by Scott, S. L.
A sky full of stars.
A bright moon reflecting off her hair.
Trust in her eyes.
Yep. This is one of those moments.
I’ve never danced with a girl without music, but Weatherly feels different. She doesn’t feel like a one-night stand, but I can’t pinpoint what this is. The dance doesn’t last long as we take a breath and step apart. I’d do it again, wanting more of it. Of her. Nodding toward the inside, she says, “Let me give you a tour.”
I exhale when she goes inside and catch my breath again. I need to get my head on straight. I’m not drunk, but something’s got a hold of me. I glance inside, wondering if it’s the petite brunette waiting for me. I take another breath and join her because I’m curious where this tour will lead me.
The living room is decorated like something out of a fancy magazine at the checkout stand. Deep blue patterns against white backgrounds. Clean. Dark wood floors warm up the bright space. The kitchen is white with marble counters. Pure money. “It’s really nice.”
“Thank you. Can I get you something to drink or eat?”
“Sure. Beer if you have it.”
Bending down, she grabs two bottles and hands one to me. I twist off the top and then trade her. We sip in silence, looking around the place. I break the ice. “What do you do?”
“I’m in school.”
“College?”
“Law school,” she replies casually and takes another drink. “Hungry?”
“Really?”
She shrugs. “I’m a little hungry.”
I can’t help but laugh. “No, I meant you’re in law school. That’s crazy.”
“Technically, I’m graduating.” She smiles, bumping past me as she opens the fridge. “I’m on the younger side. Twenty-three. Most of my classmates are twenty-five.”
“I’m twenty-five.”
She glances at me with a cocked eyebrow as if my face will give my age away. “People are usually surprised to hear my age.”
“Your age doesn’t surprise me.” Chuckling, I add, “I’ve just never met a lawyer who wasn’t assigned to me.”
“Well, that doesn’t sound good.”
“If it matters, you’re the hottest lawyer I’ve ever seen.”
That whisks her smile back into place, exactly where it should be. “I’ll take the compliment.”
“How’d you get so ahead?”
“I already had a two-year degree from the University of Texas when I graduated high school. I was on an advanced placement path.”
“And stayed. Impressive.”
“I’m a total geek. I skipped a lot of parties to study instead. Do you like peanut butter and honey, or I can make avocado toast on sprouted oat bread? I’ve been dieting, so I don’t have much.”
“I don’t know what that is, so I’ll stick with the PB and H. Studying doesn’t make you a geek. It makes you smart. Every reporting period my mom would get a note that I could be someone if I just applied myself. Be someone . . . I always fucking hated that phrase. As if I’m less if I didn’t take the path they chose.”
Her eyes go wide. “Clearly, they never heard you play or sing. You’re amazing.”
“Guess bars downtown weren’t their scene. Though I ran into my Spanish teacher once at a show my senior year. She was with her friends and drunk off her ass. Kept buying me beers and hitting on me. She was only twenty-two and fresh out of college, but I wasn’t going to be the one to ruin her career.”
“My science teacher sophomore year offered me private tutoring at his house.” Stopping, she stares at the cabinet in front of her. “I was a straight-A student in the class, sooooo, yeah.”
“Fucking creepster.” I wash my hands, knowing I don’t want to drag the bar into her pristine world, and then lean against the small breakfast bar. “Why are you dieting?”
Her gaze slides my way before she focuses back on the sandwiches. “No reason,” she replies quietly.
I learned a long time ago that women will let you know what’s on their minds if they want you to know, so I don’t push her on the subject. Instead, I stand next to her and grab the honey bear container. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had honey.” My mom loved peanut butter and honey sandwiches. I don’t think I’ve had one since she died.
“I was never allowed to have peanut butter sandwiches as a kid, so they’ve become a favorite for me now that I do the shopping. Do you prefer jelly?”
“Honey is good. I swear all I ate were peanut butter sandwiches.” I laugh. “Sometimes, I had butter sandwiches, and if we had extra bills to pay that week, I just had bread.”
