#for context: blond girl asked her to a love hotel to “study”

[captainhotstop]

Ooo got dangerously gay there for a second

[younghosfavewhore]

mine forever . 1:27am

part 1 [a]   /  part 2 [s]

wc; 1.5k

plot; nctjohnny!boyfriend x femreader!girlfriend

the members of nct have been stirred up in dating rumors and scandals for the past month. when pictures of johnny meeting with a childhood friend begin to float around, you must remind johhny that he’s yours. forever.

prompts; [a]6 “She was nothing to you, was she? Then prove it.”  [a]20 “People talk- people will always talk...” 

warnings; (mentions of TAEYONG’s injury) fluff?!, jealous reader, angsty!!!

My eyes skim over the articles. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. The headlines seemed to drag on forever, “Johnny Suh; NCT’s 5th member involved in Dating Scandal”. Another read, “NCT Johnny Caught with Foreigner; Photos Below” 

photos?

I couldn’t resist clicking the link that my cursor hovered over. The full article was now displayed onto my screen. The pictures loaded for a second, then they were displayed before me. And there it was, Johnny Suh -my Johnny Suh- at a cafe with a blonde-haired foreigner. I continued scrolling, which was probably a mistake, but I was in shock. Certainly they were doctored by some vengeful sasaeng. Another link pops onto my screen, “NCT Johnny Suh has Foreign Girlfriend? VIDEO FOOTAGE”

you’re fucking kidding me. 

A notification sound blares from my phone, the sixth one in the past half hour. I haven’t even picked up my phone, I know what the notifications are. There was no doubt in my mind that it was Johnny texting me a sad excuse for the video that’s now playing on a loop on my screen. I recognized her. Her blonde hair and small frame. It was his high school sweetheart; Madison. In the video -which was only about 8 seconds long- you could see him embrace her. They stood at the cafe table, drinks in hand, about to depart. Johnny’s long arms then spread out, welcoming her into a hug. He initiated it. Even in front of all these people, all these cameras. He hugged her. He knew exactly what he was doing. Another notification sound blared through my phone speaker. Why did this make me feel so threatened? So weak? I pick up my phone <6 unread texts from johnny❤> I open the messages, taking a deep breath as I do so.

johnny❤: baby?

    y/n? text me when you get this.

    ik you see my texts

    i know you’re upset please just text me

    i can explain, i promise…

    im omw to the hotel, we’ll talk when i get there, ok?

My eyes widen at the last text. Why was he on his way here? What made him think that I wanted to see him?

me: dont bother, i dont think i want to see you rn

I send the text with tears welling in my eyes. I was just beginning to fully wrap my head around the events that unfolded before me.

*ding* <1 new text from johnny❤>

johnny❤: please, y/n

  you know me better than anyone, don’t believe these rumors, y/n

Me: i saw the pictures johnny… and the video. what excuse could you have?

My head began to spin, no way did he think I was going to fall for his pity story.

johnny❤: this is why we’ll talk in person

  i have a lot of explaining to do, i know. just listen to me please

  i’m only 2 minutes away, ill explain everything i promise

Take a deep breath. I think to myself, convincing myself that maybe he would have a good excuse. After all, it's Johnny. Would he ever do anything to hurt me? I struggled to gain composure as I heard a familiar knock on the door. The lock clicked and the door crept open. I stood in the living room of the homey suite. 

“y/n..” Johnny’s voice breaks the silence. He peeks from behind the door.

My eyes meet his and I feel faint. What’s going to happen? I ask myself, not knowing the right answer as hundreds of thoughts fill my head.

He continues inside, closing the door softly behind him. He takes slow strides in my direction, and that’s when the tears well in my eyes. Why? I’m not sure, I’ve always been one to get overwhelmed easily, but this was new. His hand reaches out to take mine and I flinch away. The images of him taking another girl into his arms flashing in my head. 

“Why her? How--” My voice breaks and the tears finally fall from my eyes.

“It’s not at all what you think it is, baby.” His voice was soft and genuine. Almost desperate. 

