Lessons in Gravity (Study Abroad #2) (3 page)

She cocks an eyebrow. “Are you really?”

“I feel like you’re judging me.”

“I’m not,” she says. “I’m all for having some fun and getting your rocks off. Now that I know how great sex is—”

“Thank God you finally swiped that v-card,” I say with a grin. Maddie was a virgin until very, very recently; until she met and fell in love with Rafa.

“Thank
God.”
She grins, too. “My point is, I’m all for having wild sex with as many Eurotrash men as possible as long as it makes you happy. That’s all I want for you, Mads—I wanna see you smile again. And I’m not entirely sold on the idea that sleeping with all these dudes is upping your happiness quotient.”

The happy buzz in my blood dims. I look down at my empty glass and close my eyes. For a split second I see my dad’s face, his gaze terrifyingly cold as he betrays me. Speaks to me like I’m a piece of garbage.

A prickly pressure builds inside my head, like someone is pressing his thumbs against the backs of my eyeballs.

My eyes fly open. I suck in a breath.

“You know I had sex—lots of sex—with guys back at Meryton before this whole divorce thing blew up in my face,” I reply. “And I was happy. It made me happy, Viv.”

“I know it did, and that’s awesome,” Vivian says. “It was fun for you. It made you feel good.”

“It still makes me feel good.”

Viv gives me that look again. “You can’t tell me the divorce isn’t screwing with your head. Are you sure your reasons for going after the sexytimes haven’t changed? I don’t know. Maybe you’re having sex because it helps you forget. Or maybe you have these one night stands and keep guys at arm’s length so they won’t hurt you the way your parents have?”

I roll my eyes, even as my chest contracts. “I really hate it when you go all Dr. Phil on me, Viv. And I kinda resent the implication that I’m this raging slut bag who only has sex because I’m, like, damaged inside or something. I like sex. I have a lot of it. That doesn’t make me a basket case, and it certainly doesn’t make me a skank.”

“That’s not what I’m saying,” Viv replies. Her face is red with hurt. “I hate those words, by the way. I’m just looking out for you is all. Trying to be a good friend.”

“I hate those words, too.” I sigh. “I know it hasn’t been easy being my friend this semester. I’m sorry. I honestly haven’t given much thought to my hook-up situation. Maybe my reasons have changed—I don’t know. I
do
know I can’t forgive right now. Not my dad.”
Not myself
, I want to add, but don’t. “So yeah, it’s possible I’m settling for the forgetting part. And the orgasms. I mean, they help too. An orgasm is never a bad thing.”

“No, it’s not.” Viv offers me a smile of sympathy. “But promise me you’ll rethink your strategy if it stops being fun?”

I nudge her shoulder with my own. “I promise.”

***

Javier

Waiting at the bar for our drinks, I glance over my shoulder at Maddie. Christ but the girl is gorgeous. Flaming blue eyes, full lips, legs that go on for days and days and days. An ass that makes my heart skip a beat every time I look at it.

I keep looking at it. The tiny dress she’s wearing barely covers the tops of her thighs. Raise it an inch or two and I have no doubt I would very much like what I’d see.
 

She runs a hand through her long, dark hair, mussing the strands at the crown of her head. She arches her back as she does it, the hem of her dress creeping up, up, revealing more leg, more skin. I’m staring now. Everything about Maddie is sexy. Her body. The challenge in her eyes. Even the way she moves makes me think naked thoughts.

I blink.
Stop.
I have to stop looking. I didn’t come all the way back to Madrid to hook up with another girl at another club. I know what I want now, and that isn’t another meaningless encounter. After being on the road for so long, I’ve had enough of those to last a lifetime.

But one more look can’t hurt. It’s such a lovely backside. Just one more—

My heart skips a beat, but this time it has nothing to do with her ass.

It skips because she catches me looking.

And then she grins. A devilish, lively grin that makes her eyes glitter. Eyes that flick down the length of my body to rest on
my
ass. Her grin twitches, lips pursed in what appears to be appreciation.

