After We Collided Read online

  “I don’t know—does your caller ID say that I did? Because if so, there’s probably a good chance it was me.” I laugh as I say this.

  His tone changes. “Have you been drinking?”

  “Maybe,” I squeak and toss the makeshift wipe into the trash.

  Two drunken girls enter the area and one of them trips over her own feet, making everyone laugh. They stumble into the largest stall, and I focus my attention back on my phone call.

  “Where are you?” Hardin asks harshly.

  “Oh, calm down, would you?” He always tells me to calm down, so now it’s my turn.

  He sighs. “Tessa . . .” I can tell he’s angry, but my head’s too fuzzy to care. “How much did you drink?” he asks.

  “I dunno . . . like five. Or six. I think,” I answer and lean against the wall. The cold tile feels amazing on my hot skin through the thin material of my dress.

  “Five or six what?”

  “Sexes on the Beaches . . . we never had sex on the beach . . . That could have been fun,” I say with a smirk. I wish I could see his stupid face right now. Not stupid . . . beautiful. But stupid sounds better right now.

  “Oh God, you’re trashed,” he says. Somehow I know that he’s running his fingers through his hair. “Where are you?” he asks again.

  I know it’s immature, but I reply, “Somewhere you’re not.”

  “Obviously. Now tell me. Are you at a nightclub?” he barks.

  “Oooh . . . someone is a grumpy gills.” I laugh.

  Clearly he can hear the music in the background, so when he threatens, “I can easily find out where you are,” I sort of believe him. Not that I care.

  The words are out before I can stop them: “Why didn’t you call me today?”

  “What?” he asks, clearly thrown off by my question.

  “You didn’t try to call me today.” I sound pathetic.

  “I didn’t think you wanted me to.”

  “I don’t, but still.”

  “Well, I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says calmly.

  “Don’t get off the phone yet.”

  “I’m not . . . I was just saying that I’ll call you tomorrow, even if you don’t pick up,” he explains and my heart leaps.

  I try to sound neutral. “Okay.” What am I doing?

  “So now can you tell me where you are?”

  “Nope.”

  “Is Trevor there?” His tone is serious.

  “Yeah, but Kim is, too . . . and Christian.” I’m defending, though I don’t know why.

  “So this was the plan, then? To take you to the conference and get you wasted and take you to a fucking club?” He raises his voice. “You need to go back to your hotel. You aren’t used to drinking and now you’re out and Trevor—”

  I hang up before he can finish. Who does he think he is? He’s lucky that I even called him, drunk or not. What a buzzkill.

  I need another drink.

  My phone vibrates repeatedly, but I press ignore each time. Take that, Hardin.

  I find my way back to our VIP section and ask the cocktail waitress for another drink.

  “Are you okay?” Kimberly asks. “You look pissed.”

  “Yeah, I’m fine!” I lie and down my drink as soon as the waitress brings it. Hardin is such a jerk, he’s the reason that we aren’t together, and he has the nerve to try to yell at me when I call him? He could be here with me right now if he hadn’t done what he did. Instead, Trevor is. Trevor, who is very sweet and very handsome.

  “What?” Trevor smiles at me when he catches me staring.

  I laugh and look away. “Nothing.”

  After I finish another drink and we talk about how great tomorrow will be, I stand back up. “I’m going to dance again!” I call to them.

  Trevor looks like he wants to say something, maybe even offer to come with me, but his cheeks flame and he stays quiet. Kimberly looks like she’s had enough and waves me off, but I don’t mind going out there on my own. I find my way to the middle of the dance floor and start to move. I probably look ridiculous, but it feels good to enjoy the music and let everything else go, like my drunken phone call to Hardin.

  After about half a song, I sense a tall figure behind me, near me. I turn to find a pretty cute guy in dark jeans and a white shirt. His brown hair is shaved into a buzz cut, and his smile is handsome enough. He’s no Hardin, but then, no one is.

  Stop thinking about Hardin, I remind myself as the man puts his hands on my hips and says close in my ear, “Can I join you?”

  “Um . . . sure,” I reply. But really it’s the alcohol that’s speaking for me.