“Then what is it? Huh?” My voice changed from calm to angry. I took a deep breath in an attempt to try to calm myself back down and I back farther away from him. “I... I was patient. I knew this would happen. I was understanding of the rumors, the lies. But this? These pictures? These videos?” I began to lose my cool. “How could you possibly explain this?” Anger was tainting my words, what was I saying? “If you want to be with her then just say that.” I spit the words out.

Johnny looks taken aback, rightfully so. “It’s not like that.”

“Then what is it, Johnny?!” I shouted, menacingly. “It isn’t adding up.” I plead as my voice cracks. “Please, just fucking explain yourself.”

He walks towards me again, I don’t have the energy to fight him anymore. He takes my hand and places a light kiss on it.

“I know you’re confused. I know you’re angry.” He doesn’t take his eyes off of mine. “People talk. In this industry, people talk so fucking much.” His tone was so gentle; he was hurt but still so gentle with me. “People will always talk, okay, y/n?”

I nod, tears streaming down my face at this point. 

“I’m in the wrong here. You saw the videos, I know, but there’s more to it than that.” He sits me down next to him on the couch.

“I just don’t understand.” My voice trembles. “With the other members, Doyoung, Mark, it was just gossip, easily dismissed. But…” My voice trails off.

“I know.” He sighs and pulls me close to him. “Those pictures were taken completely out of context.” where is he going with this? “Yes, it was Madison. And I’m sorry for meeting up with her without telling you, especially with everything that’s been going on…” He traced his fingers in small circles along my back, something he often did when he needed to calm me down. He sighs and pulls me closer to him, we sit in silence for a bit before he continues. “As you know, Taeyong… His injury?”

I nod my head against his chest. “I know…” I whisper in response. what does that have to do with anything?

“Well… Madison, when I met with her at the cafe,” He paused, awaiting a reaction but I didn’t give one. I wanted to hear him out. He continues, “She moved here a few months ago. It has nothing to do with me, or NCT as a whole.” He disclaims. “She’s studying abroad here for a journalist internship. She’s-”

“Get to the point,” I whisper, barely being able to hear him ramble on about her.

He places a kiss on the top of my head. “Everyone knew about Yong’s injury; the managers, the staff, even the stage crew noticed it.” I wince a bit at the thought of Taeyong having to deal with this kind of injury. “You were busy with studies and I didn’t want you worrying about me or the boys. I vented to Madison about it. She explained that she had ties to news sources that could have exposed SM for overworking him. So…” He sighs, “She threatened SM. Unless they gave us all a break or hiatus, she threatened to report it to national broadcasting stations.”

“Wait-” I interrupt him, the puzzle pieces finally fitting together in my head. 

“Let me finish.” He cuts me off in return. “I wanted to treat her to coffee while she was still in town, as a thank you. Nothing more. Because of her, me and the boys were able to finally get a break and Taeyong is finally getting rest.” He explains.

im such a fucking idiot, i think to myself.

I was speechless, how could I have been this stupid. I finally built up the courage to look up at him; his eyes scanning my face for a reaction. 

“I’m sorry.” It’s all I can mutter out in my state of embarrassment. “I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s ok. I promised to be transparent about this stuff and instead I hid it from you. I’m in the wrong too. I’m sorry.” He replies, softly. His hands trailed up and down my back.

I look into his eyes again, begging for forgiveness without saying a single word. He got the hint and leaned in to press a soft peck to my lips. 

“I love you,” I said, my lips brushing against his as our foreheads rested on each other.

He smiles before kissing me back. “I love you, too.”

“So, she means nothing?” The sudden, whispered, inquiry was cold in the quiet air.

There was a pause, a moment that I nearly regretted asking.

“She means nothing.” He said, his voice was gruff and direct.

“Then prove it.” The words rolled off my tongue, and before I had time to think, Johnny’s lips were pressed back up against mine.

[anavoliselenu]

Driven chapter 9

A pattern starts to evolve with my continued scrutiny of the images, and I realize that most of his escorts are long, leggy blondes, stick thin, with some type of plastic enhancement. And all are drop-dead gorgeous. Much to my chagrin, I realize they look very similar to Haddie, except hers are real. Ironically, the pale hair next to his dark features makes him seem more aloof and edgier somehow.