It’s an entirely shameless perusal, and I’d be lying if I said I didn’t like it. It’s an eye for an eye—in this case, it’s an ass for an ass—although I do believe I got the better end of the bargain, as her behind is far,
far
superior to my own.
 

I wonder if she knows where I’ve been for the past year.
Who
I’ve been. If she was one of the hundreds of thousands of people who came out to see me playing with Juan Ramos at stadiums across the world.

I wonder if she knows I’m that guy. The so-called rock star.

I really hope she doesn’t.

As much as I enjoyed being the star—let’s not kid ourselves, I enjoyed it a
lot—
it got tiresome toward the end. Being surrounded by women who loved the celebrity but couldn’t care less about the man left me feeling empty, and more than a little lonely. It got me into some trouble, too.

I’ve missed the normalcy and the comfort of real life, of
home
. I’ve missed my family, being around people who love me for me.

But I’ve really missed one person in particular.

Rafa and I gather our drinks in our hands. Condensation runs down my forearms as we make our way back to the table.

“Thank you very much,” Maddie says when I hand her a gintonic. She leans in. “I appreciate it. Almost as much as you appreciated my ass.”

I run my tongue along my bottom lip, grinning. I shouldn’t flirt back. I’ve been burned by this kind of thing before.
 

But I can’t help it. She’s too fun, and too sexy, to leave hanging.

“Might I ask what you thought of mine?” I say.

“Delicious.” She sips her drink. “Absolutely delicious.”

Rafa clears his throat. He’s looking at Maddie and me, a knowing gleam in his eye. Are we really that obvious?

“Vivian and I are going to dance,” Rafa says, pointing his thumb in the direction of the dance floor. “Is it okay if we leave you two here together?”

“More than okay. You guys go have fun.” Maddie hooks her arm through mine. She’s standing close now; so close I can smell her coconut shampoo. My pulse spikes. She smells lovely, like a tropical drink you’d sip in the nude while lying on a beach in the Caribbean. “I’ll take good care of Javier.”

Viv gives Maddie a long, hard look.

“You sure?” Viv says.

Maddie lets out a breath, an impatient sound. “I’m sure. See you guys later.”

And just like that, Maddie and I are alone.

The music starts pumping, the floor bouncing in time to the bass. It’s crowded now, and loud. I scoot a bit closer to Maddie, my leg brushing hers.

“So, you and Vivian—you’re in the same program here in Madrid?” I ask.

“Yes—Meryton in Madrid, basically a semester in Spain for juniors. I don’t know if you’ve ever heard of Meryton University? It’s a liberal arts college in North Carolina, on the east coast.”

I nod. “I know it. Famous for basketball, right?”

“Right,” she replies. “Are you a basketball fan?”

“A little bit. I went to university in the U.K., so I’m a bit more into rugby, to be honest. And then of course football—soccer—I love that, too.”

“I went to my first match last week,” she says proudly.

“And?” I arch a brow. “What did you think?”

“It was
so
much fun. And so freaking loud. My ears were ringing for three days afterward. A pretty epic hangover didn’t help. Madrid won, and we had about thirty-seven celebratory drinks too many.”

“You did it right then. I’m excited to finally be able to go to a match myself now that I’m home.”

“That’s right,” she says. “Rafa was telling us you’ve been traveling for business. What do you do, if you don’t mind me asking?”

My pulse leaps. I bite the inside of my lip to keep from smiling. So Maddie doesn’t know who I am—who I
was
over the past year.

She’s just a cute girl trying to get some action from a dude at a bar on a Saturday night.
 

The relief I feel, mingled with a hint of excitement, makes me almost giddy. She appreciates my ass not because it belongs to a (slightly) famous guitarist, but because it’s apparently delicious. This is the first time I’ve talked to a girl who wasn’t out to bang a rock star, any rock star, in forever.
 

