Gluttony

wait for her.

“Why now?” he asked. “Why tonight?”

“Because I don’t deserve you,” she admitted. “And I just thought maybe… I don’t know.” She threw herself back down on the bed, face first, her head buried in her arms. “I don’t get why you want… I don’t know why anyone would want to be with me,” she mumbled, her voice muffled by the sheets. Her body trembled, and Reed wondered if she was crying.

It didn’t make sense. He was the stoner. The dumbass. The loser. She was smart, beautiful, perfect. Grace’s princess. He was the one who didn’t belong in the picture, who was undeserving. How could someone so smart miss something so obvious?

“Come on,” he said. She didn’t sit up, just shook her head, still hiding her face as if afraid to show him her tears. “Come on,” he repeated. “For me.”

Finally, she lifted her head, wiping clumsily at her tears like a little kid. Her makeup smeared across her face. “Where?”

“You’ll see.”

He took her by the hand and led her out of the room, down the hall to the elevators and, when they’d stepped inside, pressed the button for the top floor. Moments later they stepped out onto an identical hallway, and Reed, once again leading the way, guided Beth down to the opposite end and through a half-hidden door.

“I did a little exploring,” Reed explained as they entered the dark, cramped stairwell, though she hadn’t asked, or even spoken since they’d left the room. “Found something I thought you’d like.” They climbed up two flights of stairs, pushed through a heavy door at the top, and found themselves standing on the roof, surrounded by the tall silhouettes of the Camelot’s fake turrets. “Come on,” he urged Beth, leading her toward the edge. She followed as if she’d lost all momentum of her own-as if, were he to let go, she would stand motionless until given another command.

They stood at the rim of the roof, the lights of Vegas spread out beneath them like stolen gems spilled onto a sheet of black velvet. A small smile crept onto Beth’s face, still streaked with mascara- stained tears.

“Remember that first day, on the crater?” Reed asked. She nodded. They had hiked up to the top and, surrounded by miles of empty desert wilderness, had decided to take a chance. Together. Reed realized he was breathing quickly and tried to calm himself down. He’d been steeling himself to do this at some point in the weekend-but now that he was actually here, and the words he’d never said before were ready to come out, he could barely speak. “Beth, since then, being with you-it’s not what I expected. It’s-” He hadn’t rehearsed; that would have been lame. But now that he was here, he almost wished he’d prepared something to say. When he wrote a song, the words always came pouring out. But actually talking about the way he felt-especially to someone else-was different. It was almost impossible.

He had to try.

“I used to think it was just something people said, you know? Some obligation, but it didn’t mean anything.” He knew he wasn’t making much sense, but it was a place to start, and she was listening. “I didn’t care. And when I met you, I didn’t care about anything. And then…” He put his arms around her shoulders, resting his hands loosely at the nape of her neck. “Now. It’s different. You know?”

“I don’t… I don’t get what you’re trying to say,” Beth said slowly, her face pale. “Are you breaking up with me?”

“No. No!” This was going all wrong. Reed wished he’d had a joint ahead of time, because then he wouldn’t care so much and it wouldn’t matter if it came out wrong. But then, it wouldn’t have mattered at all-that’s how it had always been, before her.

Sober was hard, but if he was going to do this-do this and mean it-it was necessary.

“I’m trying to tell you-” He couldn’t look at her while he was saying it, so he turned to face the endless spread of lights, grasping her hand as he waited for the words to come. “I think… I love you.”

Silence.

“Beth. I love you.” It was easier this time. There was no more doubt.

But she didn’t say anything. Finally, he dared to look at her-and she seemed so terrified, so appalled, that he quickly looked away.

“You can’t,” she whispered. “Take it back.”

But Reed couldn’t. “I love you.” he said again.

She touched his cheek, gently, with that impossibly soft skin. “Reed…” He waited for her to say it back, to say anything. But instead, she let out a loud, anguished sob-and bolted.

“Beth!”

But she didn’t hesitate, or look back. She raced across the roof, flung the door open and, just like that, she was gone.

Chapter 8

Even after they’d stepped outside the building and into the relatively quiet night, Harper imagined she could still hear the oversynthesized chords of the love song echoing in her ears. It made the awkward silence a little easier to take.

“So,” Adam finally said.

“So.”

About a foot of distance lay between them, which seemed safest. Adam leaned against the wall of the hotel, the flashing Elvis billboard casting a series of red and gold lights across his face. He watched her as if expecting something.

She knew she was supposed to start. After all, she’d been the one to push him away. It was just that now she couldn’t quite remember why.

He raised an arm and leaned it against the wall, his biceps bulging with even the small movement. And Harper imagined what it would feel like to have those biceps encircling her; to have free range to stroke his arms and lean against his chest and-

So that, obviously, was problem number one. Could she handle having him in her life without having all of him? It had been hard enough before, when all she’d had was her imagination. Now she had memories, and they were more insistent. They were more real.

But it had never been about that, or only that. It had been about Adam, the only person she could truly count on, the one who knew every detail of her past and was present in every dream of her future. She’d been miserable these last few months, and now that pain seemed pointless, the time wasted.

“You miss me,” Adam prompted, when it became obvious that she wasn’t going to begin.

Harper attempted a blase expression. “You can be useful,” she told him. “Occasionally.”

Adam took a step toward her. “So, does that mean we can end this thing?” he asked casually.

Harper shrugged. “I guess.”

“And you and me…”

“Yeah.” Harper allowed herself a smile. “We’re okay.” That was the great thing about being friends with guys: They didn’t need any of that sappy “I’m so sorry,” “No, I’m so sorry” crap. They could just shrug and move on. Move forward.

Now Harper took a step, and they met in the middle. She wanted to wait for Adam to move first, but her patience ran short, and she threw her arms around his waist, pressing her head against his