I note that each girl exists through a context of time, except for one. One particular stunner is scattered through different periods of time, and I wonder why that is. Is she an escort? The one he takes when his other arrangements have fallen through and he needs a date? Or is she the one he keeps going back to because there is really something there? After clinking on several of their pictures together, I finally get a caption that offers her name. Tawny Taylor. The caller on his phone yesterday. What is she to Justin? I know I could dwell on this for hours so I force myself to push it to the back of my head and resolve to think about it at another time even though I’m afraid to know the answer.

I look like none of them. I may be tall, but I’m definitely not petite on their anorexic scale. I’m thin but I have curves in all the right places, unlike their ruler-straight physiques. I have an athletic body that I’m proud of—that I work hard at to maintain—whereas they look like they have no need to even think about exercise. I have curly hair in a rich chocolate brown color that stops midway down my back; it is unruly and a pain, but it suits me. I continue the comparisons until I tell myself that I need to just get off the page before I become depressed. That my hatred toward them has nothing to do with them in particular.

I go back to Google and type in “Justin Donavan childhood.” The first few pages reference children’s organizations that he is involved with. I quickly scan through the links, looking for one mentioning his childhood in particular.

I finally find an old article written five years ago. Justin was interviewed in connection with a charity he was supporting that benefited new changes speeding up the adoption process.

Q: It is public knowledge that you were adopted, Justin. At what age?

CD: I was eight.

Q: How was the adoption process for you? How would you have benefited from these new initiatives that this foundation supports?

CD: I was lucky. My dad literally found me on his doorstep, took me in, for lack of better term, and I was adopted shortly after that. I didn’t have to go through the lengthy process that occurs today. A process that makes kids who desperately crave a home, a sense of belonging, wait months to see if an application will be approved. The system needs to stop looking at these kids as cases, as paperwork to be stamped with approval after months of red tape, and start looking at them as delicate children who need to be an integral part of something. A part of a family.

Q: So what was your situation, prior to being adopted?

CD: Let’s focus less on me and more on the passing of these new measures.

Does he not want to talk about it because it draws attention away from the charity, or was it so bad he just doesn’t talk about it? I scan the rest of the article but there is nothing else about his childhood. So he was eight. That leaves a lot of time to be damaged, conditioned as he’s said, by whatever situation he was in.

I stare at the screen for a couple of minutes imaging all kinds of things, mostly variations of the kids who have come through my care, and I shudder.

I decide to look up his parents, Andy and Dorothea Westin. The pages are filled with Andy’s movie credits, Oscar nominations and wins, and top-grossing movies, amongst other things. His family life is referenced here and there. He met Dorothea when she had a bit part on one his movies. At the time she was Dorothea Donavan. Another piece clicks into place. I wonder why he uses his Mom’s surname and not his Dad’s. I continue scanning and see the basic Hollywood mogul background, less the tabloid drama or stints in rehab. There are a few mentions of his children, a son and a daughter, but nothing giving me the answers I’m looking for.

I return to search again and scan through the different links that mention Justin’s name. I see snippets about a fight in a club, possible altercations with current-generation brat-pack actors, generous donations to charity, and gushing comments from other racers about his skill and the charisma he brings to his sport that had been tinged after the CART and IRL league split years ago; a wide range of information on such an enigmatic man.

I sigh loudly, my head filled with too much useless information. After over an hour of research, I still don’t know Justin much better than I did before. I don’t see anything to validate the warnings he keeps giving me. I can’t help myself. I open up the page again for CDE and click on the picture of him. I stare at it for sometime, studying every angle and every nuance of his face. I glance up and sadness fills my heart as the picture on my dresser of Max catches my eye. His earnest smile and blue eyes light up the frame.

“Oh, Max,” I sigh out his name, pressing the heel of my palm to my heart where I swear I can still feel the agony. “I will always miss you. Will always love you,” I whisper to him, “but it’s time I try to find me again.” I stare at his picture, remembering when it was taken, the love I felt then. Seconds tick by before I look back at my computer screen.

