Chapter Thirty-Four
–Haley–
My back collides with the wall the same moment Fletch’s mouth collides with mine.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think.
All I can do is feel. All of it. Everything. Like Fletch’s arm locked around my waist. His other hand in my hair. The softness of his lips. The thudding of his heart. I barely remember walking in here. Not that I even know where here is. It’s dark. I don’t care. I just want…need…
“I need…” I breathe out the words without meaning to. My legs tighten around his waist, my dress sliding higher up my thighs.
“You need?” he prompts. Fletch moves his mouth to my neck. “Need to stop?”
“God, no.”
He shifts me, pressing more of my weight into the door, freeing one of his hands. Warm fingers brush over my satin panties. I inhale sharply, the scent of fresh flowers filling my nostrils.
“This,” he says.
Not a question. Tonight, I’m with Decisive Fletch. Observant Fletch. The Fletcher Scott who takes context clues to a whole new level.
His mouth is on mine again, my fingers slip into his hair, and I’m so far from nervous, far from self-conscious. I couldn’t find my way back there even if I wanted to.
His hand moves into the little space between us, beneath my dress, and his fingers find their way to my breasts. I pull my lips from his, a sigh escaping. Fletch pauses, his body tensing. Then he takes a few steps sideways, and suddenly I’m perched on the edge of what feels like a shelf.
Lips are on my shoulder now, my collar bone, the straps of my dress slipping down. I dig my heels into Fletch’s back and drag him even closer. Just when I’m about to grab his hand and put it back in the vicinity of my panties, he does it himself, gently moving his fingers over the thin satin material, while his lips are much more rough against mine. The dark world blurs all around me and then sharpens, allowing me to see the angles of his face, the muscles in his arms, gripping me tight.
I’m lost. A million times lost. Hurtling toward something new. And just when I’m a heartbeat away, I realize what’s happening. “Wait…”
But it’s too late. It hits too fast. My fingers press into Fletch’s back, my head falling against his shoulder. The blood pumping in my ears makes it hard to hear him whispering to me. At first it sounds like he’s calling me baby, which doesn’t really seem like a Fletch thing. And I realize baby rhymes with Haley, and then the idea of Fletcher Scott whispering my name while that is happening brings me even further over this cliff.
I’m soaring too high to have any control. I grab Fletch’s face and kiss him. Hard. My fingers knot in his hair, and I don’t even know what I’m saying, but I’m saying something against his lips.
He laughs, light, sexy, his warm breath touching my lips. “Was that English?”
Now I’m waking up from the haze. Almost as quickly as I got there. My face heats up. Maybe he didn’t notice? Just kiss him again. I’m leaning toward him, ready to dive in, when the door opens a crack. Without warning, light fills the space we’re in. I squint and look around—it’s a dressing room, I think.
Fletch has this puzzled look on his face like he’s trying to figure me out. My cheeks burn all over again.
“Anyone in here?” a female voice says. “Counting to five and then I’m entering. With a child.”
I press my hands into Fletch’s chest, shoving him back, and then I hop down, righting my dress. I look at him again and have to look away. God, he must think I’m…
But I don’t know what. Desperate? Loud? Great at moaning?
Jesus Christ. I gotta get out of here.
Fletch says something to whoever is trying to enter, and the door shuts again. But I’ve got it open in two seconds. “I better go back—” I stop because I don’t want to make this worse.
“Haley, wait.”
I give him one last look and then turn beet-red again. “Sorry,” I mutter before stepping out of the door.
A small light is now on backstage, and I almost knock over Fletch’s dance partner, Angel. She’s got a dark-haired crying toddler in her arms. She opens her mouth to say something, but I get embarrassed all over again and walk away, practically at a jog.
Kayla and Leslie are still busy dancing with each other, they might not have noticed me leave. And Tate and Claire haven’t moved spots, either. I head straight for the bar, hoping I don’t get carded again, because Leslie has my purse. I step in line behind a few people. I can’t get my heart to slow down. I close my eyes and draw in a breath, but this just puts me back in that dark room, Fletch lifting my dress, his skillful hands moving over me.
Fuuuuuck.
I shake out my arms and give myself a pep talk—be cool. No big deal. God, I don’t think I’ll be able to smell flowers again without seeing—
“As your designated driver,” Tate says, appearing out of nowhere, “it’s my duty to advise you to drink lots of water with your booze.”
“Water,” I repeat. “Got it.”
He’s standing beside me. Not going anywhere. And then I realize he’s studying me. “You look…have you been—”
“Shut up,” I snap. “Just don’t.”
“Yeah. Okay.” Tate turns to face forward again. “You might want to fix your dress.”
I glance down. My dress is shifted so far over, my right boob is practically hanging out. That was probably what Angel tried to tell me before I took off.
While I’m adjusting my clothing, I sneak a peek at Tate—for Claire’s sake—and his eyes are trained on the head in front of him. Good boy.
I exhale. Fletch is probably back there laughing at me. Or comparing me to all the other much older, much more experienced women he’s been with.