Closer Page 11

  My back hits the wall.

  Then my head.

  And we remember the paint is wet and laugh.

  “I am so sorry, baby.” He laughs, looking at the fresh paint coating his palms. “I’ll fix it when we get back from vacation.”

  Powerless to speak or think or be concerned, I nod.

  “We have to be up in a few hours. We should go to bed.” Teller takes a step back, running a hand through his hair, coating the ends in lovely lavender. He drops his shoulders and sighs when he realizes what he’s done. “And I’m going to take a shower. In my own room.”

  Pressing my lips together, I smile shyly and say, “Goodnight.”

  He gets as far as the door when he stops and looks back. “I’m glad you’re here, Gabriella.”

  “Me, too.”

  After I’ve scrubbed the day from my skin and paint from my hair, I’m cozy and drifting off under new blankets on top of my new mattress in my new home, with the window open. Under the stars and moon, sleep lures me away with thoughts of vibrant eyes that bound me, a past that scares me, and truth that I’ve known all along.

  Heavy eyelids close when the mattress beside me dips with the weight of fate’s body. Lingering tension evaporates in the familiarity of his arms, and I exhale.

  “Tell me what this is,” I whisper.

  “Tell me what this isn’t.”

  The alarm chimes what feels like minutes later, but the sun’s up, bright in my sleep-heavy eyes. Teller’s sprawled across the bed, forcing me to the very edge with nothing but the corner of my blanket to cover myself with.

  I kick him awake. “Get out of my room, Prick.”

  He falls onto the floor and springs up immediately, puffy-eyed with bedhead. He’s shirtless, barefoot in gray boxer briefs, and too hard to look at without blushing.

  “You’re an asshole,” he mumbles, scratching the back of his head. There’s still paint in his hair. “Get your ass up so we can leave.”

  “Shut the door!” I shout as he leaves, tossing my pillow at his back.

  We’re not morning people, but I still roll onto his side and inhale ginger and soap.

  Three hours of sleep before a five-hour drive is bad planning. I don’t bother to get dressed. I brush my teeth, wash my face, and throw some clothes into a bag. With a pair of black Ray-Bans covering the purple beneath my eyes, I wait in the G-Wagen for Teller, hoodie up. He follows soon after with a beanie on his head, dressed in a red and black flannel and a pair of dark denim jeans. He looks amazing with no effort at all, and I hate him for it.

  We back out of the driveway, ignoring the other’s existence, miserable. He turns on the radio, but I shut it off just as fast. I roll down the window for fresh air, but Teller rolls it up. We both scowl.

  Exhaustion’s a horrifying third wheel.

  “Dick,” he mumbles, but gives nothing away in his blank expression when I snap my head in his direction.

  “Did you say something?” I ask, blinking heavily behind my dark lenses.

  A year ago, he would have pulled over and tried to leave me on the side of the road, and I would have backhanded him across the chest. Today, he’s eating his words and driving under the speed limit, and I can appreciate the effort, even behind the haze of my bad mood.

  Tolerance skips the gas station where we’re meeting his sister and drives straight to Coffee Bean, slamming the door without inviting me in or asking me what I want before he gets out. I ignore the stream of text messages incoming from Maby and crew, asking where we are. I consider following Teller into the shop just to throw sugar packets and recycled paper napkins at him, but I don’t get a chance to before he returns with coffee and muffins.

  “Good morning,” I grumble, taking caffeine straight to the vein.

  “Oh, so she does talk,” he responds with a smirk.

  Maybe it’s java or the fact that we are going to Las Vegas, but my outlook on life improves with each sip and mile we put between us and the house. I guzzle my coffee as if it’s the last cup of ice water in hell and squeal as Teller pulls onto the freeway.

  “That’s my girl,” beanie-beautiful says. “We need to work on our mornings, Ella. I don’t think we’ll survive many more like this. I almost regretted asking you to move in.”

  “I can go back to the apartment with Emerson and Nic.”

  “Not a fucking chance in hell, babe.”