With a peanut butter-coated knife in her hand, she angles her body my way. “Plain bread?”
Nodding, I say, “You know, I never thought that was weird until now.”
“I’m sorry. I wasn’t judging you.”
“I didn’t think you were. I just never remembered about the bread until now.”
Looking back down at the sandwiches, she says, “Honey.”
“Yeah?”
She starts giggling. “I meant the bread is ready for honey.”
“Fuck.” I start laughing too. “Yeah, of course.” I zigzag honey all over two of the slices. She slaps the sandwiches together and hands me one. “Happy eating.” We tap our crusts together and take a bite.
“What is your favorite food?”
“Probably burgers. I’m not a complicated guy. You?”
“Mexican food.” She holds her sandwich in front of her and sighs. “I could eat tacos and sandwiches every day, but tortillas and bread go right to my hips.”
“You have nice hips.”
“Because I don’t eat tacos much.” She laughs, but it’s lacking humor.
“If tacos and sandwiches make you happy, who the fuck cares about a few pounds? You’re small as it is.”
Like it’s Christmas morning, her whole expression lights up. “You think I’m small?”
“Do you think you’re big?” I finish my sandwich and dust my hands on my jeans.
“I don’t know anymore. I’ve lost perspective.”
I bet that douche messed with her head. Keep her down while he fucks around, hoping she’ll stay with him. Fucker. I could beat his fuckface right now for that. I touch her chin and angle her my way. “Listen to me.” She looks me right in the eyes, making my throat go dry. As if I didn’t think she was beautiful before, her looking at me like I hold the keys to her world is about to do me in. “If I do nothing else tonight, you’re going to know how beautiful you are.”
She’s pretty darn cute with a little honey stuck to the side of her mouth. I’m tempted to tell her, but when she lifts up and kisses me, I steal it instead. It’s not the honey that tastes so good. It’s her. When she lowers back down, she whispers, “Thank you.”
The heat has cooled in the kitchen, but there’s still some lingering between us that keeps me glued to her. “Thanks for the sandwich. It was good. When I make them at home for the band, nothing. If I cook a meal, though, I suddenly have three best friends. Not that they aren’t already, but yeah, you know what I mean.”
“I do. I often eat alone, to be honest. My girlfriends are more into cafes and restaurants, whereas I feel less stressed generally at home since I’m always studying. I cave once a week, though. Figure it’s good to get out.”
She hasn’t finished her food but starts to clean up, so I step in. “Let me.”
“It’s okay. You’re my guest.” After rinsing the knife, she drops it in the silverware basket in the dishwasher. I put the other things away from where I saw her retrieve them.
With the kitchen clean again, she heads for the bedroom. “Make yourself at home. I need to get these shoes off. My feet are killing me.”
I catch her in the living room before she disappears. “I like the shoes if that makes a difference.”
When she turns back, her smile isn’t laden with intentions, but relaxed, the comfort of home settling in. “It does.”
/>
“Want help?” I lean against the side of the couch, finding the curiosity and allure in her eyes utterly captivating. She comes to me. “Lift,” I instruct.
Her shoe rests on my thigh, and I slowly pull the yellow ribbon, unlacing it from around her and letting them flutter free. I hold her ankle and look up. With her gaze fixed on my hand, her breaths seem heavier with each exhale, her lips parting.
Dropping the shoe, I rub her foot, and then work on the other. A peep show of thigh exposed as her skirt balances across her smooth skin. I like her eyes, her trust, and her comfort level with me. I’m not willing to risk losing that by detouring away too long.
For a second, I don’t recognize myself. I’m not an asshole to women, but I appreciate them, usually several times over in a night. She turns me the fuck on, but I can’t bring myself to rush it with someone so graceful, so delicate.
Delicate—her ankles, her touches, and the sweet glances she thinks she’s stealing. The whole situation needs to be handled with care, or we’ll end as a wasted opportunity.