I close my eyes and breathe deeply, strengthening my resolve as the song on my computer, Justin’s referenced song, repeats itself for the umpteenth time. It’s time. And maybe Haddie is right. Justin may be the perfect person to lose and find myself in at the same time. For however long he lets me, anyway.

I look back at my phone, suppressing the overwhelming urge to text him back. To connect with him. If I’m going to do this, I at least need to make sure a couple things are on my terms.

And chasing after him is definitely not going to allow me to achieve that.

CHAPTER 11

I barely recognize the girl in the mirror who stares back at me. Once again, Haddie has gone all out with her preparations for the launch party tonight thrown by the public relations company she works for. She spent almost an hour blowing my ringlets out so that my hair hangs in a straight, thick curtain down my back. I keep staring at myself in the mirror trying to adjust to this different person. My eyes are subtly smoked so the dark smudges have an opalescent quality, reflecting the violet in my irises. My lips are lined with nude liner and lip-gloss, making the slight touches of bronzed blush on my cheeks stand out.

She has talked me into wearing a little black number that shows off more skin than I’m comfortable with. The bust of the dress runs into a deep V, hinting suggestively at my abundant bra-proffered cleavage without being trashy. Just a suggestive hint at my curves. The straps go over the shoulders and connect the non-existent back with thin gold chains that drape loosely and attach at the swell of my butt. I tug down on the hemline for it falls mid-thigh, something I’m not altogether used to.

I look again in the mirror and smile. This is not me, the girl I know. I sigh shakily as I add chandelier earrings to complete the look. This may not be me, I think, but this is the confident girl I want to be again. The new me who’s going to go out tonight, let loose, and have fun. The girl who has resolved to have a night of fun and gain some self-assurance before I undertake all that is Justin and his warning-laced pursuits.

“Holy shit!” Haddie walks into my bathroom, a whistle blowing from her lips. “You look hot! I mean—” she stumbles over her words, “I’m at a loss here. I don’t think I have ever seen you this smokin’ sexy, Selena.” I smile widely at her praise. “You’re going to have them lining up tonight, baby. Hot damn, this is going to be fun to watch!”

I laugh at her response, my self-esteem bolstered. “Thanks. You’re not so bad yourself,” I compliment her harlot-red dress that shows off all of her best assets. I slip my heels, wincing at the feel of them, and smirking at the memory of the last time I wore them. “Give me a sec and I’ll be ready.”

I grab my clutch and stuff my driver’s license, money, and keys into it. When I grab my phone to place in the small purse, I realize I never asked Haddie about the voicemails from her I’d listened to earlier.

“Had? I never asked you what was so exciting about the event tonight. What hot celebrity did you guys secure as a carpet walker?”

She gives me an enigmatic smile. “Oh, it fell through,” she dismisses casually. I shake off the feeling that for some reason she is laughing at me. I quirk my head at her and she turns around, effectively changing the subject, “Let’s go!”

***

The entrance to the trendy club downtown is quite the spectacle, complete with criss-crossing searchlights, velvet ropes, and a red carpet ready for stars to walk for media photo opportunities. The entrance is complete with a backdrop displaying Merit Rum, the new product being launched. We park in predetermined spots for Haddie and her fellow PRX employees at the trendy, upscale hotel that owns and is somehow or another physically connected to the club. Haddie flashes her credentials, which allows us to whisk past the hoopla and within moments we are inside the populated club, the dull throb of the music pulsing through my body.

It has been years since I’ve been in a club like this and it takes me a while to acclimate to the dim lighting and loud music and not feel intimidated. I think Haddie realizes my nerves are kicking in and that my confidence is waning despite my sexed-up appearance for within moments she has pushed us through the throng of people to the bar. With disregard to the numerous bottles of Merit lining the slick countertop, Haddie orders us each two shots of tequila.

“One for luck,“ she grins at me.

“And one for courage,” I finish for her, our old college toast. We clink glasses and toss back the liquid. It burns my throat. It’s been so long since I’ve done a shot of tequila, I wince at the burn and put the back of my hand to my mouth to try and somehow stifle it.