  He races down the freeway, and I keep him company long enough to text his sister our whereabouts and ravage my muffin before I surrender to the sandman and snooze. The next time my eyes open, the side of my face is pressed against the glass window, and my neck is stiff.

  “You’re terrible road trip company, Smella.”

  Teller’s removed his beanie and flannel, lounging behind the wheel in a plain white tee. I follow the artwork from his fingers to his elbow, to the curve of his bicep, strong under shirtsleeves.

  “I’m sorry,” I say, blinking forgotten dreams from my eyes. Desert and small mountains in every shade of brown surround us on the two-lane highway. “Do you want me to drive for a while?”

  He shakes his head, taking my hand in his. Teller nods toward the horizon. “We’re already here, baby.”

  Brilliance suddenly appears at the skyline, a mirage in the middle of nowhere. Sunshine reflects from mirrored glass on high-rise hotels, shining like chrome and glitter. As the highway turns into a freeway, billboards line the side of the road, selling sex, steaks, and Cirque du Soleil. Yellow-orange cabs clog already congested lanes, and Teller has to slam on the brakes more than once to avoid hitting another car. But we don’t care, because just being here is an adrenaline rush.

  My driver exits the freeway and heads to Las Vegas Boulevard, where our smiles can’t get higher and our heartbeats dance inside our chests. The smell of exhaust, chlorine, and sticky drinks welcomes us to this devil’s playground, and the blinking lights, seas of people, and the allure of money mesmerize us.

  The Skylofts at the MGM offers a private entrance and in-room check in. Teller pulls the G-Wagen to the concierge. Everyone else arrives in a second car minutes later.

  “Welcome to the top of the world, Dr. Reddy.” Our doorman relieves us of our keys and directs us toward the Skylobby with a polite smile. “Your rooms are ready. I’ll be up with your bags shortly.”

  Our ambassador, Catrina, a slender thirty-something with a tight bun and practiced grin, greets us at the door. “I’m at your service day and night. Please don’t hesitate to ask if you’re in need of anything.”

  Teller drapes his arm over my shoulders and tucks me into his side, thanking the woman and leading us toward the elevators. Four pairs of feet follow closely behind us; our excitement barely contained and slipping in each small laugh and hurried step.

  “So, I got two rooms. I figured you can stay with us, Teller, and Ella can stay with Em and Nic. Each loft has two bedrooms, and they’re obviously large enough that privacy won’t be an issue,” Maby says, standing with her back to us in front of the gold-plated elevator doors.

  “That’s nice since you and Husher will be staying with Em and Nic. Ella and I will take the second loft. Feel free to give us the smaller of the two,” the older Reddy child says sarcastically. “I’m not sharing a room with my fucking sister, Maby.”

  Small but mighty turns to face her brother, tight-lipped and red in the cheeks. “Why would you and Ella need your own room?”

  “Teller, I don’t mind—” I stop midsentence as I watch Teller’s jaw tighten and the muscles in his arms flex. I share a cautious look with Emerson, knowing Teller’s temper could send this elevator crashing down.

  “Can we not start the week out like this, please?” Nicolette interrupts the family feud, tossing her sandy blonde hair over her shoulder. “It’s not a big deal. Give them the damn room, Maby.”

  “I swear to God, Teller, if you start your shit—” The elevator doors open to the very top floor of the hotel, ending Maby’s threat.

  Cool, sw
eet-scented air casts the best kind of spell over us, calming tension from the short ride up and washing away the last few weeks like they never happened. I hold Teller’s hand, lacing our fingers together, allowing him to guide me toward our loft. I’m light on my feet and in my heart.

  “I reserved a cabana. Meet us at the pool in thirty minutes,” Maby calls out.

  “Ready to see our room?” he ignores her and asks, looking back at me.

  I follow him inside, and my jaw drops. “Holy shit, Tell. This is amazing!”

  On top of dark wood floors, white furniture and gold fixtures set off the huge space. Fresh flowers sit inside the vases, and the full kitchen is stocked, complete with a bar. A wall-sized door opens to a private pool and deck, facing the Las Vegas strip, and I can’t wait to see what this place looks like lit up tonight.

