"You're a holiday, 

a glass of ocean slipping down my throat."

NAO Bad blood

0 1

No one

It's been awhile since Alia Nourani last attended a soirée blanche. The saloon is a whirlwind of pasty fabrics, rushing waiters and overdone trays of pretentious appetizers; tuna tartar, crab cakes and lobster bisque. All the guests seem to be loyal to the theme and have pulled out their finest white garments, adding excessive headpieces and swank, sparkling jewellery. Everyone knows it is an unsaid competition: the more outrageous your clothing prices are, the better.

The Palace looks exquisite. Beautiful chandeliers, lovely flower arrangement... Though Alia is a tad biased—she's always loved The Palace. It's the only hotel in New York City she's comfortable in. Somehow hotels always give her the impression of something interim and she's too keen on steadiness to feel well-off in places like these.

Regardless of everything, a soirée is never complete without its own set of drama, never mind a soirée blanche. Which, is why all the guests are now huddled around a spot somewhere in the right corner, complete shock and excitement crossing everyone's faces. This is the Upper East side, after all.

Alia nonchalantly rolls her eyes at the people's feigned astonishment. They are all liars, of course. She doesn't believe for a second that nobody in this room knew about the scandalous affair there's so much screaming about.

A woman and a man are standing in the middle, shouting profanities and making threatening hand gestures. The woman has mascara streaks all over her cheeks. Her white Tory Burch wrap dress is hanging raunchily around her dainty hips, her ever so tight ponytail now nothing more than a low, messy bun. "Don't you give me that look!" she screeches, "I'm not the one who had an affair, you are!"

The man, looking equally as dishevelled, though maybe that's because he got caught, ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Stop this, Alison! Everyone knows you've been sleeping with Abe Bryant behind my back!"

A gasp goes through the crowd. Alia stifles the urge to roll her eyes again. Oh please, everyone knew that.

"Never a boring get together with these lot, huh?"

She snaps her face up upon hearing her father's voice, a smile tugging at her lips. Benjamin Nourani has the same, lopsided smirk on his face, his eyebrows raised. His expression says it all, certainly thinking that everybody is overreacting. It seems that he is even getting a kick out of this. Had he been one for showcasing emotions in front of strangers, he probably would've been rolling on the floor by now.

"Never." Alia snickers, playfully nudging her dad's shoulder. He winks at her before cocking his head into the direction of the exit doors. "I'll allow it. I know you hate these things, especially now that Alim isn't here to accompany you. Go—don't come home too late."

"Really?"

"Yes, sweetheart."

"Thank God." She praised, "And thank you too, dad. I promise I won't be home too late." She gently cloaks her arms around her father's neck, gratefully pecking his cheek.

"How could you do that to me?" the crying woman screamed, tears shimmering in her eyes. "I thought you loved me!"

"Get out of here while you still can, Al." Benjamin urges. Alia nods, turning on her heels. She takes off as fast as she possibly can, as fast as her Louboutins allow her to run, that is. For tonight she went all off, wearing an expensive, tight, backless Marchesa dress, with a slit starting at the highest point of her thighs.

One thing that's good about having a socialite family—fashion. High-end and unaffordable brands are never an issue, just like waiting-lists aren't either. Alia thoroughly enjoys the advantage she can take when it comes to buying clothes and she loves spending the majority of her money on it.

But for now, the sleek material of the dress is messily gathered in her fists as she continues to run, hoping she won't bump into someone she knows. Bumping into someone she knows means she'll have to strike up a conversation and that would ruin her chances of getting the hell out of this boring place.

The abundant and exuberant exterior of the Palace flashes by as the annoying sound of Alia's heels clicking echo through the grand halls. Usually she's not the one to back out of a social event, but right now there are barely any other peers present and the soirée turned out disappointingly boring.

Satisfaction rushes through her when she notices the brass-coloured elevator doors. It looks like they're about to close, so she picks up her speed and yells, "Hold it! Hold the door, please!"