“C’mon, Selena,” Haddie shouts, unfazed by the liquor. “We’ve got one more to go!”

I raise my glass, an intrepid smile on my face, tap it to hers, and we both toss them back. The sting of the second one isn’t as bad, and my body warms at the liquid, but it still tastes like shit to me.

Haddie gives me a knowing glance and starts to giggle. “Tonight’s going to be fun!” She hugs her arm around me and squeezes. “It’s been so long since I’ve had my partner in crime back.”

I throw a smile at her as I take in the club’s atmosphere. It’s a large expanse of a room with purple, velvet-lined booths around the bottom floor. A glossy bar with a mirror placed behind it fills one whole wall, the mirror reflecting the room back, creating the illusion that the massive space is even larger. In the middle of the main floor is a large dance floor complete with trussing lined with moving head lights that are spinning, creating a dizzying array of colors. Stairs angle up from various intervals around the floor to a raised VIP area where teal booths are sectioned off by velvet stanchions. In one section of the VIP area, a plexiglass partition allows all below to see the M.C. spinning the music that pumps through the club. Model-worthy waitresses flit around in hot pants and fitted tank tops, uniform purple flowers adorning each one’s hair in some way or another. The club is swanky class with a touch of sophistication despite the various advertising paraphernalia for Merit Rum placed strategically around the room.

It’s nearing eleven o’clock, and I can see the crowd thickening and can feel the vibe of the masses pulsate with energy. In the VIP area, there is a crowd of people around a particular corner, and I wonder what trendy celebrity Haddie’s team has gotten to promote their newest product. I’ve been to enough of these functions with her to know the drill. Hot celebrities shown taking photos with new product equals big-time press for not only the item but Haddie’s company as well.

I take the glass Haddie hands me, my usual Tom Collins, and I sip from the straw as I point to the upper section. I raise my eyes in question rather than shout over the music that is starting to increase in volume as the club becomes more crowded. I figure we have about thirty minutes left until the decibels are so loud that the only way to communicate will be to yell.

She catches my silent question asking who’s up there. She leans over to talk in my ear. “Not sure. We have several people confirmed for tonight,” she shrugs a noncommittal answer. “Some surprises are in store as well.”

I narrow my eyes at her wondering why she is being vague with me, seeing as I’m not going to blab to anyone and ruin the surprise. She just smiles broadly and tugs my hand to follow her. We navigate through the mob of people, moving together as one unit. I can feel the alcohol slowly start buzzing through my body, warming me, easing my tension, and relaxing my nerves. For the first time in longer than I can remember, I feel sexy. I feel beautiful and sensual and at ease with those feelings. It’s not the alcohol that’s making me feel this way directly; rather the alcohol is allowing it by lessening my anxiety and insecurities.

I squeeze Haddie’s hand as she pushes through to a purple booth, which is reserved for PRX staff. She looks back and smiles genuinely at me, realizing that I’m starting to relax. Starting to enjoy. We break through the crowd to the booth to find two of Haddie’s colleagues there. I smile to them and say a quick hello, having met them before at previous events I’ve attended. I thank one of them for his compliments on my vamped-up style for the evening. As we sit down, there is a large cheer from the other side of the room on the upper level where the crowd had been earlier. I glance up to see what’s going on and notice nothing really but a number of women showing way too much skin hoping for whatever hot item PRX has invited up there to take notice of them.

I roll my eyes in disgust. “Fame whores,” I mouth to Haddie and she bursts out laughing.

I finish my drink as the catchy beat of a Black Eyed Peas song fills the club. I start moving my hips to the tempo and before I know it, I grab Haddie’s hand and drag her through the people out onto the dance floor. The surprised look on her face has me laughing as I close my eyes and let the music take me. We sing the words together, “I gotta feeling, that tonight’s gonna be a good night,” as we undulate in our own world on the dance floor.

I haven’t felt this liberated in so long that I just want to suspend this moment in time. I want to capture it in my memory so that the next time I start to fall in that dark place, I can remember this feeling to help me hold on to the light.

