Skila

Someone is knocking on my front door. I cover my head with my pillow and try to shut out the incessant banging. Go the fuck away. Tap, tap, tap. I swear on all that’s holy that if someone isn’t dying, they're about to be. I've got two more hours that I can sleep before I've got to get up and get ready for my walk of shame into the office. I wasn’t going to go in at all today, but I didn’t see any point in delaying the inevitable any longer. I plan to march in Ames’s office and let him know the article was a bust. I'm already prepared for his disappointed look and the sad news that he can’t keep me.

Snatching the door open, I don’t know who I’m expecting, but it isn’t Kiptyn, standing there with a Venti Starbucks held out in front of him like he’s scared for his life before I've had my first sip. I take it from his hand, greedy for the hot ecstasy. He chuckles low, and all the parts of my body that the caffeine has missed awaken instantly. I look over the top of the cup at him. He looks like hell. His hair is a mess, and if I’m not mistaken, he’s still in the jeans from last night.

Dark circles line his eyes. I wonder what he’d been out doing all night. It’s obvious he hasn’t slept all night. I remember the state I left him in last night, with his cock as hard as a rock, poised and ready to take me. White-hot rage fills me. It doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out exactly what he did last night. Who? Now that is the question. No doubt, any one of the hundreds of women in LA that would be more than happy to finish what I’d started. Stepping back into the warm confines of my apartment, I slam the door right in his face.

I'll be damned if he leaps straight from some other bitch’s bed and comes knocking on my door. Hell no. I don’t care if he did bring me Starbucks.

“Skila, open the door.”

Shit, why didn’t he take a hint and leave? I don’t want to talk to him. I don’t want to look at the evidence of where he went when I left. It’s so very obvious, and I feel that knife twist deep in my heart.

“Fuck, Sky, let me in. I haven’t slept a wink.”

I snatch the door back open, ready to lay into him, but the pitiful sight in front of me stops me in my tracks. I swallow my words, snapping my jaw shut tight, and look at the man standing in front of me. The man I’m so desperately in love with. He doesn’t look like a man who had a good night last night. He looks like shit. Well, as shitty as Kiptyn Price can look.

“What do you want, Kip?” I ask, hope building in my chest. Please let him want me. Please don’t let this be some cosmic joke at my expense.

“The interview?” he asks, and I can't help but laugh. Dry, humorless, the same laugh he gave me two days ago when I asked the same question. I thought it was funny then, but I don’t now.

“Yeah, the interview. Are you still willing to do it?” I ask.

“Of course. We shook on it. Remember?”

That damn hand shake. How could I forget? Well, if nothing else good comes out of this, at least I'll be able to keep my job. Not what I was hoping for when I asked him, but he wants to do it, and it’s still better than nothing.

“Come in.”

I turn and walk to my room and grab a small recorder, pen and paper. I had already made a list of questions I wanted to ask him, and I grab that too. I’ll just run down the list as quickly as possible and then see him on his way. I can't bear to spend any more time with him than that. My heart can't take it.

Already, I’m fighting every single instinct inside of me that wants to reach out and wrap my arms around him. I want to ask how he’s feeling. I want to tell him how sorry I am for his loss and kiss away the pain that I know simmers just below the surface, but I can't.

When I open my bedroom door to walk out, he’s standing right there. His sad eyes are cast down, but when I step out, he looks up. I see a thought cross his mind, and his head shakes slightly before he gives in and pulls me against his chest. Every muscle in my body relaxes in his embrace. This is where I want to be, in his arms forever, but it's not possible. I tense, and the defeated sigh that escapes his lips kills a little more of me.

“Just a second, please, Sky. Let me hold you for just a second, baby.”

I can't deny the torment I feel reflected in his voice. Leaning my head against his chest, I let him hold me. I tell myself I deserve this moment. It's probably the last time I'll ever be held by him, and I plan to soak in every single second of this. It doesn’t last long, and then he leads me over to the couch, where we sit next to each other.

I’m trying my best to not burst into tears as I run down the list of questions. Thank God I had the foresight to record the conversation. Otherwise, I'd never be able to remember his answers and my notes wouldn’t be any help. Chicken scratch looks better than this shit. I’m struggling to think of more questions, anything to keep him here for just a few more minutes. I’m not stupid. I know the minute we are finished, he’ll walk through the door and out of my life forever.

“Are you thirsty?” I ask, standing and walking into the kitchen. He follows closely behind me. My handbag is sitting on the counter next to my heels from last night. I wonder for a minute how they got there, but then I remember. I must have left them in his car, and he brought them up when he came this morning.

“Sure. Water is fine.”

I grab two bottles from the fridge and pass one to him. He takes it from me, running his fingers along my hand as he does. Chills travel up my arm, making me shiver. I don’t pull away. He sets his water on the counter next to my purse and tugs on my hand. I go willingly, my heart leading the way. He’s half-sitting, half-leaning on the barstool, legs spread wide. Never letting go of my right hand, he uses his other to softly run his fingers down the side of my face.

My eyes close and I stand there, unable to move, to breathe. Warm, soft lips touch mine, tentatively at first. I sigh at the pure pleasure his mouth against mine releases in me. He increases the pressure, and I part my lips, giving him open access. He releases my hand and lets it travel around to the back of his neck. I tug gently on the hair at the base of his neck, and he growls low in his throat. I’ve never heard anything so sexy in all my life.

Our kisses become heated, and in a matter of seconds, I’m tugging his shirt over his head and tossing it on the floor by my feet. He lifts me effortlessly and carries me straight to my bedroom. I don’t care that this is the worst thing I could be doing right now. The logical part of my mind knows he’s just hurting and needs an out for the pain, but the part of me that feels instead of thinks says, Who fucking cares?

He wants me.

Me.

I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him down on top of me. I refuse to let him go this time.