And as hoped, an arm appears through the already closing elevator doors and they instantly open again. Alia puffs out a breath of relief, slipping inside. "Thank you." She pants, not really looking at the person.

"My pleasure, hot stuff."

Hot stuff? A snort unwillingly escapes her throat, her eyes flicking up to see who had the decency to pick out such an useless pet name.

And then she instantly wishes she hadn't. His face is suddenly before her, and she just stares like an idiot. A shiver shoots down her spine as she helplessly drinks in the entire package. Cheekbones and a jaw carved by the Gods, red-kissed and swollen lips... She looks down his long, lean body and in that moment Alia could swear something hot and wild settled in her core.

He's mesmerizingly perfect. Everything, from his beautifully slim hips and narrow waist to his broad shoulders, is solid. Another sound escapes her lips, though it's less stoic and more lustful this time. His head angles to the sound, one dimple showing with a sexy smile as he faces her. One eyebrow cocks, and there's a glimmer of amusement in his entrancing brown eyes.

The guy's eyes bluntly rake Alia's body, from the very top of her head to the heels hugging her feet. He's taking his time, his eyes narrowing at the sight of her bare leg sticking out of the open slit.

His gaze swings back to her face and crashes into her. Piercing brown eyes meet hers, and something knots and pulls inside her belly. His chest rises and falls in a deep sigh. There's no apology in his stare—like he's opposed to the idea of not looking.

"Hot stuff?" Alia manages to croak out, her eyebrows rising. The edges of the guy's lips faintly tug up, "I'm sorry." He speaks, "All I saw was legs when you were running. I hadn't taken my time, and now I realize hot stuff is such a wrong nickname for you."

His voice is a deep rumble and so... so manly. Alia's legs immediately wobble and she irritably grabs the side of the elevator. "Is it?"

"Yes. You're so sexy."

God. That voice. She laughs shortly, riveting the guy from underneath her eyelashes. He seems to be pleased with her reaction. "What's your name?"

"Alia Nourani."

He nods. "Alia Nourani." He repeats with a growl, and Alia draws in a sharp breath. He just fucked her name right in front of her, effortlessly. She could feel his tongue twist around those words, his voice sinfully dark.

All she can think about is reaching out and pulling him closer, but the guy's face surprisingly lit up. All traces of any sexual desire disappeared into the air as he ran a hand through his—beautiful—hair, curiously furrowing his brows. "Wait, Alia Nourani?"

"Er, yes?"

"Holy shit." He gushed, seemingly getting himself together. He pressed a button. Alia bit her lower lip in embarrassment, realizing that she was so distracted by this man that she altogether forgot to press a button to get the damned elevator to move. The doors closed and the elevator started going down with a rough hitch.

"I haven't seen you in years." He added.

"I'm sorry, who are you?" Surely Alia would remember if she knew a person as handsome as he is. The guy's lips curl into another lopsided smirk. "You really don't remember me, Shorty?"

Shorty. It was the nickname she'd received in seventh and eighth grade, though no one other than this one boy called her that. He thought it was funny since she was excessively short compared to all the other children in the class, and the kid was fun to hang out with, so she let him do it. It had looked like she was about to become friends with him, but her parents had gotten her to transfer back then, and she'd lost all contact.

"Wait, don't tell me—" Alia's eyes widen. As if something had switched inside her mind, his hair all of a sudden looked familiar and his eyes had something she'd seen before.

"Adrian Lancaster, baby." He smirks boyishly, his dimple appearing again. She shakes her head in disbelief, putting a hand to her heart. "You've got to be kidding me. I didn't recognize you at all!"

"I didn't recognize you either. You've grown a lot, Shorty."

"So have you. Wow."

But before Adrian gets the chance to say anything, the lights in the elevator start flickering and in a split moment, the lights die. The emergency lighting comes on a second later, barely illuminating everything in an eerie blue.

"What the—" Alia begins, but the elevator jerks to a stop, sending her flying into Adrian. Her knees bent forward underneath her, and if Adrian hadn't crouched down to catch her she would've been head-butting him in the stomach.