Haddie and I move to the music, working our way through several songs, each one strengthening my confidence and increasing my fluidity on the floor. Several of her co-workers, Grant, Tamara, and Jacob, join us as the song switches to Too Close, an old song but one of my favorites. I flirtatiously dance with Grant, acting out the song with him. We laugh, our bodies rubbing innocently up against each other, enjoying the playful interaction of the lyrics.

I raise my arms over my head, crossing them at the wrists and swivel my hips to the rhythm, the alcohol buzzing through my system. I close my eyes, absorbing the atmosphere all around me. A tingling sensation up my spine has me flashing my eyes back open.

I look up, and despite the synchronized unison of the mass on the dance floor, I stop, frozen in place when I see Justin. He is standing on one of the stairways that angles down from the VIP section. He has a drink in one hand and his other arm drapes casually around the shoulder of a statuesque blonde. She is turned into him, her hand rubbing gently through the top unbuttoned portion of his dress shirt. Her face tilts up to him and even from a distance, I can see her reverence and adoration of him although he has his head turned away from her, laughing with a rakish man on his left. A large daunting man stands behind him, eyes scanning the crowd. His security, maybe? Justin flashes a smile at his male cohort and it’s natural and unguarded, allowing me to momentarily appreciate his absolutely devastating looks. The blonde says something and Justin turns his attention back to her. She lifts her hand from his chest to rest on his cheek and lifts her face up, placing a slow, seductive kiss on his lips in ownership.

My insides churn at the sight, clouding my vision so much that I don’t pay enough attention to see if Justin is encouraging and returning the kiss or merely just tolerating it. My mouth is suddenly dry. I am paralyzed on the floor as I watch him with her. Numb really. We’re not together—my constant refusal of him has not demonstrated that I want otherwise. And despite my intense and unfounded hurt right now, all I want is that to be me he is holding. Me he is kissing. In the seconds that all of this swirls within me, my hurt begins to shift to anger. How stupid was I to think a guy like him could actually want a girl like me when he could have a girl like her?

I notice Haddie fall motionless in my periphery, taking notice of what I see. I’m about to turn to say something to her when Justin lifts his chin away from his arm candy, and looks up, his eyes locking onto mine. My heart skips over a beat and lodges itself in my throat. Despite the distance between us, I see shock flash in his eyes at us being in the same place, same time, yet again.

Even though a fellow dancer jostles me, my eyes hold steadfast to his. I know I need to leave the floor before my emotions get the best of me and my threatening tears begin to fall, but I am riveted in place. Unable to break the inescapable, magnetic pull he has over me. He releases his hold on the blonde immediately, discarding her easily. He hands his drink off to his male companion without looking and strides unfaltering down the stairs. His emerald eyes burn into mine, never losing our connection.

As he reaches the dance floor, the music changes to a deep, pulsating throb enveloping Trent Reznor’s hypnotic voice. Without a word or a look, the horde of dancers seems to move apart as he stalks onto the floor toward me. His expression is indiscernible, the muscle pulsing at his jaw, the shadows from the lights playing over the angles of his face. His long legs eat up the distance quickly. Numerous people turn their heads in recognition as he struts past, but the hungry look in his eyes stops them from approaching him any further. Despite the music’s volume, I audibly hear Haddie suck in a breath as he reaches me.

All of the things I want to yell at him, all of the hurt I want to spew at him, disappears as he stalks up to me, and without preamble grabs my hips in his hands, forcefully yanking me up against him. He holds me there, pressed against him, as his body starts to move, hips begin to grind into mine in sync to the punishing tempo of the song. I have no other option than to move with him, respond to the animalistic rhythm of his body. I slide my hands over his hands on my hips and lace my fingers through his. Holding him.

Holding on to the ride that is undeniably coming.

Our eyes remain locked. My head tilts back to look up at him. His lips part slightly, and I can hear him hiss out as my hips respond with him. His eyes darken, glazing with desire, filling with heat—with a predatory need. His scorching look alone has my nipples tightening and my body becoming a melting mess of need in anticipation of his touch. Of his undoubted possession of me.