  “You’re very beautiful,” he says, then turns me around, closing the gap between us. He pushes up against my back, and I close my eyes, trying to imagine that I’m someone else. A woman who dances with strangers in a club.

  The beat to the second song is slower, more sensual, which makes my hips move slower. We turn to face each other, and he brings my hand to his mouth and touches his lips to my skin. His eyes meet mine and the next thing I know he has his tongue in my mouth. My heart screams for me to push him away, almost gagging at the unfamiliar taste of him. But my brain, my brain says something entirely different: Kiss him to forget about Hardin. Kiss him.

  So I ignore the sick feeling in my stomach. I close my eyes and move my tongue across his. I’ve kissed more guys in my three months at college than I have in my whole life. The stranger’s hands move to my back and inch down farther.

  “Do you want to come back to my place?” he says as our mouths disconnect.

  “What?” I heard him, but something in me hopes that by saying what I say I can erase that question.

  “My place, let’s go,” he slurs.

  “Oh . . . I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “Oh, it’s a good idea.” He laughs. The multicolored lights strobe across his face, making him look odd and much more threatening than before.

  “What makes you think I would go home with you? I don’t even know you!” I shout over the music.

  “Because you were just all over me and loved it, you dirty girl,” he says like it’s obvious, and not offensive.

  Just as I prepare myself to scream at him, or knee him in the crotch, I try to calm down and think clearly for a second. I was just grinding on this guy, and then I kissed him. Of course he’s going to want more. What the hell is wrong with me? I just made out with a stranger in a club—this is not me.

  “I’m sorry, but no,” I say and walk away.

  When I get back my group, Trevor looks like he’s about to fall asleep on the couch. I can’t help but smile at his adorableness.

  Is that even a word? God, I drank too much.

  I take a seat and grab a bottled water out of the ice bin on the table.

  “Have fun?” Kimberly asks me, and I nod.

  “Yeah, I had a great time,” I say, despite what happened a few minutes ago.

  “Are you almost ready, honey? We have to get up early,” Christian says to Kim.

  “Yup. I’m ready when you are.” She runs her hand up his thigh. I look away and feel my cheeks flush.

  I poke Trevor. “Are you coming or are you going to sleep here?” I tease.

  He laughs and sits up straight. “I haven’t decided, this couch is comfortable. The music so soothing . . .”

  Christian calls the driver, who says he’ll be here in a few minutes. We all get up and decide to walk down the spiral staircase that runs along one side of the club. At the first-floor bar, Kimberly orders one last drink, and I debate whether to have another while we wait, but realize I’ve had enough. If I have another, I might pass out, or throw up. Neither of which I want to do.

  When Christian gets a text, we all move toward the exit. I welcome the cold air on my hot skin, thankful there is only a light breeze as we climb into the car.

  It’s almost three in the morning when we get back to the hotel. I’m drunk and starving. After raiding my minifridge and eating al
most everything inside, I stumble over to the bed and plop down without even removing my shoes.

  chapter sixteen

  TESSA

  Shhhrrrrut up,” I grumble when an obnoxious noise pulls me from my drunken slumber. It takes me a few seconds to realize the noise isn’t my mother yelling at me for something, but rather someone banging on my door.

  “God, I’m coming!” I shout and stumble my way to the door.

  But then I stop and glance at the clock on the desk: it’s almost four in the morning. Who the hell could that be?

  Even in my drunken state, my mind begins to race with sharp fear. What if it’s Hardin? It’s been over three hours since I drunk-dialed him, but how would he find me? What will I say to him? I’m not ready for this.

  When the pounding recommences, I throw all my thoughts aside and swing the door open, preparing for the worst.

  But it’s just Trevor. Disappointment stings in my chest, and I wipe at my eyes. I feel just as drunk now as I did when I lay down.

  “Sorry for waking you, but do you have my phone?” he asks.

  “Huh?” I say and back into the room so he can enter. When the door swings shut behind him, we’re engulfed in relative darkness, the only light being from the city outside my window. I’m too drunk to find the light switch, though.

