Spiral (Off the Ice Book 2)
Spiral: Chapter 21

“YOUR GIRLFRIEND DOESN’T like you very much,” Summer says.

When Aiden went to his hotel room because I insisted on bringing the girls, I didn’t think it would be like this. The four of them—the girls, Dylan, and Kian—danced until there was barely anybody left. The DJ wanted to go home too.

Somehow, we left and dropped Sage off to the room first, and now I’m walking Summer to hers.

I know, I’m a coward.

But in my defense, Sage didn’t want to be alone with me either, and I’d much rather have her sleep off her drunkenness than have her say something that makes me question everything. I told her that I’m celibate, and I think that calls for some space.

“She’s not my girlfriend. It’s fake,” I remind her, though telling drunk Summer anything logical never registers.

“Shh! You’re going to blow your whole cover.” She looks around the empty hallway. “Are you sleeping in her room?”

“What—no.” I specifically requested two rooms, but I would have slept in the lobby if I had to.

Coward.

She halts in the middle of the hallway. “You don’t think someone might think that’s suspicious? You can’t trust the concierge, you know that firsthand,” she says. “Do you seriously not know the first rule of fake relationships?”

Though she does have a point, I raise a skeptical brow. “And you do?”

“Have you seen my bookshelf ?” she says matter-of-factly. “After handing me off to that annoying guy I call my boyfriend, go to her room. Trust me.”

“I don’t think that’s appropriate.”

“Good. It should be very inappropriate.” Summer shoots me a terrible wink.

I try to ignore her suggestion because that’s exactly what I shouldn’t want.

Aiden opens the door before I can knock. “It’s two in the morning. It took you this long to get them off the dance floor?” He’s scanning Summer from head to toe, as if I’d ever let anything happen to her.

“Your girlfriend isn’t a very agreeable drunk.”

“Hey! Yours isn’t either,” Summer shoots back before falling into Aiden’s open arms.

Aiden smiles down at her. “You’re so drunk, babe.”

“I’m as sober as ever. I’ll blow on something to prove it.”

And that’s my cue to leave.

“Think about what I said!” Summer whispers loudly before the door closes, and I make my way down the hall. Despite my not wanting them to, her words circle my thoughts like a noose.

Going to Sage’s room at this hour is a bad idea.

But what if she’s so drunk she needs someone to take care of her?

Jesus, am I seriously considering advice from a plastered Summer? There would never be a situation where going to Sage’s room would be beneficial for either of us. Especially because I haven’t been able to get the image of her sitting on that counter out of my head.

It’s been four years and I’ve never felt like this. The desperate, aching need to feel her sweat-damp body slide against mine. The thought feels dangerous. But the look on her face after I told her I’m celibate pops the lustful bubble.

Somehow, I come to stand right in front of her room, and when my fist hits the door, I know I’ve already lost whatever self-control I may have relied on.

A few minutes pass before an irritated Sage answers. “What?”

She’s still dressed, heels on, her purse over her shoulder and everything. She looks half asleep and ready to drop at any given moment.

“Just checking in on you. Why aren’t you in bed?”

“It’s embarrassing.” She stares at the ground. “I tripped and was lying on the floor until you knocked.”

Immediately, I’m scanning every inch of her. “Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself ?”

“Peachy.”

She doesn’t look peachy. Her knee is scratched, and her feet are red from her heels. “Can I help?”

“Isn’t that treading a bit close to the real boyfriend category?” She points a finger at me. “No mixing them up. You’re off-limits.”

Off‑limits. Fuck me.

“Sage, just let me help.”

“But I’m peachy. See.” She attempts to balance on one leg. The show of soberness doesn’t hold up when she twists and falls into me with a yelp.

“I’m coming inside.”

“I wish.”

Walking across the room, mostly with my support, she sighs when I sit her on the bed and kneel to undo her heels. When I unintentionally squeeze her instep, she moans and falls back on the bed. So, naturally, I do it again, eliciting the same reaction. “Feels good?”

“So good.”

I chuckle, placing both her shoes aside and massaging her feet because I know she’s in pain. It might also have to do with the appreciative noises she makes with each press.

“You’re a god.”

“You’ve never had a foot massage?”

“Never.”

“That’s criminal.”

“You know what else is criminal?”

“Hmm?”

“A man has never made me come.”

I almost choke on my tongue. “Sage.”

You’d think I’d be used to her bluntness by now, but it gets me every time.

“Sorry, I almost forgot that you’re …” She hiccups. “But it’s true. I can’t even make myself come when I’m with a guy. It’s like I shut down when I’m expected to perform. Ironic, I know.”