I bite my bottom lip as he moves our combined hands from my hips to behind my back, kneading my backside through my dress, handcuffing me there. We continue to move as one with the music, the feeling of his firm, defined thighs pressing against mine. His arousal rubs thick and compelling against the lower part of my belly. He leans his face down so that we are within inches of each other. I can smell the alcohol on his breath as he sighs into me.

It is by far one of the most erotically sensual moments of my life. The rest of the world has fallen away. The intoxicating effect he has on my body blocks out the crowd of people around us, all looking our way, noticing me because of the man I am with. Rather it is just he and I. Moving. Responding. Arousing. Anticipating.

The song comes to an end, but we remain entranced in each other’s spell. I breathe for what I feel like is the first time since we’ve touched, a long shaky breath. I don’t realize that the music has stopped, and that the DJ is speaking over the microphone about the product of the evening. That except for the small crowd around us, the attention of the club has turned and is focused on the stage.

Justin and I stand there, not moving, feeling like we are barely breathing despite our heaving chests, absorbing each other and the sparks of sexual tension that are igniting between us.

“Justin! Hey, Justin,” a voice breaks through our connection, snapping me out of my spellbound state. Justin swivels his head to find one of the PRX staff calling his name. “It’s time. We need you on the stage. Now.”

He nods curtly before looking back at me, eyes smoldering with a rapacious urgency that makes my insides shiver. He unlaces his fingers from mine, releasing his hold on my hands and pulls away slightly. The warmth of his body is gone immediately, but my body is still humming from the connection, aching with need. He gives me a slow, suggestive smile and shakes his head softly. At me? At his own thoughts? At which one I’m not sure.

He reaches up a hand and tugs on my hair, his eyebrows quirk up as if to ask me why the change in my hair. I shrug shyly at him, words escaping me. His name is called again. He turns to go, but not before I watch the transition on his face from the Justin Donavan I know, to the public persona. Aloof and untouchable. Sexy and untamable.

We haven’t uttered a single word, and yet I feel like we’ve said so much.

I watch his broad shoulders as he walks through the crowd toward the stage, his bodyguard falling in step beside him, pushing back the people swarming him. I watch the spectacle and a little part of me smiles at the fact that I’ve seen the real Justin, not this one. At least I hope I have, my ever-present doubts returning.

Before I can finish watching his ascent to the makeshift stage, Haddie has me firmly by the arm and is pulling me unceremoniously from the dance floor. My resistance is futile as she drags me down a corridor, past the line for the bathrooms, and toward a small alcove near the exit. She spins me to face her, an incredulous look on her face.

“Ow, you’re hurting me!” I snap at her, yanking my arm away, not exactly thrilled at being taken away from the chance to watch Justin.

“What. The. Fuck. Was. That?” she asks, each word a staccato. I don’t even know how to answer her. I think I’m still under his spell for my words are not forming. “Holy shit, Selena! You two were basically fucking each other with your eyes. I mean, I felt uncomfortable watching you two, like I was peeping into your bedroom,” she rambles on as she does when excited, “and you know I never get uncomfortable.” She leans back against the wall and tilts her head up to the ceiling, an unbelieving look on her face.

I stand there and stare at her for I don’t know how to answer her, so she continues. “I knew you said you guys had made out,” she continues ignoring the childlike snort of laughter that comes from me, “But you never told me that there was … that spark … that chemistry … such intensity … My God! I mean, I was hoping when you saw him that—”

“What?” Her last sentence triggers my brain to function. “What do you mean you were hoping?”

She smiles sheepishly at me. “Well …”

What the fuck is going on here? “Quit stalling, Montgomery!”

“Well, I was calling you last night to tell you we had landed him as a guest—Merit’s one of his new sponsors. Anyway I called just because I was excited, I thought we could sit back and lust after him tonight—I didn’t know anything about what had happened. I talked to Dane and that was when I found out you were out with him.” Her words are tumbling out now. I nod at her to continue, my eyes narrowed, lips pursed. “Then you came home and everything unfolded …”

“And what? You decided not to tell me because …”

“Well,” she contemplates, “After you told me everything, I had no idea that you two—your connection—is that magnetic. That captivating. I thought maybe if you saw him here, I could help you—I could push the issue. Help you have some fun.”