Not that there will be any banging involved. Maddie is sexy as hell, yeah, but I’m not into that sort of thing anymore. I’m ready to settle down, make a home with a novia—girlfriend—here in Madrid. A girlfriend I did not meet, drunk, at a discoteca.

“I’m in the music industry,” I say.

“That’s cool,” she says. She holds up her nearly empty glass and arches a brow. “Want another? This round’s my treat.”

I look down at my gin and tonic. I promised myself I’d only have one—I’m hoping to fly tomorrow—but suddenly I feel as thirsty as Maddie looks.

“I’ll have another,” I say, “but only if I’m buying. You’re in my city, guapa. My treat.”

“Guapa
.”
She looks at me. “Pretty?”

“It means beautiful girl.”

She smirks. “That’s laying it on a little thick, don’t you think?”

“What would you prefer I call you?”

She’s standing in front of me now, her bottom lip stuck distractingly between her teeth. I step toward her. She mirrors my move, angling her neck to look up at me. That
neck
. I resist the urge lean in, put my mouth on the place where the soft shell of her ear curves into the sinews of her throat.

I wince at the tight warmth that pulses between my legs.
Stop.
Seriously stop.

“You okay?” Maddie asks, furrowing her brow.

“Yes. Yeah.” I put my hand on the small of her back, nudging her toward the bar. “Let’s go get those drinks.”

 
“Oh? And Javier?” she says over her shoulder, eyes flashing. “You can call me whatever you like.”

I grin down at her. “Now isn’t
that
laying it on a little thick?”

She shrugs. She’s biting her lip again.

Stop
.

It would be easier to stop if Maddie wasn’t so damn sexy.

***

A few hours and many more drinks later, Maddie and I collapse in a sweaty heap on a white pleather sofa by the bar.

“For someone old enough to be an uncle,” she pants, “you’re one hell of a dirty dancer, Javier.”

“Thank you,” I reply, smiling. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

“Oh, God, you and I both know I’m a horrible dancer. Like, horrible. But it’s sweet of you to pretend I’m not.”

My smile widens. Maddie can be charming when she isn’t trying so hard to be sexy.

“You’re not
that
bad,” I say.

She pins me with a look. “I am too
that
bad. I’m even worse. Vivian says I dance like a mom who gets drunk at her niece’s wedding and thinks she got her groove back.”

“Wow,” I say. “That’s very…specific.”

“And very true.”

“No-o it’s not?” I try.

Vivian looks at me again. We both burst into laughter.

“You’re cute,” she says.

“You’re funny,” I say.

She sidles up next to me on the sofa to make room for another couple. Before I can think better of it, I move my arm to rest on the back of the sofa behind her, inviting Maddie to curl even closer against me. She does.
 

I shift my hips, crossing one leg over the other. I’ve had a raging hard-on from the moment we stepped onto the dance floor, and the way she smells isn’t helping. Drunk-mom dancing or no, I saw stars when Maddie pressed her ass into my groin and shimmied her hips.

An ass that felt even better than it looked.

All night I’ve tried to be a gentleman. Tried to stop myself when I wanted to put my hands on her, when I wanted to slide my fingers between her legs to see if she is as hot and bothered as I am. I’m not that guy anymore. I’m so done with that shit. I don’t want to wake up tomorrow with a raging hangover and a stranger in my bed. A stranger I don’t care to know, one who doesn’t care to know me.

I want
her
. The woman I’ve been dreaming about for months now. The woman I came back to Madrid for. Even if that woman isn’t exactly available at the moment.

But when Maddie looks at me the way she’s looking at me now—blue eyes sultry with interest, with arousal and intelligence—I am filled with an decidedly ungentlemanly urge to grab her hand and take her home and finally tear off that dress.

I look down at her crossed legs. The muscles in her thighs stand in relief against her smooth skin. I wonder if she’s an athlete, a runner; I wonder what it would feel like to be cradled between those lithe legs. She’d be all sinews and softness, her skin hot to the touch—