Unwritten
Page 29
“Zoey, I need to talk to you.” I grab her hand, interrupting whatever cozy rendezvous Dash had planned.
“I’m busy.” Zoey ignores me, but I don’t let go.
“Come on, Zoey, now.”
“Now?” she echoes. Her face changes. She gives me a glare. “I’m sorry,” she tells Dash sweetly. “I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time,” he grins, giving me a wink. “And remember, you owe me that twenty.”
Dash is a friend, one of my closest, but right now it takes everything I have not to punch him in that smug mouth.
I turn on my heel instead, pulling her through the crowd. “Slow down,” Zoey says, trying to keep up, but I’m seeing red right now.
His hands on her body. Their chests pressed against each other. His lips grazing her cheek.
My blood runs like fire, as I try to get us clear of the crowd. Why does it make me so goddamn furious to think of them together?
She’s not mine. I have no claim to her.
But you want her.
“Blake!” Zoey finally yanks free, coming to a stop. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I gulp for air. We’re in the back hallway of the club, narrow and dim. Someone pushes past us, and then Zoey is standing close—too close—her arms folded angrily across her chest, the black silk rising and falling with every angry breath.
God, she looks gorgeous when she’s mad.
“You want to tell me what that was about?” she demands, her eyes flashing. “I was in the middle of something.”
“I saw. Hell, the whole club saw,” I growl. “But you don’t know what you’re doing. You can’t fool around with Dash like that.”
“Why not?” Zoey shoots back. “There’s nothing stopping me. I’m single, he’s single. And you’ve made it clear…” She stops.
“I’ve made it clear what?” I demand, taking a step closer. She moves away, until she’s backed against the wall.
“That you aren’t interested.” Zoey’s voice drops to a whisper. She glances away, her cheeks flushing pink.
Is that what she thinks?
I stare in disbelief. Doesn’t she realize the effect she has on me, how hard I’ve been fighting to stay away? Every night, knowing that her number is on my speed-dial, that her room is just a short walk down the beach?
Falling asleep to the memory of her lips against me, waking up to dreams of her body, writhing in pleasure beneath mine.
The club seems to disappear, everything fading except the two of us, right here. The charge pulses between us, dangerously hot.
I should walk away right now, let her believe I could care less. And if I was a smarter man, maybe I would. Instead, I ask slowly, “Is that really what you think?”
Zoey looks back at me, and the rejection in her eyes cuts clean through my chest. “You’ve blown me off twice now,” she says miserably. “I get it, it’s fine. Whatever.”
She turns away, trying to leave, but I move to block her path.
“Don’t go.”
She whirls back. “What do you want?” she cries, “Come on, Blake, tell me, because I’ve basically been throwing myself at you for weeks now, and you act totally oblivious. And now the minute I get close to another guy, you’re suddenly acting like you own me.” She shoves at my chest, furious. “What the hell is your problem?”
“You!” I yell, “You’re my problem!”
Zoey blinks, startled, but it’s too late. All my frustration boils over, out of control.
“I’ve been trying to stay away, but you’re everywhere!” I yell. “Do you know what you’re doing to me? On set, at the house with Tegan, here with Dash—I can’t get away.”
“He’s not—” she tries to interrupt me, but I’m past listening.
“And all I do is think about kissing you, holding you,” I confess. “I’ll be rehearsing for a scene, and I see you across the room and suddenly I’m right back there on New Year’s, going crazy with wanting you. Dammit, Zoey, this has to stop!”
Her eyes flash, angry. “So make it stop,” she demands. “Stop fighting it, I know you feel this too, so why won’t you just quit pretending and make it real?”
Real.
The word crashes through me. That’s what she wants, that’s what I can’t give her. I don’t even know the meaning of the word. Everything I do is for show: I spent my life playing pretend, and it doesn’t end just because the cameras stop rolling. But now Zoey’s screwing with the system, making me want something other than just the surface bullshit. I want to know her, know every little thing that makes her laugh and smile and howl with rage.
I want to know her body from the inside out, feel her clench around me as I thrust deep inside.
I want to hold her as the tremors fade, and whisper my deepest secrets in the dark.
I want more.
My fight drains out of me, leaving nothing but self-loathing. I back away. “This can’t happen, you and me. I can’t give you what you need.”
“You don’t know what I need!” Zoey suddenly cries. “You keep saying, this can’t happen, but then it does. There’s something between us, Blake, and it’s not going anywhere. And neither am I. So what are you going to do about it?”