  In the bedroom, a button tufted and quilted leather white lacquer headboard pairs with a custom stiletto light fixture to highlight the custom mahogany sleigh bed. Blackout drapes of raw linen silk with metallic sheers cover another huge window. The connecting bathroom offers an infinity tub and steam shower bigger than the apartment I shared with Emerson.

  “Can we stay here forever?” I ask, taking in the beauty of our hotel room.

  Stepping out of my shoes, I jump onto the king-sized bed and disappear amongst the soft blankets, sinking into goose feathers and Egyptian cotton. A small-town girl raised on a single parent’s income, this luxury is something I’ve only experienced after meeting Teller Reddy. It’s a gift too wonderful to deny.

  “Go to the pool without me. I’m not moving from this spot until we leave.” I close my eyes, tossing my arms above my head.

  “What’s on your mind, Ella?” Teller’s soothing voice brings a smile to my lips and sends a chill down my spine.

  “Nothing, absolutely nothing,” I say softly.

  He positions himself over me, large and hard and warm, muscular arms perch on each side of my head. My eyes open, wondering for a moment if this is wrong … if this is taking it too far, but I relax. It’s only us, and there’s absolutely nothing holding us back. I attempt to circle my arms around the back of his neck, but he holds them against the mattress.

  “Keep them here.” Heavy lids blink over dark green eyes, and he licks his lips. “Don’t move.”

  He slowly lowers himself down my body, and I close my eyes and inhale a sharp breath as his hands slide along my sides and slip under my hoodie. Teller drags his fingertips down my rib cage, tickling and teasing me to the point of madness. Curving my back, I moan and half-laugh, coming undone and softening under his touch.

  He lifts my sweater over my head, leaving me in a black lace bra; my chest rises and falls with quick breaths. Teller kisses my stomach, pressing a trail of tenderness from my belly button to my bra-covered breasts.

  “Is this okay?” Teller asks, nervous and bold all at once.

  “Yes,” I whisper to my best friend of seven years, knowing there’s no going back from this.

  This will change everything.

  This can’t be undone.

  I lift my hips and he draws my pants over them, down my thighs, and off my feet. Covered in lace that matches my bra, I’m exposed in ways I’ve never been before, under a stare so penetrating I already feel fucked. This is skin he’s touched and kissed and fought for; it’s the emotion that’s new and terrifying.

  The willingness.

  The openness.

  The honesty.

  Teller positions himself between my legs, firm amongst my soft thighs, and the reality of what’s happening yanks me completely under. I drown in a river of misconnections and avoidance, a history so vicious we shouldn’t be here. But we are, because we’re nothing if not persistent, and to hell with the consequences.

  Releasing bedsheets from my grip, I tug his cotton T-shirt until the neck stretches and thread snaps. I dig my fingernails into his sides, arching again when our bare stomachs touch. The shirt comes over his head and is tossed to the side before he lowers himself completely on top of me, and we both gasp and sigh.

  It’s been so long. It’s been so, so, so long.

  “You’re beautiful,” he says between soft lips I’ve never kissed.

  But this can be it.

  This will be it.

  I hook my legs around the small of his back, trapping him within me. Trapping him, because that’s what we do. He open-mouth kisses the fullness of my breasts, along my collarbone, and right under my chin. His hair is thick between my fingers, firm at the roots despite how hard I pull. Teller strokes against my center, and I cry out, frustrated with the clothes keeping us separate.

  Pushing my hips into his, I pant his name, combusting from the inside. “Teller, please. Teller, now.”

  Lowering the straps of my bra, he moves my hands out of the way and says, “Let me do it.”

  Not bothering with the clasp, greedy hands lower B-sized cups, exposing my tits. My nipples harden and then soften under his tongue, hot and wet and never enough. I use my feet to push his pants down to his knees, unashamed and seeking when his manhood rests against my sex.

  “Ella, look at me,” Teller demands, clasping my chin in his grip. “This changes everything. You understand that, right?”

  “Kiss me,” I whisper in response.

