Page 49 of Our Little Cliche

Chapter Forty-Eight

HOLLY

“What the fuck, Cyrus?!” I hiss, storming after him. His legs can carry him a lot faster than mine can, so I’m practically at a sprint to catch up, weaving through loud, drunken pedestrians by the bar. “Bloody hell.”

Since when does he storm off like a tantrum filled toddler?

And, while we’re on the subject, since when do we… fight?

“I’m sorry, Holly. I didn’t think it’d come to this.” He paces the wall beside the bathroom doors, his hand running through his hair, firm enough to pull strands out, making it obvious that he’s stressed about something. Something serious.

Have I done something to upset him?

For a split second a tear lingers right over my lash line, fear and panic racing a course through my veins. “I’ll be the first to admit I’ve had some alcohol, but I didn’t think…” I’ve done something stupid…again. My throat struggles to carry my words. “Have I done something wrong?”

“Y—” He stops himself as his eyes fan over every expression on my face, then sighs. “No. You haven’t, angel.”

“Well, then what’s up your ass?”

“It’s Renee. She’s going to tell Quinn about us.”

“What?” I don’t believe it for a second. How? Stacy doesn’t even know about us.

“She said that you told her something that changed her brain chemistry, and she doesn’t know what to think about it.”

“You mean Stacy? As in Stacy Pollac?”

“Yes. When we were on the dance floor just now.” He points in the general direction of where we were, but it’s out of sight… from my height, anyway. “I kind of tuned out in a panic because when I told her not to tell Quinn she got really offended. We’ve crossed a line, Holly and?—”

I can’t help it, but a snort trumpets from my nose, and I almost break into a fit of laughter. Changed her brain chemistry? It makes perfect sense now. He’s got this all wrong. I slap my hand over my mouth, seeing that whatever humor I feel is one sided.

“Really? Jesus Holly, I’m so glad that our careers ending is amusing to you. You shouldn’t have?—”

“Okay, so. No,” I snap, standing a little taller and cutting him off. “You don’t get to get shitty with me. You don’t get to wave your finger and tell me I’m the bad guy. Not when I haven’t done shit. Did you ever consider just asking me if I blabbed about you and I?”

Guilt riddles his face as if a light bulb sparked in his head, but he stays silent for several moments. “N- no.”

“Exactly. You didn’t.”

He sighs again, reaching out to touch me, desperate to pull me into his embrace, but doesn’t. “Fuck. My love, I’m so sorry,” he weeps. “But, if— I— Who…” he stutters.

“What exactly did she say to you to assume I’d said something?”

“She looked like she had something on her mind, and you know me, big friendly teddy bear who looks out for everyone, so I asked her about it. Then the second I did, her face flipped the script and she looked very guilty about something.”

Guilty… Stacy felt guilty for being gay.

Cyrus truly has this all wrong. I can’t blame him, though, we knew this night would be hard.

We knew it would cause us to be a little on edge.

I guess that’s why I’ve had more than a few drinks.

But I don’t kiss and tell. Stacy told me that part of her in confidence, I’d be an ass if I repeated it to anyone, even Cyrus.

“You bloody drongo,” I laugh to smooth the static panic. “All I can say is, you have it all wrong.”

“I do?”

I peer over my shoulder, checking if anyone was listening. “Yes. I never once mentioned us, I didn’t even talk to her about working for you. Avoided you like the plague, actually.”

“Oh,” he breathes a sigh of relief, then guilt runs through his eyes for thinking otherwise. “ Oh .”

“As much as talking about monster cocks, and…” How much I wanted to tell her about the night you did what you did when I was asleep… “Uh… smut reminded me of you, I kept my mouth shut.”

The space between us shifts in an instant, like an electric hum, vibrating between our cores, and his tone changes, pitching higher— hotter . “You had monster cocks, and me, in the same category?”

“Yes,” I swallow, expecting I’ll say something stupid because I’m unbelievably aroused once more.

Cyrus’s eyes dart around us, checking over his shoulders, then, in a blink of an eye I’m slammed against the other side of the bathroom door, pinning it closed.

My breath leaves my chest, startled by the sudden gesture, but I don’t move.

I don’t want to move.

Without even a millisecond to spare, his warm moet flavored lips are against mine, and he grunts with need. My knees fall weak underneath the grip he has on my waist, his fingers pinching at the fabric, taunting me as he presses his body firmly against mine.

I prepared for this exact moment. I knew he wouldn’t be able to keep his hands off me, especially after learning that I had no underwear on. If he wants to fuck me right here right now, we could. Easily.

No. No, no, no. We’re in a stinky men’s bathroom. Gross .

But I need him. Now.

Always .

I hesitate, the words feel like blades, soaring wounds as they leave my mouth and push him away. “Not here, please.”

“Where?” he asks desperately, but I don’t answer, rather I pant, because my brain is ringing with abuse. Arguing if I should have him right here right now, like I want to, or listen to my inner monologue. “When?” Cyrus adds.

“I—”

The door handle wriggles behind me. “Hello? Is anyone in there?” someone calls.

Shit .

“Quick, in here.” He drags me to a cubicle, covering my mouth to mute my desperate for him sounds of breathlessness, locking the stall door behind us. Whoever was behind the door enters, and takes care of his business while I remain under the gentle clutch of Cyrus.

When the guy leaves, I wait for the door to close again. “How much do you want me?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“One I’m asking,” my tone is firm, but he can see past my bluff.

He grins, laughing so deeply that it’s almost sinister.

“So fucking much that I’d gladly fuck you right here, right now until your legs grow numb and you can’t even leave to go back out there,” he says, then reaches his hand to the small of my back, pulling me closer.

“But to answer your question on a deeper level, I want you with a greater need than a fish needs water. Than the stars need the sun to shine. And more than I need air to live and breathe.”

Jesus.

I open my mouth to speak but his thumb crosses over my lips, muting me. My heart skips a beat as the pads of his fingertips curl into the nape of my neck, tilting my head to open the bare space of empty neck for him. He plants a delicate kiss there, right on one of the creases.

“Holly. Angel. My love . I want you in all of the ways you let me.”