Across the big room, most of the people gathered are now staring at their phones, scrolling and typing or making phone calls.
Harloe heaves a sardonic belly laugh and throws her arms in the air. “Now, everyone just stop that.” She drags her finger across the room, pointing at everyone in its path and then shakes it at them. “This is New Orleans! We don’t do pity parties! We do parties!” She picks up her long gold skirt and saunters back up to the stage to take the mic again. “If that governor’s gonna keep us trapped here for another month, we’re just gonna have to make the most of it. Everybody get back up here, and let’s swang it again!”
I feel my eyes stretch as wide as they’ll go. “No.”
I pick up my phone and immediately open a browser to the New Orleans newspaper website. My stomach immediately plummets as I see the headline in bold-faced black and white.
Lockdown Extended Through at Least the End of May.
“No.”
The big room is suddenly a raucous jazz symphony, but I don’t even care. Everyone’s already getting drunk and dancing and swinging sparkly feather boas in the air like we’re trapped in a Great Gatsby party that willliterally never end.
I don’t even bother shutting down my laptop. I don’t even take my phone. I don’t even care.
After all, what the fuck is the point of anything anymore?
I shove away from the table, weaving through the crowd of people, making a beeline for the door while I bite back the urge to cry in frustration.
The hallway to my room suddenly feels twice as long as it is. The jazz slowly decreases in decibel level as I speed walk away from the party, but as it does, the sound of footsteps quickly following me rises above the music. I don’t know who’s behind me, whether or not they’re trying to catch up to me, and I couldn’t care less.
I reach for the doorknob, and a hand snags my wrist, whipping me around, and I’m suddenly kissing Lucky.
Or he’s kissing me. Or we’re kissing each other. I don’t know, and I don’t care.
He’s kissing me deep and long like he did on the terrace a few days ago, and I don’t care.
He’s pushing my back against the wall, and I don’t care.
He’s wedging his knee between my thighs, pushing them apart, and I don’t care.
My fingers are gripping his hair, clawing at his scalp, as I attempt to devour him as much as he’s devouring me.
His lips glide down my neck while he sucks and nips, and his hands clamp around my waist, clawing at the long strands of beads. One hand grates down my back, over my ass, under my skirt, gripping my flesh, pulling me hard against him, and wet, white-hot heat floods the aching spot between my thighs.
I learned on my first night here that there’s a big difference between having sex and fucking. And I’m going to let Lucky De Luca fuck me like there’s no fucking tomorrow.
Because right now, it really feels like there isn’t.
And I don’t care. I don’t care. I just don’t fucking care.
* * *
Lucky
I’m not verygood at making people feel better. I know Ava’s really upset right now. I know she’s been ready to leave for a while, I know she was planning to leave soon, and I saw her storm out of the big room looking like shattered glass. Patrick was a spineless fuck for not going after what he wanted, and while I was watching her leave, it hit me like a brick to the back of the head that I’m fucking spineless, too, becauseIwant her, and I refused to do anything about it.
Now she’s trapped here for even longer, she’s really fucking upset about it, I still want her, and I only know one way to make a woman feel better.
I press her back harder against the wall and suck on the smooth skin of her neck so hard that it’ll bruise. Her fingers claw at my scalp and slide to my neck, holding me in place while I grab her ass and blindly yank her short, beaded skirt up and out of the way. The panties underneath are cheeky, made of thin fabric, and I slide my hand over the curve of her ass, between her thighs, and press my fingers to the damp spot in the center.
She’s always wanted this, too. We’re both just stubborn. And she’s pissed that she has to stay here that much longer, but I’m going to make it worth her while.
I pull my hand out from between her thighs to trap her in my grasp again, and I push her toward the bedroom door. She blindly turns the knob and pushes it open, we stumble inside, and then I throw the door shut.
I break our embrace long enough to lock the door and turn to face her again, pausing for a microsecond to take in the sight of her. There’s already a mark on her neck. The plane of her chest is flushed. Her swollen lips are parted, the red lipstick smeared all over the skin around her mouth, and she’s panting.
“Shut up, Lucky.” Ava leans down to pull off her heels, and I squint at her left-field words. “Just shut up.”