Opportunity. I’m not sure what that suggests, but I don’t want to lose it. I take off the other shoe and then look at her standing barefoot before me. Tan legs. Reddish-pink dots her toes. I run my hand over the tops of her thighs before leaning back to take a full assessment of her. “You’re a lot shorter than I thought.” Delicate.
A shrug accompanies a little laugh as she playfully pokes me in the chest. “You’re just tall.”
“I guess.”
“Anyway, I’m not that short. I’m just shorter than you.”
“I’ll give you that.”
She moves in closer. I welcome this kind of invasion of my personal space as she rests against me, looping her arms around my neck and tilting her head to look at me. “What else will you give me?”
The sexual energy between us flares. I’m not embarrassed by what she can already feel I’m willing to give. We’re both adults, and I can’t hide my body’s reaction to her, but these jeans are getting tight. “Whatever you want.” Dipping to the side, I kiss her neck. “You just have to tell me.”
When I lift up again, her smile returns—confidence shaping it. She kisses me, her body moving against mine. “What do you want, Weatherly?”
“I want you, Dare.”
9
Dare
At Shep’s, I knew full well she wasn’t a one-night fuck. I don’t even want it to be quick and duck out. Clearly, I haven’t thought this through.
“I want you, Dare.” Weatherly’s words ring out like music to my ears.
My dick has been hard since we walked in, but damn, it’s painful now. As much as I’d like to move this into the bedroom, selfishly, I want more of her first. “Let me see you.”
“You’re seeing me.”
I straighten her hips and watch as the realization of what I want dawns on her face. A little space is put between us; enough for me to take her in from those bare feet to that bottom lip her teeth are troubling. It’s the first time I’ve seen uncertainty reach her features. Shyness, sure, but not uncertainty. “Don’t worry, babe. I’m going to have my hands all over you soon enough, but I want to get a good look at you first.”
Fidgeting with the bottom of her dress, she tugs at the hem. “What do you see?”
The fabric isn’t glued to her, but the material is light against her skin. She’s a vision, an angel in the flesh. A woman like this doesn’t need her clothes to get attention. She does a damn fine good job all on her own. The dress is fitted at the waist and the hem stops mid-thigh. Her beauty is a thief of the un-redeeming kind, making me feel unworthy in her presence. “You’re so fucking beautiful.”
I reach down to cup the back of her legs, slowly sliding my hands under her skirt. Getting a good hold of her ass, I pull her to me. “Damn, girl. You feel as good as you look. You have me wondering if you taste just as sweet.”
“You tell me,” she says, squaring her shoulders. “You’ve kissed me.”
Honey.
She tasted like honey every time I’ve had the pleasure of kissing her.
I kiss her again, dragging the tip of my tongue over the plushness of her bottom lip. I speak against her parted lips. “I wasn’t talking about your mouth.”
Her body shivers under my touch, her eyes closing as she presses that sexy mouth to mine and kisses me this time. With a satisfied sigh, she leans back to look at me. She finds my hands and pulls me toward the bedroom. One of those perfectly polished eyebrows goes up, and that grin I’m sure gets her whatever she wants on the regular is aimed at me. “Let’s find out,” she replies.
I’m grabbed by the front of my shirt and tugged through the doorway. Our mouths crush together, our bodies grinding against each other. I’m not just tall but hard for her. I give her all six foot three of my solid muscle when I spin us around. Anchoring my hands above her head, I pin her with my hips and my lips.
The back of my shirt is invaded as her hands hold me to her. Our lips part, and I cup her face, tilting to the side to kiss every inch of her swanlike neck. “Dare,” she breathes into my ear, “I want you.”
“I want you, too. God, so much.” She’s the reward I don’t deserve but will savor for every second I have her. I bend down and lift her into my arms, but when I turn around, I don’t make a move.
Plush bed, lots of pillows, jewelry hanging from a little stand on a dresser that resembles a tree. Clean and pretty. Expensive. Just like Weatherly.