Just as Adrian was looking like he was about to say something, another jolt of the elevator had her clutching at his shoulders, while he quickly stood upright to keep them from toppling the floor. He has one arm completely wrapped around Alia's bare back, his body pressed against hers. He smells like expensive soap and cigarettes, the scent tickling her nose from where her face was buried in his shirt.

"What is happening?" she queries, her voice muffled. She is hyperaware of the skin of his hand against the skin of her back, shivers running up her spine.

"Maybe the power's gone out." He opts, slightly lowering his head.

The elevator jerks again. Alia draws in a sharp breath, fisting his shirt. It looks like he doesn't mind and she's glad, because she's mere seconds away from breaking out in panicking fits and peeing herself.

"C'mon," he speaks, prying her hands off his shirt, "Let's sit down. I feel like it's going to take a while."

"What?"

But Adrian doesn't respond. Instead, he slides to the ground, comfortably shifting until he finds the right position. He's perfectly relaxed and seated, his face pensive and strikingly juvenile, like this doesn't scare him in the least. "I'll call my mom. Don't worry, just sit down and relax."

"How can I not worry?" Alia hisses, "The elevator is broken!"

"I am aware."

She huffs, gathering her dress and sitting down too. Adrian's gaze lingers on her bare leg before clenching his jaw and looking up. "At least we have something to do."

"And that is?"

He snickers devilishly, whipping out a bottle of Vodka. "I was planning on drinking it on my own, but this is much better."

Alia smirks. Perhaps, this wasn't so bad.

Adrian watches her with a cocky smile, his eyes glimmering, as she takes the first gulp, the liquid burning its way through her throat. Then it's his turn. After that it's her turn again. Then his.

They go on like that, sharing the bottle of Vodka until their gazes are blurred and their limbs feel limp. A rumble of laughter escapes their lips for no reason as they chat about nothing in particular. Somehow, they inch closer to each other till their sides are jointed. Alia breathes in his magnificent scent, her fingers cautiously trailing up his chest. Adrian just leans his head against the wall and closes his eyes.

"Is there anything left?" his voice is rough. Alia's eyes dart to the bottle before she looks back at him. "A bit."

"Wanna share?"

"Of course."

His eyes flutter open, stretching his arm so he can take a hold of the bottle. Once he's done so, he unstops it and put it to Alia's lips.

She gratefully takes a swig, a single drop running from the corner of her mouth down her neck. Adrian's eyes flare. He immediately throws the bottle to the side and dips his head, catching the drop with his tongue.

Alia's eyes close in pure satisfaction, her hands gripping his hair.

"Vodka tastes even better when I drink it off you." He gruffly says, his right hand trailing up her bare thigh.

"Drink it off me, then." She whispers.

His mouth parts at her nape. He grazes her skin with his teeth, and then his tongue comes out to lick her again. Alia's body electrifies as his hands catch her hips. Squeezing, he pulls her closer and harder against his front, and her buttocks feel how hard he is. He wants her to feel how much he wants her. His tongue trails up her neck to the back of her ear.

Alia has eyes for nothing other than the jaw-droppingly gorgeous man before her. Brown eyes glazed with lust as he stares into her eyes, then her mouth.

A sluggish smile curls Adrian's lips. He kisses her.

His kiss spins Alia's stomach into a wild swirl. He deftly moves his lips as his tongue rubs against hers, a grunt deep in his core when he gathers her closer and forces her to feel his erection, all while he angles his mouth and fucks her mouth like there's no tomorrow.

"Jesus." She whispers, momentarily pulling back. "You are... definitely not what I remember."

He laughs wholeheartedly. "Better or worse?"

"Better. Better, for sure."

He laughs again. "Well, that's me for you."

Instant fluttering settled itself in Alia's stomach, his words causing her to simper. He was so beautifully suave, with the playful glint in his eyes and the cocky smirk curling his lips, that Alia found herself awe-struck. He almost appears... perfect. Almost? She doesn't know. All she knows is that right now, her entire body is begging her to reach over and attach their lips again.

