Page 21 of A Vegas Crush Collection #2

to cross or not to cross?

Boris

The fresh air outside of the club is a relief and I grab onto the opportunity to get myself under control.

Dancing with Talia was very hot. Hot enough to make my cock wake up and start demanding attention.

If we’d kept going, I would’ve been totally hard which would have been horrifying.

And if she’d leaned in any closer, she would have felt it. Felt what she does to me.

Now I just feel nervous. Did she realize I was so turned-on by her?

Is that why she stopped so abruptly? Maybe her announcement she was hungry was just a reason to get rid of me.

It seemed like she was as into the dancing as I was, as into me as I was into her.

Still, we both know this is a line we shouldn’t cross.

It was impossible not to focus on our bodies together. Her breasts rubbing against my chest, my leg between her legs, my hand on her hip, her hand on my chest.

Shake it off. Shake it off, fucker.

I wait five minutes and she doesn’t come. Was I a creep? Was it too forward to ask her to dance?

Another five minutes and I’m positive she’s ditched me.

I deserve it, of course. I crossed a line with her.

Shit. Now I’ll have to face her at her office.

I’ll have to begin with an apology. And be prepared to grovel because I need her help with my fucked-up financials.

I don’t want to lose her expertise. I should’ve just left her alone to her evening.

She just looked so incredibly sexy and gorgeous standing—

“Hey,” a voice says to my right.

I turn and there she is, all white-blonde hair and creamy skin. Her cheeks are pink, flushed. My mind immediately goes to inappropriate wondering where else she might be blushing.

“There you are,” I say, my voice more hoarse than usual. Maybe she’ll think it’s from the smoke in the club and not because I’m thinking filthy thoughts about her. I clear my throat and ask, “What kind of food are you in the mood for?”

“Would pizza be okay?”

“Perfect choice.”

We start walking, neither of us really sure where the nearest pizza place might be. Talia pulls out her phone and does a map search, and we follow the little dot until we find a greasy-looking pizza shop.

At the counter, Talia orders a small pepperoni pizza and a large soda and then turns to me and says, “What are you having?”

A barking laugh escapes my throat, which makes Talia grin broadly. She looks young, sweet. I want to kiss her so badly.

Pizza, right. Order some fucking pizza, creep! Get your head back on your shoulders.

I manage to order my own pizza and another beer (my third of the night) and pay, pleased that she’s let me this time. She fills her soda cup at the machine before grabbing seats at a high-top table.

“Can you really put down a whole pizza by yourself?” I ask, curious. “Never mind. I saw you eat that hamburger as big as your head. I know the answer already.”

She smiles prettily up at me but stays quiet.

“So, what was it like to go to college so young?” I ask, genuinely curious. She’s done a great deal for someone so young.

“It was fine. I mean, I was always really focused. I spent a lot of time studying and did a few extracurriculars. I lived in the dorms the entire four years, so I never had that off-campus experience.”

“Not a lot of partying for you?”

“Not really,” she answers. “I wasn’t old enough to drink for most of it and I was terrified I’d get in trouble. I got shit-faced a few times, but nothing to write home about.”

“No boyfriends?”

“A few, but nothing serious.”

“Do you have a boyfriend now?”

Talia’s responding grin is flirtatious. “Nope.”

“That’s good,” I say as our eyes meet. There’s a bit of a nervous flop in my stomach jarring me back to reality. I look away and ask her another question instead. “Is pizza your favorite food?”

“All food is my favorite food,” she says. “Pizza ranks pretty high, though. You?”

“I like it a lot, too.”

“Well, we have that in common, then.”

“I was worried you were not going to come out of the club earlier,” I admit. “I thought maybe I’d gone too far. That I’d crossed a line.” Please say no. Please tell me I didn’t.

“I was the one humping your leg. I’m pretty sure I should be apologizing to you.”

I try to hide the grin threatening to split my face. Talia Wentworth is so interesting to me. Awkward and shy, yet such a mouth on her. She’s so direct sometimes. It’s refreshing and frightening at the same time.

“I didn’t mind at all. I liked it. Probably too much.”

Talia bites her lip then turns away, hiding her face with her hair. When she turns back to me, the subject changes. “So, how are things with Ally?”

“We haven’t had time to meet yet.”

“Boris, what the hell? How are you supposed to get organized if you don’t utilize the person you hired to help you get organized?” Talia is even more beautiful when she’s annoyed.

“Well, I’m not used to the idea of having an assistant. But I promise you, I’ll call her tomorrow and find time, though.”

“You’d better,” Talia says, pointing her finger at me. “If you want me to manage her tasks, I can do that.”

“No, you’ve done enough. More than is probably normal. Thank you. I promise to call.”

Thankfully the pizza arrives and interrupts the Ally conversation.

Thank God. Because I can’t tell Talia that despite feeling nothing but uncomfortable when Ally hugged me, I felt desperate for more of Talia in that club. As if I was starving for her touch. Starving for time with her.

And now I get to watch Talia eat, which is entertainment in and of itself as she takes big bites of pizza and goes to town on her small pepperoni.

I’m utterly fascinated. Because the pizza is sizzling hot—to which she appears oblivious as she shovels bites in.

Also, where does all that food go? She’s thin—her body is perfect, from what I can tell.

I just don’t know where the calories go.