I clench my fists. She’s pushing me to the brink here, and I want her so badly, I don’t know how long I can hold back.
“I’m busy.” Zoey ignores me, but I don’t let go.
“Come on, Zoey, now.”
“Now?” she echoes. Her face changes. She gives me a glare. “I’m sorry,” she tells Dash sweetly. “I’ll be right back.”
“Take your time,” he grins, giving me a wink. “And remember, you owe me that twenty.”
Dash is a friend, one of my closest, but right now it takes everything I have not to punch him in that smug mouth.
I turn on my heel instead, pulling her through the crowd. “Slow down,” Zoey says, trying to keep up, but I’m seeing red right now.
His hands on her body. Their chests pressed against each other. His lips grazing her cheek.
My blood runs like fire, as I try to get us clear of the crowd. Why does it make me so goddamn furious to think of them together?
She’s not mine. I have no claim to her.
But you want her.
“Blake!” Zoey finally yanks free, coming to a stop. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
I gulp for air. We’re in the back hallway of the club, narrow and dim. Someone pushes past us, and then Zoey is standing close—too close—her arms folded angrily across her chest, the black silk rising and falling with every angry breath.
God, she looks gorgeous when she’s mad.
“You want to tell me what that was about?” she demands, her eyes flashing. “I was in the middle of something.”
“I saw. Hell, the whole club saw,” I growl. “But you don’t know what you’re doing. You can’t fool around with Dash like that.”
“Why not?” Zoey shoots back. “There’s nothing stopping me. I’m single, he’s single. And you’ve made it clear…” She stops.
“I’ve made it clear what?” I demand, taking a step closer. She moves away, until she’s backed against the wall.
“That you aren’t interested.” Zoey’s voice drops to a whisper. She glances away, her cheeks flushing pink.
Is that what she thinks?
I stare in disbelief. Doesn’t she realize the effect she has on me, how hard I’ve been fighting to stay away? Every night, knowing that her number is on my speed-dial, that her room is just a short walk down the beach?
Falling asleep to the memory of her lips against me, waking up to dreams of her body, writhing in pleasure beneath mine.
The club seems to disappear, everything fading except the two of us, right here. The charge pulses between us, dangerously hot.
I should walk away right now, let her believe I could care less. And if I was a smarter man, maybe I would. Instead, I ask slowly, “Is that really what you think?”
Zoey looks back at me, and the rejection in her eyes cuts clean through my chest. “You’ve blown me off twice now,” she says miserably. “I get it, it’s fine. Whatever.”
She turns away, trying to leave, but I move to block her path.
“Don’t go.”
She whirls back. “What do you want?” she cries, “Come on, Blake, tell me, because I’ve basically been throwing myself at you for weeks now, and you act totally oblivious. And now the minute I get close to another guy, you’re suddenly acting like you own me.” She shoves at my chest, furious. “What the hell is your problem?”
“You!” I yell, “You’re my problem!”
Zoey blinks, startled, but it’s too late. All my frustration boils over, out of control.
“I’ve been trying to stay away, but you’re everywhere!” I yell. “Do you know what you’re doing to me? On set, at the house with Tegan, here with Dash—I can’t get away.”
“He’s not—” she tries to interrupt me, but I’m past listening.
“And all I do is think about kissing you, holding you,” I confess. “I’ll be rehearsing for a scene, and I see you across the room and suddenly I’m right back there on New Year’s, going crazy with wanting you. Dammit, Zoey, this has to stop!”
Her eyes flash, angry. “So make it stop,” she demands. “Stop fighting it, I know you feel this too, so why won’t you just quit pretending and make it real?”
Real.
The word crashes through me. That’s what she wants, that’s what I can’t give her. I don’t even know the meaning of the word. Everything I do is for show: I spent my life playing pretend, and it doesn’t end just because the cameras stop rolling. But now Zoey’s screwing with the system, making me want something other than just the surface bullshit. I want to know her, know every little thing that makes her laugh and smile and howl with rage.
I want to know her body from the inside out, feel her clench around me as I thrust deep inside.
I want to hold her as the tremors fade, and whisper my deepest secrets in the dark.
I want more.
My fight drains out of me, leaving nothing but self-loathing. I back away. “This can’t happen, you and me. I can’t give you what you need.”
“You don’t know what I need!” Zoey suddenly cries. “You keep saying, this can’t happen, but then it does. There’s something between us, Blake, and it’s not going anywhere. And neither am I. So what are you going to do about it?”
I clench my fists. She’s pushing me to the brink here, and I want her so badly, I don’t know how long I can hold back.