  “I think our phones got switched. I have yours and I think you grabbed mine by accident.” He holds my phone out in his palm. “I was going to wait until the morning, but yours just wouldn’t stop ringing and ringing.”

  “Oh” is all I say, I walk over and open my purse. Sure enough, Trevor’s phone is sitting on top of my wallet.

  “I’m sorry . . . must have grabbed yours in the car,” I apologize and hand it to him.

  “It’s okay. I’m really sorry for waking you up. You’re the only girl I know who looks just as beautiful when she wakes up as she did—”

  A loud banging at the door cuts him off, and the sudden noise infuriates me.

  “What the hell is this? Party in Tessa’s room?” I yell and stomp to the door, ready to yell at whatever hotel employee is likely here to reprimand me for the noise Trevor made, ironically by making more noise than he did.

  Just as I reach for the door, the noise gets even louder, which shocks me into stillness. I then I hear it: “Tessa! Open this damn door!” Hardin’s voice booms through the air, as if no barrier at all stood between us. A light flips on behind me, and I see Trevor’s face pale with real fear.

  Hardin finding him in my room won’t go over well, regardless of what was really going on.

  “Hide in the bathroom,” I say, and Trevor’s eyes widen.

  “What? I can’t hide in the bathroom!” he exclaims, and I realize how ridiculous that idea is.

  “Open the fucking door!” Hardin yells again, and then he starts kicking it. Repeatedly.

  I look at Trevor again before opening the door, trying to memorize his handsome face before Hardin mutilates it.

  “I’m coming!” I yell and open the door halfway to find a fuming Hardin, dressed in all black. My drunk eyes wander, and I notice that instead of his thick boots, he’s wearing plain black Converses. I’ve never seen him in any shoes except his boots. I like these new shoes . . .

  But I’m getting distracted.

  Hardin pushes the door open and blows right by me, going for Trevor. Luckily, I grab his shirt and manage to stop him, somehow.

  “You think you can get her drunk and come into her fucking hotel room!” Hardin screams at him and tries to surge forward. I know he isn’t trying as much as he could because in that case I would surely be on the floor, not holding him by his thin shirt. “I saw that light flip on through the peephole—what were you two doing alone in the dark here!”

  “I wasn’t . . . I—” Trevor begins.

  “Hardin, stop it! You can’t go around beating people up!” I shout and tug at his shirt.

  “Yes . . . I can, though!” he growls.

  “Trevor,” I say. “Go back to your room so I can talk some sense into him. I’m sorry for his crazy-ass behavior.”

  Trevor almost laughs at my word choice, but one look from Hardin silences him.

  Hardin turns to me as Trevor leaves the room. “ ‘Crazy-ass behavior’?”

  “Yes, crazy! You can’t just show up here and barge into my room trying to beat my friend up.”

  “He shouldn’t have been in here. Why was he in here? Why are you still dressed? And fuck, where did that dress come from?” he says, eyeing my body.

  I ignore the heat stirring in my belly and focus on my indignation.

  “He came to get his phone because I took it by accident. And . . . I can’t remember any of the other questions you just asked,” I admit.

  “Well, maybe you shouldn’t have drunk so much.”

  “I’ll drink what and why and how and when I want. Thank you.”

  He rolls his eyes. “You’re annoying when you’re drunk.” He flops down on the wingback chair.

  “You’re annoying when you’re . . . everything. And who said you could sit down?” I huff, crossing my arms.

  Hardin looks up at me with those brilliant green eyes. God, he looks so hot right now. “I can’t believe he was in your room.”

  “I can’t believe you’re in my room,” I counter.

  “Did you fuck him?”

  “What? How dare you even ask me that!” I shout.

  “Answer the question.”

  “No, you asshole. Of course I didn’t.”

  “Were you going to—do you want to?”

  “Oh my God, Hardin! You’re insane!” I shake my head and pace between the window and bed.

  “Well then, why are you still dressed?”

  “That doesn’t even make sense!” I roll my eyes. “Besides, it’s none of your business who I have sex with. Maybe I did have sex with him—maybe I had sex with someone else?” The corners of my mouth threaten a smile, but I force a straight expression as I say slowly, “You will never know.”