I blow out a loud breath, silently staring at her. I know she means well, but at the same time, I don’t need my hand held like a child. I’m mad at her. Mad at Justin for being here with that bimbo. Mad at him for waltzing up to me and taking hold as if I belonged to him. Mad at him for making me want him so badly my insides are burning. My contemplative silence settles over us.

“Don’t be mad, Selena. I’m sorry. I was doing it from a good place.” She bites her bottom lip, pouting at me, knowing I can never stay mad at her for any period of time. I smile softly, effectively forgiving her.

I sag back against the wall and close my eyes, listening to the cheering of the crowd at something the MC says. The question rattling around in my brain comes to the forefront. “Who’s his plus one?” I ask, referring to the blonde. Is she one of his arrangements? Someone he picked up in the club? Why is he kissing her if he is telling me he wants me? Did he not ask me because I’m not enough—pretty enough, sexy enough, glamorous enough—to be on his arm in public?

“Does it matter?” she sputters, “I mean, Jesus, Selena, you two are—”

“Who?”

“Not sure,” she shakes her head. “His people just asked for clearance for ten. No names were given.”

I let out a slew of curses that make no sense, just something I do when upset and trying to process through a situation. Haddie eyes me cautiously, knowing my litany of cuss words and its implied meaning. “Talk to me, Selena,” she urges. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“I’m not lying to myself, am I?” Haddie looks at me confusion etched on her face in question. “I mean, I’m not making it up? The chemistry? Justin?”

“Are you crazy?” she stammers, grabbing me by the shoulder and giving me a little shake. “I thought you two were going to spontaneously combust out there! How can you question it?”

The crowd erupts again, the sound echoing down the hallway. I can hear Justin’s voice on the microphone. The rasp of his voice pulls at me. The crowd cheers again at something he says, and I wait for the noise to subside some before I can continue. “If he’s that into me. If there is that much chemistry … then why is he here with that blonde? Kissing her? Why not ask me? Or am I just the girl he wants to fuck on the side?” The confusion and hurt are evident in my voice.

Haddie twists her lips up as she thinks about my comments. “I don’t know, Selena. There are so many scenarios here.” I raise my eyebrows at her as if I don’t believe her. “He could have already had her as a date before he met you. Or he could really want you and she could be the piece on the side until you say yes.”

I snort again. “Really? Did you see her?”

“Have you seen you?” she rebukes. “Have you looked in the mirror, Selena? You’re gorgeous on a normal day and you look unbelievable tonight! I’m kind of getting sick of telling you that. When are you going to start believing it?” I roll my eyes at her like a child. She ignores me and continues on her possible scenarios. “She could be one of his arrangements? Or maybe she is a fame whore who met him here? Or maybe she’s a friend.”

“When’s the last time you kissed a friend like that?” I whip at her, taking my hurt out on her. She just stares at me, arms folded across her chest. “What am I supposed to do?”

“I’d say keep doing what you’re doing. He obviously likes you, including your stubborn streak and smart mouth.”

“But, how do I—what do I?”

“Selena, if you’re mad at him, be mad at him. It hasn’t stopped you from saying something to him before, and he still wants you. Just because you’ve decided to sleep with him doesn’t—”

“How do you know I’ve decided that?”

“Oh, honey, it’s written all over your face—and your body, for that matter. Besides, anyone watching that display out there already thinks that you have,” she laughs sympathetically at me as my eyes widen. “Look Selena, every girl in this club would fall into line if he snapped his fingers. Everyone, that is, but you. He’s the one pursuing you. How many times in his life do you think a woman has said no to him? Has walked away from him? Maybe he likes that. And if he does, don’t change it just because you’ve decided you want to do the deed with him.” She wiggles her eyebrows.

“But that’s just it,” I confess, “Am I a challenge or does he really want me? And if it does happen, then will the challenge be over and then he’ll be done with me?”