While I have to share a run-down house with the band, she’s over here living in luxury. These west side girls sure know how to live the high life. We’re miles apart, physically and in stature. Why does she want me?
I’m too dirty for this space, too dirty for her. Dried sweat from the show sticks to me as I stand in a room unlike any other girl’s room I’ve been in. I don’t want to mess it up. I set her down carefully, but I hate that I’ve put doubt in her eyes, or that she has to ask, “What’s wrong?”
This isn’t a world I’m used to, making me feel out of place.
I’m not good enough.
I’m not rich enough.
I’m not worthy.
That shit from my childhood still hangs around the recesses of my brain. “I’m dirty.” I reveal only a small fraction of my confession. “I’m afraid to touch anything.” I look at her light-colored dress, the fabric so thin that if it got wet it would be see-through. “Including you.” I hold her hips and then push to put space between us. “I need to shower.”
“I like you touching me. I like dirty,” she says, rubbing against me. “We can be dirty together.” She’s trying so hard that it’s difficult to justify why I feel she’s out of my league.
I don’t want to disappoint her, so I kiss her, giving her what she wants, giving myself what I crave. Her back is against the wall, and my hand finds its way under her dress. Sliding my hand between her thighs makes her purr and her body writhes.
Wet.
She’s so wet that I stop taking my time and find her sweet promise land. The tips of my fingers are under the lace, and I’m met with soft curls. Her mouth is open as I kiss her breaths away. Nails dig into my shoulders when I pause. “Don’t stop, Dare.”
I’m not going to leave her hanging, but as much as I want her, to go deeper, I stop when I see how the moonlight floods in, highlighting her beauty. Everything about this woman is angelic, and here I’m taking her like I’m the devil incarnate. “I played a show at a bar that I wouldn’t take you to if you were mine much less spread the germs all over that white bed.”
“I like that bar, and the sheets are fine.” One of her hands is against my chest, keeping the connection. “You can take a shower if you’d like, but you don’t have to for me.”
“I want to for you.”
Pulling that lip under her teeth, she looks me over, and then says, “We can shower together?”
Where did this goddess come from? She’ll have me sinning before I realize what crime I committed. I
said I was her daddy’s worst nightmare, but with her, I wonder if I don’t have to be.
I walk across the room, needing the distance to clear my head and to be out from under her enticing floral scent. It’s pretty like her. She’s too easy on the eyes. I need space to think, so I start pacing. “What are we doing?”
She smiles. So fucking innocent. “I thought we were going to make love.”
“Make love?” My eyes practically bug out. “Love doesn’t factor in with the physical.”
“Okay,” she says, her gaze heading toward the opposite side of the room. Lowering her voice, she asks, “What do you call it? Sex?”
“Fucking. You can say it, Weatherly.” We can keep this lighter despite the heaviness of the connection between us. This is just another night. She’s just another girl. I repeat it, trying to feel the meaning, but the words don’t sink in, so I fight them instead. I crack my neck, my shoulders tensing, feeling these walls closing in on me. “Call it what it is because if you’re wanting something from me, it won’t be love. I don’t make love, babe. I fuck. Let’s not pretend it’s anything else by hiding behind sweeter words.”
My words knock the wind out of her sails. It’s best this way. Girls like her don’t date guys like me. I’m a fun distraction from her aspirations. Scoring an M.R.S. from some country club fuck like that douche earlier tonight has probably been drilled into her head since she was a little girl.
Her chest deflates as she stares at me. I’m taken aback momentarily by the icy glare before she thaws and the smile that reached her eyes earlier disappears. She stands, keeping me in her sights as she moves toward the bathroom, but she doesn’t leave. “I thought we’d have a good time and . . .” She shrugs. “I don’t know. I’m not good at this.”
“Good at this? What’s this, Weatherly? Sex with a stranger, revenge for catching your boyfriend fucking some other girl, bragging rights for bagging a singer? What do you want from me?”
