by Scott, S. L.
The rest of the world rushes back into mine, and I look away, breaking the connection tying me to him. His head seems to clear and angles my way. “You should give him your number.” He follows that up with a playful wink before taking the beer in front of him and downing a fair amount. But I see something deeper than the lightheartedness he portrays still lingering in his gaze.
He steps back, but his scent—how I imagine the ocean air smells if I was standing on a cliff in Northern California—still lingers, making my knees a little weak.
The distance is welcomed. The quick glances I shared with him have not been enough to take in the full view of this man. Messy dark hair that’s been styled with a swipe of his hand tops his broad-shouldered build. He’s tall and looks to take life by the horns with calloused hands. Despite smelling amazing and how easy he is on the eyes, he’s a little rough around the edges and not afraid to get into some trouble.
There’s something so familiar about him that I’m tempted to stare at him a little longer. But that would be rude, so I turn away from his eyes and gaze lower, but I can’t resist looking at him. My gaze rises again to find his on me.
Sweat beads at his hairline. Dark stubble dusts a chiseled jaw and around full lips that I believe he licks for my benefit. I can’t deny I appreciate the gesture. I do. All the way to my core. Good Lord, he’s better than a Greek god carved from marble. His sculpted muscles define the shape of his shirt, making me want to touch that bulging bicep. This time, I resist. Barely.
His eyes are the kind of warm that reminds me of being cozy in front of a fire on an Aspen winter’s night. I’m tempted to snuggle against him, but again, I don’t. We’re strangers. That would make me seem like a crazy person. Though I wonder if it even matters what people think of me anymore. Why do I care?
There are so many preconceived notions and boxes I’ve been shoved in to fit someone else’s expectations. What about what I want and expect? Does anyone care how I want my life to look or how I see my future?
“You have tattoos,” I blurt.
Amusement reaches his eyes, and he holds out his arms to show me. “Yeah, a few.”
Tattoos wrap around his exposed forearms and trickle onto the top of three of his knuckles. Getting a closer look, I notice how anger infiltrates the black ink, contradicting the grin on his face. Despite the familiarity I feel with him, he’s more of a mystery by appearance alone than any man I’ve ever known.
He’s everything Lloyd isn’t and will never be. A real man—rugged and confident in a way I know he can back. He is so open to me that my guard falls down. “And why is that?”
“Why is what?”
“You said I should give him my number. So I’m wondering why I should?”
“Ah.”
The bartender shakes his head, and mumbles, “Fucking hell, Marquis,” before heading to the other end to take a drink order.
Marquis . . . the name doesn’t ring a bell specifically, but his face—so handsome that I struggle to look away. “Because good girls like you deserve a good guy to take them out on a proper date. Jake’s a good guy,” he says.
“What are you?”
“Your daddy’s worst nightmare.”
“My father’s worst nightmare would be me dating someone he considers bad for business. I’m not sure we define bad the same way these days. Are you bad?”
The right side of his mouth lifts. Leaning all the way in, he touches his lips to my ear. His breath against my skin sends a thrill up my spine and goose bumps covering my arms. “Do you want me to be?” God yes! “I could be bad for you.”
The double entendre awakens the butterflies in my stomach. The bottle slips from my hands, spilling the beer across the wood and startling me back to reality. I jump back from the edge when the liquid pours onto the floor. “Oh, no!”
“It wasn’t me, Jake. I promise,” Marquis adds.
Though I have a feeling this might be a regular occurrence when Jake tosses the towel at him. “Sure, man. Sure.” The bartender throws a towel to his friend who squats down to mop it up.
“The condensation made it slippery.” Then I look down as the sexy man wipes the mess at my feet. “Your name is Marquis?”
His gaze is so intense that I can feel it caressing my body when he looks up. That sexy grin. “Yes, my name is Marquis.”
“He has enough stocked up to cover it.” My beer is replaced, and Jake chuckles, but I’ve missed the inside joke. “Be careful with this one, or you just might find yourself buying drinks for a lead singer who will eventually break your heart.”
“Thanks for the advice.” I laugh. “But you don’t have to worry about me. I won’t fall in love anytime soon.”
“You sure about that?” Marquis asks.
“Positive.”
“Good luck with that,” Jake says, then chuckles, glancing at Marquis. “You’re going to need it.”
The funny thing is I’m not sure if he was wishing Marquis or me luck, but I think I’m going to need it.
2
Weatherly
Angling the handsome stranger’s way, I ask, “Am I going to need luck?”
“I don’t think so.” Marquis takes another long pull from his bottle, keeping his eyes on me. “I think luck’s always been on your side.”
“I could argue that after the night I’ve had.”
Resting his elbow on the bar, he unabashedly looks me over. “What happened?”
Since I don’t know him from Adam and will never see him again, I have nothing to hide. “I walked in on my boyfriend having sex with another woman.”
“Fuck.”
“Still think luck’s on my side?”
“I’d say luck; you have a guardian angel watching over you.”
“How so?”
“She just saved you a lot of damn time and tears by revealing who your boyfriend really is.”
“Sadly, I knew who he was already. I just needed a smack of reality to remind me. Now that I’ve been hit with that reality, I can’t seem to make myself care.”
