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the first time I see the fragile hopes
and fears that she’s
buried under the wiseass remarks and attitude. I feel the pangs of
guilt start to clutch at my chest. Maybe I’m
going too far. Maybe this whole bet was a bad idea. Maybe the only
way this could end is badly.
    For
a moment I lose myself in those eyes, out of my depth, swimming
frantically to find my way back, to remember why I’m
doing this, to remember what’s
at stake, to remember how much I want Lexi back.
    Then
Haley presses her lips against mine again and I realize that it’s
too late. I’m
already in too deep.

 

Chapter 4
     
    Haley
     
    “Why
the hell not?” I say
with a smile when Brando asks me if I wanna go back to his place. If
I was just a little more sober, I’d
probably find a lot of reasons not to. I’d
be able to think up a lame excuse and go running back to my shitty
apartment, quit while I’m
ahead. Maybe I’d be
better at convincing myself I’m
not impossibly attracted to him, and better at keeping the question
of how good he must be in bed out of my mind.
    But
then again, it’s not
like I make that many great decisions when I’m
sober either.
    We
step outside and he hails a taxi within seconds in the effortlessly
powerful way he does everything, as if the whole world is just laid
out for him, and all he has to do is pass through it. “What
about your car?” I
ask.
    “I’ll
grab it tomorrow. Not really into the whole DUI thing,”
he shrugs.
    Sexy
as fuck and responsible to boot? I must be dreaming. He holds open the door for me and I let
myself smile back at him. It’s
infectious, that style of his. The way he seems to have it all
figured out. If you spend enough time around it, you can almost start
believing that life is really that easy. That’s
probably just the alcohol talking, but I’m
in the mood to listen to it.
    “I
can’t believe I
actually had a good time,” I
say, as I get in the cab.
    “You
know what,” Brando
says, looking at me, “I’m
kinda surprised you had a good time myself.”
    “What
do you mean?”
    “Well,”
he shrugs his shoulders, “you’re
a bit of a hard-ass.”
    “I
am not!”
    “Yeah,
you kind of are.”
    “There’s
still time for me to decide to go home, you know,” I
tease, half-serious.
    “See
what I mean?”
    I
laugh and slap his shoulder, then turn to gaze out at the
multi-colored lights of LA speeding by.
    “Anyway,
there’s not much
going on for me at home either,” I
admit.
    “Oh
yeah?”
    I
turn to face him.
    “I’m
crashing with some roommates. My room is more of a closet. PETA would
go crazy if someone kept a dog in there – a
struggling musician, however, is just fine.”
    He
lets out a deep, two-tone laugh. “That
bad, huh?”
    I
nod a little, then laugh a little.
    “Shit.
All I seem to do these days is complain,” I
say. “I’m
getting tired of myself. What about you? I still have no idea who you
are, or where you’re
from.”
    “I
hate life stories,” he
tells me. “I prefer
living in the present.”
    I
turn to him and see that he’s
watching me intently as he says it. Suddenly I feel like a rabbit in
the headlights of his piercing brown eyes. He reaches over and
strokes my hair lightly away from my face, rough fingers tickling my
tense neck slightly. My body – and
it’s my body that
decides, not me – reacts
by pressing my cheek against the back of his hand, nuzzling the tough
skin.
    The
cab seems to rev up to lightspeed when he leans in, the city streets
turning into a blur of stars, the feeling of being pinned back into
the seat by acceleration hitting my gut. I close my eyes and feel
full lips kiss my neck delicately, from the nape to the back of my
ear, a trace of desiring tongue. I tilt my head back, inviting him to
do more of whatever he’s
doing, and melt into the seat. He blows softly against the sweat on
my neck, and the butterflies in my stomach go crazy, his cool breath
giving me goosebumps. I part my lips, breath short, and wait