  My words have the intended effect, and Hardin’s face turns dark, animalistic. “What did you just say?” he barks.

  Oh, this is much more fun than I thought it would be. I like being drunk around Hardin because I say things without thinking—things that I mean—and everything seems funny.

  “You heard me . . .” I say, and move to stand over Hardin. “Maybe I let the guy at the club take me into the bathroom.

  “Maybe Trevor took me on this bed,” I say and casually look back at the bed over my shoulder.

  “Shut up. Shut up now, Tessa,” Hardin warns me.

  But I laugh. I feel empowered, strong—and I feel like ripping Hardin’s shirt off of him. “What’s wrong, Hardin? Don’t like the idea of Trevor’s hands all over my body?” I don’t know if it’s Hardin’s anger, the alcohol, or the fact that I miss him, but without letting myself overthink my actions, I climb onto his lap on the chair. My knees rest on either side of his thighs. Completely taken aback by my action, if I’m not mistaken, he’s shaking.

  “W-what are you . . . what are you doing, Tessa?”

  “Tell me, Hardin, do you like the idea of Trev—”

  “Stop it. Stop saying that!” he begs and I oblige.

  “Oh, lighten up, Hardin, you know I wouldn’t do that.”

  I wrap my arms around his neck. The nostalgic feeling that washes over me at being in his arms almost takes my breath away.

  “You’re drunk, Tessa,” he says and tries to remove my arms from around him.

  “So . . . I want you,” I say, surprising both of us.

  I decide to shut my thoughts off, the logical ones, anyway, and grab two fistfuls of his hair. Oh, how I’ve missed the way it feels between my fingers.

  “Tessa . . . You don’t know what you’re doing. You’re wasted,” he says.

  But there’s no conviction behind his voice.

  “Hardin . . . stop overthinking this. Don’t you miss me?” I say against his neck, sucki
ng lightly. My hormones have completely taken over, and I don’t know that I’ve ever wanted him so badly.

  “Yesss . . .” he hisses as I suck harder, sure to leave a mark. “I can’t, Tess . . . please.”

  But I refuse to stop and instead rock my hips on his lap, making him groan.

  “No . . .” he whispers and grips his large hands on my hips, stopping my movements.

  I snap and glare at him. “You have two options here: you fuck me or you leave. You decide.”

  What the hell did I just say?

  “You’ll hate me tomorrow if I do this while you’re in this . . . state,” he says and looks into my eyes.

  “I already hate you,” I say, and he flinches from my words. “Sort of,” I add more softly than I mean to.

  He loosens his grip on my hips, allowing me to move. “Can we at least talk about this all first?”

  “No, stop being such a Debbie Downer.” I groan and rub myself against his leg.

  “We can’t do this . . . not like this.”

  Since when does he have morals? “I know you want to, Hardin, I can feel how hard you are for me,” I say in his ear.

  I can’t believe the dirty words falling from my drunken lips, but Hardin’s mouth is a deep pink, and his eyes are wide, almost black.

  “Come on, Hardin, don’t you want to bend me over this desk? Or the bed? The sink? So many possibilities . . .” I whisper up close and gently bite his earlobe.

  “Fuck . . . Okay. Fuck it,” he says and wraps his hands in my hair, pulling my mouth to his.

  The moment Hardin’s lips touch mine, my body ignites. I moan into his mouth and am rewarded with an equally feverish sound from Hardin. My fingers thread through his hair and tug harder, not able to control myself or my need for him. I know he’s holding back and it’s driving me crazy. My hands move from his hair down to the hem of his black T-shirt, gripping the fabric and pulling it up and over his head. The second the kiss breaks, Hardin leans back slightly.

  “Tessa . . .” he pleads.

  “Hardin,” I counter and run my fingertips over his ink. I’ve missed the way his hard muscles strain against his skin, the way the intricate black ink swirls and decorates his perfect body.

  “I can’t take advantage of you,” he says but then moans as I swipe my tongue over his bottom lip.