A dangerous for my libido lopsided smirk appears, and he taps his bottle against mine. “We should drink to that.”
But maybe I shouldn’t.
As much as I’m happy to celebrate that I’m finally free of Lloyd Sanders, my rational side is throwing cautionary cones around this guy and barricading my heart from pounding so loud that he’ll hear how he affects me.
Setting my bottle down, I take a deep breath and exhale slowly. I bite my lip while diving into the depth of his captivating brown eyes. He’s a one-night stand of a distraction that I can’t afford to lose myself in. Lose myself in . . . the words from earlier repeat in my head. I’m too busy, too focused on graduating, but I find the thought of sex with this man very appealing.
I should tear myself away for wanting to tear his clothes off, but I stay. Just a minute longer, too captivated to leave. “I should probably get a water.”
He turns to the bartender, and when the bartender looks our way, Marquis signals to me. “Water, Jake.”
He catches a bottle and twists the top off before handing it to me. “We can’t leave a toast hanging without a cheers.”
I tap the plastic bottle against his glass. “We will definitely drink to hits of reality.” After taking a sip, I ask, “Do you believe in angels?”
The question seems to make him uncomfortable. He rests his forearms on the bar and looks down. “I don’t know. Maybe.”
Looking to change the subject that has affected his mood, I ask without thinking, “Do you come here often?” I can’t believe I just said that. “That is awful. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” His smile returns, and he looks at me. I’m curious as to what’s making him stay here and talk to me. “I am here often, but I’ve never seen you here before. I would definitely have remembered you.”
“Now that is a little cheesy, but I’ll let it slide since you offered me the same courtesy.”
Shrugging, he doe
sn’t wear any shame in his expression. “Why are you so pretty?”
This guy could have any girl here, but he’s genuinely interested in me. “You think I’m pretty?”
“Of course.” His self-deprecating eye roll is endearing. “I’m not exactly original, but I sure like looking at you.”
“Thank you.”
That makes him laugh, which is deep, speaking to me in a way that hits below the belt in good ways. What am I feeling? Breaking my own rules makes me feel alive. I’m sure it has nothing to do with him or the way he’s staring at me as though I just made his night.
After scoping out his left hand for a ring, I ask, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I haven’t met a qualified contender.” His voice is smooth with an air of arrogance. “Are you going to drink that beer?”
“No. You can have it.” He does too and drinks half. Still stuck on the job opening, I ask, “What are the qualifications?”
He chuckles again. Leaning in, he asks, “Are you applying for the job?”
“I might be interested. Do you offer benefits?” Who am I? I’m flirting like a professional and start giggling like a fool.
After taking another swig from the bottle, he says, “Depends on what kind of benefits you’re looking for. What’d you have in mind?”
I spoke too soon about my flirting prowess. I’m a mess. Put me in a courtroom and I can own it, but put me with a hot guy and I’m so over my head. “I have no witty comeback for that.”
“You’re too stuck in here.” He rubs my temple so gently that it doesn’t feel like a point he’s trying to make, but an opportunity for something I can’t quite place. “Just say what you feel.”
And there’s my heart thumping against my ribs again. “I feel too much to explain.”
“That’s okay. When you know, you can tell me.”
I wish I knew if this was real or just lines he’s used before. Does it matter? He has a way of making me special, which is new and exciting. It also might be my cue to leave before this turns into something I can’t handle. Tonight is not the night to lose my virginity, though Marquis has made me consider it. “I should get going.”
“We were just getting to know each other.”
“This has been unexpected and fun.”
“You were unexpected. I’m glad you came out tonight.”
“Me too.”
Walk away.
Walk away.
Walk—God, how I want to stay. “I definitely have to go now.” I bet he’s a great kisser. My body is getting the better of my thoughts, so I force myself to take another two steps. And those hands. Three more steps. I bite my lip again. Goodness, how I’d love to feel those hands on my skin. Two more steps. I clamp my hands around the purse hanging at my hip while my eyes trace the tattoos of his arms.
Coming back to him like a damn boomerang, I touch his forearm, and ask, “What does the skull with the daisy eye represent?”
“One of the angels we spoke about.” He touches my skin as though I have a story to tell as well. “You sure you can’t stay?”
“Yes. I need to leave.”
“That’s too bad. You ever want to run into each other again or share a beer, we play here every Thursday.”
Before I take another step, I stop. Glancing around the now fairly empty bar, I hadn’t noticed how the place had cleared out. “You’re in the band?”
A grin crosses his lips. “You didn’t catch the show?”
“Just the tail end.”
“It got better once you walked in. Come next Thursday.”
“Smooth, Marquis. You really want me to come back, or do you say that to all the girls?” He stops with a smirk and tilts his head. Then humor replaces the earnest pause.
“Come back and find out.”
Hope bubbles in my chest from anticipation, and my own grin surfaces. “Maybe I will.”
“I hope so.”
Heat colors my cheeks, a blushing mess from someone so cute wanting to see me again. Me. I’ve been living in a haze, and suddenly, the world is Technicolor. I reach the door, but before I leave, I call back, “See you again someday, Marquis.”