We’re treading dangerous waters, and I know with everything in me that I don’t want to explore this topic of conversation. Especially not with what I said earlier, and definitely not when she’s drunk.

I clench my teeth to stop myself from replying, but what she’s saying is blasphemy. I can’t imagine that not one dude has pleasured her for her enjoyment. Or their own enjoyment.

“Never?” I ask despite myself.

“Nope. It’s just too hard, and I’m too much. Too difficult.”

“Who told you that?”

She snorts. “Every guy ever. You included.”

“I’ve never said you were difficult, Sage. You’re definitely not easy, but I like that about you.”

“You don’t act like it. I’m certain you think I’m a witch who trapped you in my imploding mess of a life.”

“Hey.” I pull her by her arms so she’s sitting upright. “You didn’t trap me. I wanted to do this.”

“Then why can’t you look at me. It’s like you can’t stand the sight of me.”

I laugh. A genuine hearty laugh.

She frowns. “Wow. No need to rub it in.”

“At the risk of saying too much, I don’t want to look at you too long because I like it too much.”

She tilts her head, and I know she’s trying to decipher my words. But her drunk brain is hindering her from doing so, and I’m hoping it makes her forget them too.

I’m still kneeling before her, watching her hazel eyes blink rapidly as if she’s trying to see through a fog. I press a gentle hand to her leg. “And if I’m being honest, any guy who’s skipped out on giving you an orgasm is an idiot. You’re better off without them.”

“Some have tried. It just doesn’t work like that for me.”

“Then they’re doing it wrong.”

“It could just be me.”

“It’s not.”

“Eli—”

“They’re wrong.” I level our gazes. “If it were me, I’d worship your pussy until you came at just the sound of my voice asking you to.”

She falls back on the bed, mumbling something. When I clear my throat, standing to take a step away from her, my body feels hot, and I’m sure if she were to touch me, I’d burn her.

“What were you planning to sleep in?”

“Nothing.”

Jesus. The dress she’s wearing now is all she has, and from the looks of it, it’s uncomfortable as hell, because Sage pulls and itches at it like it’s suffocating her.

Giving up, I take off my suit jacket and unbutton my dress shirt. I pull it off and don’t acknowledge the way she stares at my shirtless torso.

“Here.” I place the shirt on her lap.

Wordlessly, she grabs it, brings it to her face, and inhales. When she breathes out she looks so content, I have to hold back a laugh. I’d just taken it out of the wash, so it probably smells like the fabric softener I use, and I suppose a bit like me too. But the way she takes her time with it tells me she really likes the scent. When she unzips the side of her dress, I turn to face the wall to give her some privacy.

“Nothing you haven’t seen before,” she mutters.

True, but I have a feeling that if seeing her toned legs makes me lose focus, the rest of her could do irreparable damage. After I spend a few moments listening to my heartbeat and the quiet noise of silk fabric, the comforter rustles and I turn to find her buried beneath it.

“You didn’t take your makeup off.”

She groans. “I’ll suffer the consequences.”

Growing up with a skin care-focused mom, I know that sleeping with makeup on is a nightmare for the skin. Though Sage’s skin is flawless, so I can’t really tell when she’s wearing makeup or not. But today the shimmer on her eyelids and the smoky outer corners make that obvious.

“What do you use to take it off?” I know nothing about makeup, but I think I could manage taking it off.

“Micellar water, but it’s in the bathroom, and I’m not getting up. That’s a problem for future Sage.”

Shaking my head, I slide open the bathroom door and sort through her toiletries to look for whatever the hell micellar water looks like. After examining each label, I find the clear liquid in a pink bottle, grab a face towel, and sit on the edge of the bed.

“Sit up for me.”

She grumbles a refusal, so I have to lift her higher onto a pillow to have better access to her face. Dabbing some of the water onto the cloth, I wipe away the glitter first, then use more of the water to get her whole face. My thumb brushes against her smooth skin, and her eyes just barely flutter open.

She watches me as I continue taking all her makeup off. “This is above and beyond for fake boyfriend duties,” she whispers, words slurred from exhaustion and alcohol.

Once her face is clean and her moisturizer is on, we still don’t move. A hint of watermelon scent lingers on my hands and soaks into her brown skin. My neck aches from our awkward position, but I can’t find it in me to move or care when she looks at me like she’s mapping an entire constellation with her eyes.

“No, this is just Elias and Sage.”

“Unfiltered?”

I chuckle. “Yeah. Unfiltered.”