She innocently widens her simper. "Let's make out again."

"I thought you'd never ask." He gutturally emits, their lips colliding again.

You could say that the elevator breaking down wasn't that much of a problem.

Forty minutes later, Alia decided to hold that thought. Her back was pressed against one of the walls of the elevator, her stomach swooping at the realization that they were still trapped in this cubicle. Her cheeks were flushed and her dress laid messily around her legs, who were firmed by her panties cloaked around her ankles.

She was rejoicing in the utter ecstasy and bliss the mind-blowing sex had given her, though it slowly started to fade, leaving her with nothing other than panic and paranoia. She was... slightly worried, to say the least. It had been nearly an hour and no one had come looking for them.

Also, she was drunk. Full-on wasted.

Alia glanced at Adrian. He was leaning against the wall too, right next to her, his head tilted upwards and his eyes shut. Their hands accidentally bumped. No one said anything.

"Didn't you say you were going to call your mom?" Her words came out more slurred than she'd expected, and she immediately closed her mouth.

Adrian's eyes fluttered open, meeting her gaze. "My mom's not here."

"But you said..."

"I know what I said," he garbled, "I just said it so you wouldn't panic. I already texted someone to come help us, don't worry."

Silence. Alia cautiously leered at Adrian, his chiselled bone structure, his long eyelashes, while he seemed to be thinking deeply about something completely different. He snorted loudly, the sound echoing against the walls of the booth. "She's never here." He hissed quietly, staring at the ceiling.

Alia blinked. "Who?" She was usually pretty smart, but right now, with the vodka shadowing her thoughts, she wasn't exactly on point. Adrian turned his head, glancing at her before muttering, "Mom."

"Oh." She said, her shoulders slumping.

"Like, never." His eyes flashed in sadness. "It fucking sucks!"

He slurred his words, equally as trashed as Alia was. Alia nodded, dizziness clouding in her head. "Yeah, that sucks."

Adrian looked at her again. His brown eyes were wide and dark, his brows downed on them. Then, as if he awoke from a trance, he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her close. "You're a nice girl, Shorty."

Alia chuckled humourlessly, leaning her head against his chest. She was too drunk and too exhausted to question their position—besides, they'd already slept together. Cuddling for a bit until they'd get out wasn't that big of a deal. "Compliments really aren't your forte."

He rolled his eyes. "They aren't?"

"Hot stuff. Nice girl. I mean, you're really not that original."

Adrian lowered his head, his lips brushing against hers as he whispered, "I make up for it by being a great fuck, right?"

She puffed out a breath, playfully shoving his shoulder. Adrian laughed, his arm retreating back to hanging limply by his side. "For real, though," he snickered, "you have to admit; I'm not bad."

Alia shook her head, riveting him from underneath her eyelashes. "You're not." She couldn't help but blush. Thinking about the great sex they'd had just a short while ago turned her ruddy, but speaking about it only made it worse. Adrian smiled cockily, the rooted dimples in his cheeks appearing. "You're shy!" He cried as if she wasn't mere millimetres away from his mouth.

"Yes." She snapped, her hands covering her ears. "You don't have to yell, I'm sitting right next to you!"

Another laugh bubbled up his throat, rich and wholehearted. He sheathed his arms around her again, still laughing against her forehead. "Shorty, you're adorable. I think I might have to change your name into Cutie."

Alia narrowed her eyes, ignoring his comment. He, however, seemed highly amused by her annoyance, pulling her into a warm hug. "Aw, come on, Shorty. I doubt I'll see you much after this anyway."

"You do?"

"Yeah. It's been a while since we last saw each other, so I don't think we'll be hanging out on a daily or something."

She nodded in agreement. "I guess you're right." She didn't know what to say anymore, mainly because her eyes kept closing. The warmth of which he held her with and the comfortable position she laid in was enough to turn her extremely sleepy. Leisurely, she pulled his arm some tighter around her, nuzzling into him.

He gently squeezed her. "Don't sound so disappointed. I'll see you around one day, Shorty."

Neither knew how soon that day would be.