“See ya, Pepper.” My feet stop just outside the door, and I whip around. Catching his narrowed eyes on me, I see his grin is gone as questions carve into his expression. My heart begins to race along with my mind, searching through old memories that I can’t seem to place. “Pepper?”
I take a step toward the door, but the bouncer knocks the kickstand free and puts his arm out. “Closing up. Have a good night.” He shuts the door before I have a chance to ask Marquis if he knows me.
* * *
Marquis.
Marquis.
Marquis.
I can’t recall a Marquis, but he was so familiar that I swear there’s a level of comfort or security about him even though I can’t place his face. I pull up an email that included my parents’ invitation list from the huge bash they threw last summer. Not one Marquis—first or last name.
He’s not from high school, college, or law school because he would have said so, and how would he have time to play shows if he was? I can barely breathe these days.
I keep landing back on the question that maybe I don’t know him, but he knows me. I didn’t pay with a credit card. A shot in the dark would hit the mark before landing on Weatherly. But he didn’t call me by my name. He called me Pepper, which makes absolutely no sense, yet feels right, good even, for some reason.
Maybe I heard him wrong, but what other word could Pepper be?
See you, Beggar. I laugh. I’m pretty sure he didn’t call me a leper.
See you, Stepper. I am wearing my activity watch. Hrm . . . My gut says it wasn’t stepper.
See you, . . . Becker? Pecker? Decker? Maybe he knows my name, and he was having fun with it. Beck. Becker. I’ve heard that mistake before.
Ugh. No. It was definitely see you, Pepper. But why would he call me that?
I’ve never known anyone with tattoos down his arms, and I would definitely remember the sharp edges of that incredible jaw. By the look in his eyes, the innocence of his youth was stolen a long time ago. All the guys I grew up with are still immature and arrogant pricks.
I felt an instant connection, but was the attraction mutual?
At just past three in the morning, my mind is trying to trick me. There’s no way I know that guy. Every trail leads to a dead end.
Several days of stubble and messy brown hair, a kind smile that turns into a sexy smirk, and those eyes that seem to see through any lie I never had the chance to tell fill my head.
I don’t remember when sleep takes over, but I awake with a headache and eyes that demand to be kept closed. I pull the other pillow over my head. Ugh. “Go to sleep, Weatherly.”
How can I sleep when I have those warm brown eyes caressing me like he was undressing me? God, I’m ridiculous and apparently rhyming now. Sweating under the down blanket, I push it off me. But I’m still too unsettled and find myself pacing at five a.m.
Who was he? He’s crossed my mind more times than I care to admit, and I’m still no closer to an answer than before I met him.
Tall.
Dark.
Handsome.
He’s what fairy tales are made of . . . and sexual fantasies, if I’m being honest.
Lifting the curtain to the side, I open the blinds and stare toward the river. I can just make out the trail in the faint light. I should go for a run, run away every opinion I ever valued more than my own. I’ve been terrified to defy anyone’s wishes, broken down from trying to make everyone else happy at my expense.
Lloyd Sanders wanted to be my boyfriend since we were thirteen and I got boobs. It didn’t hurt that our fathers are partners at the same firm we were groomed for our whole lives. His grades were not top-notch despite his daddy handing him entrance to a top university and law school. So he thought he’d get in with the daughter
. Wink. Wink. But he’s never looked at me like that stranger did.
Marquis. He’s someone I don’t mind spending a few more hours mulling over. I climb back in bed and turn onto my side. Holding a pillow to my chest, I close my eyes with a smile on my face. Here in this apartment, I can be the kind of pretty he called me, living happily in the memory.
Sleeeeep.
Just go to sleep, Weatherly. I silently nag myself to be responsible. I have no business thinking about a man I don’t know.
He could be dangerous.
Excitement vibrates in my chest from the thought. Marquis is all I can think about when I should be focusing on more important things, like studying and graduating. Securing a job at the firm. Settling into a place that’s all mine. That’s what matters, but how can I think about those things when his words race through my veins. “I could be bad for you.”
Danger never looked so good. Wonder what he tastes like? Probably sex and cigarettes. I cannot stand the smell of smoke, but on him, I’m willing to lick him clean.
What.
The.
Hell.
Is.
Wrong.
With.
Me?
Tattoos and a good time. That’s what. Someone so outside my world that I can’t stop my curiosity from being piqued. And he’s a musician to boot. Holy heavens. He exudes the whole bad boy vibe.
Why am I falling down this rabbit hole? My mind needs rest, but instead, it begs to return to how he smelled like a trip I’ve always wanted to take—adventure, excitement—and how my body reacted to the heat that rolled off him in waves, drawing me unconsciously closer.
He’s everything I don’t need, but I’ve never wanted someone more, which is crazy. I don’t think I’ve really ever wanted anyone. Not really. Lloyd has never been someone I fantasized about, yet every second I see Marquis in my mind, I’m thinking definitely a good time while I figure out my next step. A good time? I’m the most uptight person I know. I rarely let myself have a good time. Could he be just what I need?
He made his interest known by flirting with me and telling me I deserve someone good and proper, which naturally led me to thinking improperly about him.
