisses traveled to the middle of my back, just above my bottom, and his teeth nipped playfully at my skin. His hands slipped away from my face and trailed down over my back. The way he touched me was full of tenderness-with a hard edge of refined restraint. His body was tense and coiled hard against me, and I knew at any moment I could be taken hard; ravaged, soiled and I wanted it-I wanted it all.

Through full open-mouth kisses against my skin, he whispered, "n.o.body ever made me feel like this, Lexa. n.o.body."

What the h.e.l.l did that mean?

I never got the chance to ask because he slipped deep inside me slow and steady. All night long.

19.

Jameson

"Believing there's only one person in this world for you is like trying to capture lightening in a jar. It ain't real." @Kavon #AllYouGetIsEletrocuted #Shocking I had her in every way possible. I think I've been inside Lexa more than I've been in any one other person. We tried things I never did with anyone else. And I didn't want it to end.

We spent our days on the beach even when it rained, asking each other question after question. She'd ask the most mundane questions in her utmost serious expressions. "Tell me...what's your favorite..." she began, then arched one eyebrow up dramatically and continued, "cartoon?"

"That's a very personal question," I chided. "I honestly can't believe you had the guts to ask me something so intimate."

She snorted and swept her windblown hair into a band and tied it into some sort of s.e.xy, wild knot-bun-style. "Well?"

"Batman Beyond. Yours?"

"Old school, way before my time; Pinky and The Brain."

"That's cla.s.sic. Okay, what's your favorite color?" I asked, reaching over and tucking a loose strand of hair she'd missed behind her ear.

"Purple. You?"

"Blue." And what I really meant was the insane color of her eyes. But saying that aloud wouldn't be good. Not good at all.

"Music?" she asked.

"Cla.s.sic rock," I answered. The line of questioning continued for hours, turning and spinning into days. Every inconsequential detail of our lives-books, movies, vacations, blogs, political views, every little impersonal tidbit of information, we tossed back and forth to each other. I couldn't honestly remember the last time I wanted to know more about a woman, or wanted to tell everything to a woman for that matter.

Each night as the sun sank below the horizon, splashing crisp, fiery colors across the sky, the questions turned more meaningful and not easily answered. I wanted, no, needed to know why a woman as brilliant as Lexa could settle for a boy like Kevin Trager? Why hadn't she really forgiven him? What were her ambitions in life? She couldn't want to just be a fact checker for the rest of her career. What was her childhood like? Her first kiss?

"I noticed the lack of a father figure at your Un-Wedding. What's the story there?" I asked.

"Un-Wedding? That's what you're calling it?" she snorted.

I shrugged. "Just answer the question, brat."

She poked me in the shoulder with a finger and laughed. "My father left when I was eleven. Had an affair with someone he was working with. The cla.s.sic cliche affair. He'll send a Christmas card every year, sometimes a birthday card if he remembers." She smiled brightly, pretending it didn't kill her to be so rejected by her own father. A low roll of tension boiled in my blood. Some men should never get the honor of having children-especially little girls-when all they'd ever end up being is jacked up sperm donors. Beyond that, now I understood her more, now it started to become clearer why she was so self-conscious.

"Doesn't it bother you?" I asked low.

She shook her head. "It's been so long I'm used to it already. He chose my stepmother over my mom and me. There's nothing I could have done or said to stop it. Why let it affect me now?"

"But it does affect you."