After eating two slices in the time it takes mine to cool to a reasonable temperature, Talia takes a long drink of her soda. She covers her mouth and burps into her hand, audible enough that I can clearly hear it.

“Sorry, my bad.” She giggles and blushes at the same time.

“That was kind of epic though. Almost as good as one of my hockey teammates could do.”

“I feel very accomplished, then,” she answers, grinning sexily.

I’m transfixed.

Also fucked…

The night air is crisp, and the brief break in temperature is appreciated as we walk. I insisted on walking Talia home, since it’s now very late, and the people still out and about on the sidewalks are probably very drunk.

“I forgot to tell you, I tried calling your investment guys in Russia,” she says.

“Oh?”

“Yeah, some guy named Tolya? Vlad was his usual weird and cryptic self when he called to give me his name and number. Then when I got this Tolya guy on the line, he told me to keep my nose where it belongs. I’m pretty sure he was really telling me to fuck off in so many words.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“Yeah. There was some Russian interlaced into the context of his short conversation with me that definitely didn’t sound like pleasantries so, connecting the dots…” she trails off with a wave of her hand in my direction.

I cringe inwardly at the thought of Talia being insulted by Tolya, even if she didn’t understand his use of Russian words.

Fucker is on my shit list now. “I’ll be calling him tomorrow to say I want my accounts moved immediately.

That is unacceptable behavior on his part, and he owes you an apology to make this right. ”

Talia brightens at this. “Oh, I don’t care about that asshole. I’m just happy for you. This is very exciting, Boris, you won’t regret it.”

“I know I won’t.”

We talk a little about her strategy for building my investments back up. There are some decisions for me to make, but I mostly defer to her judgment because I know she knows what she’s doing. She chatters on and on until finally saying, “This is me.”

I look up and realize we’re at my apartment building. I can’t help laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“I live here, too.”

“No way.”

I nod, my lips in a tight smile, eyebrows raised.

“Prove it.” Talia puts her hands on her hips and tilts her head at me in a challenge. “There’s no way we’ve lived in the same apartment building and not known it all this time.”

“I filled out the forms for my new accounts,” I tell her, chuckling. “You didn’t recognize the address?”

“Give me a break. I just moved here. I barely know my own address yet,” she laughs, still shaking her head in disbelief.

We walk inside, saying hello to Jimmy, one of the doormen for the building, and take the elevator to the eighth floor. I walk her to my door, pull out my key and make a big show of unlocking the door.

“No frigging way,” she says, stepping inside. “What a funny coincidence. And why is your apartment so much bigger than mine?”

I show her around my tidy space. It’s pretty sparsely decorated, with mostly hockey memorabilia on the shelves.

I have a living room with a large, comfortable couch and a flat-screen television on one wall, my game systems stashed on a shelving unit below.

My kitchen has an eat-in island, and then there’s my bedroom, with a king-sized bed and dresser, a large attached master bathroom decked out in marble.

It should feel strange having someone here, reminding me how often I am alone.

Yet, this is Talia. I want her in this space, to enjoy the spa bath in the bathroom, to eat a huge meal in the kitchen. ..to sleep in my bed.

“This place is huge,” Talia marvels. “Seriously.”

“It’s not really that big,” I say, looking around. “Smaller than my place in Austin, actually. But it’s fine. It’s just me so I don’t need a lot.”

“It’s a total dude space, though. Like, you need someone to come in and make this feel more like home,” Talia says with a cute nod.

“I have moved a lot in my life, so I tend to pack light. Maybe someday, if I settle down or have a wife or whatever.”

Our eyes meet and Talia’s face settles into a weird expression that I find very hard to read. Have I made her upset I wonder?

“What about your place? It can’t be much smaller?”

“Follow me,” she answers.

We walk back out into the hallway and I lock the door quickly before stepping back onto the elevator with her. At the fifth floor, we get back out and head to her door. She opens it and steps aside, her arm out wide. “Voila! Home sweet home.”

First, I’m totally overwhelmed. There are books and pictures and papers all over.

Tall shelves lined with books. A yoga mat and exercise ball in one corner.

It’s just the one room, that I can surmise, plus a small bathroom and kitchenette with a counter and two tall high-backed stools.

The only other big furniture items besides the bookshelves is a massive blue velvet chaise with a soft-looking blanket thrown messily over a stack of books at one end.

There’s no television, only a laptop charging on the floor, haphazard like the rest of the place.

There’s also a floor lamp and a big basket with what looks like a lot of yarn balls inside it.

“This is you?” I ask.

“This is me.”

“It’s kind of—” I clear my throat. “It’s messy. Like your office.”

“Hey!” She play-punches me in the arm. “I have my own unique organization system. You want something to drink?”

“I could use some water. Thanks.”

Talia steps into the kitchenette and announces that she needs some tea. As she embarks on the effort to make it, I look more closely at the rows and rows of books. I run my fingertips over the spines, thinking I should probably go.

But I don’t want to. It feels like a home, yet she’s only been here for a short time. Maybe it’s just her.

I realize this whole place smells like Talia. A mixture of coffee and cake and something slightly fruity. It’s an utterly intoxicating smell that I want to breathe in for just a little while longer.

I’m into some deep trouble now with Talia Wentworth. I know it. I wonder if she knows it, too. There’s no use trying to deny what I’m feeling every time I’m around her.

I like her. A lot. If only touching her wasn’t taboo. If only kissing her wasn’t forbidden.

If only she could be mine.