Page 93 of Close Your Eyes and Count to 10

“It’s Chloe, silly,” she said. “Man, you’re really drunk.”

Oh, shit. He and Chloe had met in Aspen, hooked up again in Cabo before he met Angeline.There had been lots of texts and voicemails, some of them angry. Now here she was in Iceland, where the cold was so bitter it actually hurt, snaking its way under Maverick’s Patagonia puffer, biting at the skin on his face. And that vodka, cool and smooth, had gone down a little too easy.

“Yeah,” he said. “The vodka here. Damn.”

She laughed; it was sweet, understanding. “It’s no joke.”

She came up beside him, and he dropped an arm too heavily around her shoulders, nearly toppling them both. “Easy there, tiger,” she said with a laugh. She was strong, held his weight. “Let’s get you back to your room. Your hotel is right up there. Got your key?”

He fished it out of his pocket and handed it to her. The street, which had been packed with tourists all day, was deserted, shops and restaurants shuttered. At the entrance to the Tower Suites where he was staying on the top floor, the doorman held the door and gave him a knowing look. That old song—who sang it?—about how you can check out when you want, but you have to stay forever, played in his head, eerie and distant.

Then they were in the elevator, making out, the cold forgotten in the warmth of the indoors, the heat of her mouth on his, her hand reaching between his legs. When he closed his eyes, he imagined it was Angeline. And part of him thought he should stop himself, because he knew he had to be a better man to be worthy of the woman he loved. But this girl, the one right in front of him, was so good, and he was so weak against the wave of his own desires.

They stumbled giggling up the hall, crashed together into the door to his suite. She swiped his key card, and they fell inside. He lifted her, and she wrapped her legs around him. He carried her to the bed and laid her down. They shed their heavy coats, their clothes. He lay on the bed beside her, the room spinning. He did not want to pass out, not yet.

“I’ve missed you,” she said, straddling him. “So much.”

Wow, she was hot—abs ripped, tits high and tight, hips full, that honey hair cascading over her shoulders, mouth glistening. He remembered their nights together then—Aspen, Cabo. Also, all the texts. The phone calls and angry voicemails. It was a swirl of pleasant and unpleasant. Hot sex, then scathing reproach.

Probably not a good idea to sleep with her again. But then he was inside her and the sight of her on top of him, breasts bouncing, head back in pleasure…ah, it was good, very, very good. And Angeline had been super nasty with him, hung up on him, hadn’t answered when he called her back.

“Mav,” Chloe breathed, pressing herself deeper, deeper. “I need you so bad.”

That’s how he remembered his night with Chloe. Anyway, that’s thelast thinghe remembered before a black curtain fell. When he woke up again, she was sitting in the chair over by the window, crying. The city lights behind her glittered, and she was curled up into a protective position, legs pulled into her chest, arms wrapped around her legs. There was a little blood on her lip; it was swelling and faintly purple.

“What? What is it?” he asked, sitting up. The room was spinning horribly. Why was she crying? “Did you fall?”

She shook her head, drew in some shuddering breaths. “You. You hit me.”

“No, no,” he said. He looked at his own hands, unmarked, as if they didn’t belong to him. He’d never hit a woman; he had too much respect for his mother. Would never.

“I’m sorry,” he said. It must have been accident, him flailing in his sleep. “I’m so drunk. I don’t remember. Should we call for some ice?”

She got up, backing away as if she was afraid to turn away from him. She was still nude, her body toned and tan. She gathered up her clothes, keeping her eyes on him.

“I’m leaving,” she said.

“Wait,” he said and struggled to get up. And the speed of his movement was too much. He ran for the toilet, emptied out the contents of his stomach in a revolting rush of chemical scarlet. Red Bull and vodka. Never again. He knew he wasn’t his best self when he drank like this.

When he managed to crawl back to the bedroom, Chloe was gone.

He remembered a blissful feeling of relief.

When he woke up in the morning to Tavo pounding on his door, he wasn’t sure whether he’d dreamed it or not. A glance at his phone revealed two calls from Angeline. His head was pounding. He made it to the door, let Tavo in.

“What happened to you? Man, you look like ass.”

“You guys bailed on me.”

“Bro code,” said Tavo. “If you can get laid, do it. Your bro will find his way home.”

“Fair,” admitted Maverick.

“You didn’t hook up?” There was something about the way he asked it. A little surprised, maybe disappointed? Mav wasn’t stupid. He’d seen the way Tavo looked at Angeline, like a kind of lovesick kid. Tavo wouldloveit if Angeline dumped Maverick; he’d move right in.

“Nah,” Mav said. “I flirted. But, you know, I’m all about Angeline. Even if she currently wants to kill me.”

Tavo nodded, his eyes drifting to the mess of Maverick’s bed. “Must be serious.”

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