  “Hey, motherfuckers.” A heavy pounding echoes through the loft. The door rattles on its hinges. Emerson’s voice booms. “Your bags are out here. I want you guys sleeping in separate bedrooms.”

  The moment shatters with our privacy, and I hide my face behind my hands. “You have got to be kidding me.”

  Teller drops his forehead to my shoulder, inhaling and exhaling at an accelerated rate.

  “We didn’t come all this way so you could hide in your room. Don’t make me break down the door, Ella.”

  The Nevada sun’s relentless, and the pool brings out the most beautiful people in the city. Drinks flow freely, the music’s loud, and my spot under the cabana gives me a perfect view of the bodies filling the swimming pool to capacity. Jersey Shore douchebags with spiked hair and greased muscles fist pump and hump the air in their attempt at dancing, and ladies in nothing more than strings trot around in high heels and gold rings, because they’re not here to get wet from the water.

  At least they’re keeping it real, which is more than I can say for myself. I haven’t looked Teller in the eyes since my brother interrupted what could have easily been a huge mistake. We used to mess around all the time, never under the clothes, never sex, but close enough. That ended with Joe.

  How could I let it start again so soon after he’s died and live with myself?

  Because I am living with it. I can’t stop thinking about Teller’s mouth…

  “How’s it goin’ in here?” Our three-pound cocktail waitress, Amanda, saunters in, swaying bony hips and accentuating ungodly sized tits. She’s come by a few times with eyes for my man, and I’ve let it slide off my back until now.

  Because now I’ve had three gin and tonics.

  “We’re good. Thanks,” I say dismissively, but she doesn’t take a hint.

  “Are you brother and sister?” she asks, cutting a lime for Teller’s beer.

  He laughs, but I answer, “No, we’re not. Not even close.”

  “Oh.” Amanda giggles. “It’s just that you look alike.”

  “We don’t look anything alike. Maybe you need your eyes checked.” I consider tossing my empty glass at her, but we just arrived, and I don’t want to go to jail. “That’s enough lime. Feel free to leave.”

  “Come here, baby.” Teller pats his lap after dumb as rocks leaves with her tail between her legs.

  Unsteady on my feet, I walk across the cabana and fall against his chest, resting the back of my head against his shoulder. Sweat pools between our bodies, chilled by misters spraying overhead. He holds his glass to my lips for me to drink, and I finish the whole glass in one shot.

  “Were you jealous of that girl?”

 
; “What girl?” I ask, rolling my eyes. “Are you trying to get me drunk?”

  “Do I need to try?”

  Teller rubs lazily across my stomach, my sides, and my thighs, and kisses my throat, my shoulder, and the top of my hand. I melt to nothingness and surrender to the control he has over my body from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, etched on the surface of my bones. I am his.

  “We’re not going to fuck this up, Ella,” sincerity whispers right above my ear, shooting chills down my arms. “I won’t let you go this time.”

  Instead of losing ourselves to the deep stuff, knowing there’s always a chance Teller and I can and will screw this up again, I turn in his arms and straddle his legs. “Can we not talk about that right now? Let’s have fun while we’re here. Do you want to dance?”

  “Down there.” Teller’s eyes look over my shoulder toward the DJ and the dance floor, where the rest of our party has been for the last hour.

  “No, right here is fine.” I pull him up by the waist of his board shorts and lead him from the chair to the couch. Imported beer bubbles and spills over his fingers, dripping onto the concrete under our feet.

  “What are you up to, Ella?” he asks, half-nervous, half-curious, topped with a crooked grin that makes me weak in the knees.

  “Nothing.” I let go of paper-thin guilt and surrender to sensation.

  “You’re a liar.”

  Large hands settle onto my hips, and he tries to lower me onto his lap again. I close my eyes in concentration, calming nerves with an inner pep talk.

  He wants me. He always has. I don’t have to be embarrassed with him.

  Teller Reddy is my person.

  “Open your mouth.” I grab the vodka bottle from the small table at the side of the couch, dripping ice-cold condensation onto his chest as I tip it over. Thick liquor swishes in the clear bottle, and I wink as Grey Goose pours down his throat. A small drip streams down his chin, and I lick it off.