by Mia Ford
Then I get a good look at her.
The world falls away. The sounds around me fade until it’s no more than white noise, buzzing annoyingly in the background. Somewhere, in the corner of my eye, I can see someone waving to get my attention, but I can’t bring myself to tear my eyes away.
She isn’t looking at me, giving me only her side profile. Her hair isn’t as long as it used to be. And she looks tired and drawn, older than my memories paint her. But that doesn’t matter. She’s still slim and a little shorter than average, her face soft and round. Her blue eyes dart toward Allison; they aren’t as bright, but I had long ago memorized their almond shape and long lashes. I wouldn’t forget her face. I have been dreaming about her for three years, remembering and dissecting every part of our relationship as I try to figure out where everything went wrong so quickly. Not a day has gone by, in these three years, where I haven’t thought about her at least once, her face dancing across my memories as though to torture me with something I can never have. Her blonde hair and bright blue eyes haunt me.
“Jessica…”
The name slips from me without my permission. It’s too quiet to attract any attention, though. I’m frozen where I stand.
Then she looks up. Long lashes lower over her light blue eyes, pale even in the dim lighting of the bar. Her gaze meets mine.
My breath catches and the glass that’s in my hand slips through my fingers and smashes on the floor.
Chapter Two
Jessica
“Really?” I ask with a sigh, wincing as my friend pulls on a particularly vicious knot. “This is so much trouble. I thought we were just going to a bar?”
“And I thought you were interested in meeting someone,” Allison counters, frowning in concentration as she works a brush through my hair. “You aren’t going to attract any attention with this rat’s nest.”
I grumble but subside. I haven’t been looking after my hair very well recently, and I have the tight knots to prove it. It’s hard to find the time to give my hair a good scrub though, when I have a very active three-year-old running around my ankles twenty-four-seven. It’s one of the reasons why I chopped off my previously long, blonde hair; short hair is easier to manage when I have very little time to care about it
I sigh and concentrate, instead, on carefully applying face cream, trying not to wince too much as Allison tugs on the roots. She isn’t gentle with the brush at all. Why did I give it to her, again? Right, because she claimed she could do something with my hair. At this rate, the only thing she’s giving me is a headache and every reason not to go out tonight.
“Come on, Jessica,” Allison says, seeing the expression on my face and guessing the direction my thoughts have taken. “You’ve been putting this off for weeks. You don’t even have to do much. Just sit with us and have a few drinks, have a little chat and then we’ll take you home.”
“But what about Owen?” I try.
“Hazel is here,” Allison reminds me. “She’s in the kitchen with Owen right now, giving him dinner. You don’t have to worry about him.”
Hazel Watson is twenty-one years old and she’s been my babysitter for the last year. She’s good with kids and she’s picked up babysitting as a part-time job while she does a child care certificate. Owen Russell, my son, adores her.
“Yeah,” I grumble.
Allison gives my hair one last tug and grins. “There!”
I look into the mirror. Last year, I got tired of always brushing my long hair out of my eyes, so I cut it to my shoulders. Somehow, Allison’s torturous brushing has tamed it into neat, straight lines that frame my face.
“Thanks, it looks good,” I say. “Now, get out and let me finish getting ready.”
Allison laughs and leaves the room, grinning. I’m constantly amazed by how quickly we became friends again after losing contact for so many years. I’m glad; Allison’s friendship has been one of only two bright spots in my otherwise dark life.
It doesn’t take me long to finish getting ready, and I head to the kitchen when I’m done, shoes in hand. Allison is standing at the table, chatting with Hazel, when I enter. Owen, who has a bowl of ice cream in front of him, half of it smeared across the table and his face, looks at me with wide brown eyes.
“You look pretty, Mommy!” he shouts.
“Thanks,” I say with a soft smile, kissing him gently on a clean part of his forehead.
Owen, his hair as blonde as mine and his large brown eyes the same glittering shade as his father’s, is the only other brightness in my life. I don’t want to imagine where I would be without him.
“Be good for Hazel,” I tell him.
“I will!” he exclaims, waving his spoon in the air. I wince at the splatter of ice cream that hits the floor.
“Let’s go,” I say to Allison. “Before I change my mind.”
“Too late for that!” she says cheerfully, pushing me out the door as Owen and Hazel wave.
The drive to the Anchor Bar is filled with Allison’s chatter, excitedly telling me about the people that I might meet. I tune her out when she starts speaking about Kyle, however; whenever she speaks about her boyfriend, she’s always full of gushing praise for him and the fact that he gave her a second chance after all the crap she put him through.
It’s nice. Kyle is definitely a better person than I was. Sometimes, I wonder if I would have also given out a second chance if I had known where my life would end up after everything…
I shake my head. No sense thinking about it. The past is done and gone.
The Anchor Bar isn’t as seedy as I’ve been imagining. I can see several people going in and out the door, and, as I get out of the car, I can hear the beat of heavy music. The building looks cared for and no one appears overly drunk. Yet. It is only nine-thirty.
Allison strides forward confidently, and I follow in her shadow, suddenly anxious. It’s been a long time since I went out anywhere. The last time was with… I push the thought away. Now isn’t the time.
It isn’t hugely crowded, but there’s a decent amount of people in here. Several of them are congregated by the bar; there’s a large, hulking man on a stool that has to be Kyle; she hasn’t been exaggerating his height, it seems. The bartender is turning away from Kyle as I peer around, tending to others at the bar, and I follow Allison as she makes her way to her boyfriend, weaving expertly through the people around us.
“Hey,” Allison says.
“You guys took a while,” Kyle laughs. He grins at me and holds out a massive hand. “I’m Kyle.”
“Jessica,” I reply. “It’s good to finally meet you.”
“And you,” Kyle says.
Allison smiles, pleased, and leans up to kiss Kyle. I cough politely and look away, feeling a little like a third wheel. I try to find somewhere, anywhere else to look.
Then I notice the bartender standing nearby, looking our way.
No, looking at me.
Our eyes meet, blue on hazel. His expression is frozen, and a glass slips from his fingers, shattering on the ground. Kyle and Allison jump apart, startled.
“Grant!” Kyle exclaims. “You alright, man?”
Grant Johnson blinks and then nods, looking pointedly away from me. My breath catches. His broad shoulders fill in the stiff shirt he’s wearing, and he still has that rough beard that I used to love rubbing my cheek against, giggling against the feel of the short hairs tickling my skin. I look up into his eyes. His brown eyes were once so expressive. Now they’re closed off, the wariness slowly transforming into shocked anger. I suddenly realize just how tall he is; he’s always been tall, but now, standing over me as I sit at the bar, his height is even more obvious.
My stomach drops. I knew this was a bad idea.
“Yeah,” he says, then turns away to get a cloth. “It’s nothing.”
Nothing… I almost want to laugh. “Nothing” is right. After all…Grant and I broke up three years ago, and this is the first time I’ve seen him since I left him.
/>
There’s definitely “nothing” there anymore.
Of all the places I could fucking go to, Grant just had to be there. I slump over the table, a drink in my hand. I can’t remember how much I’ve drunk, but the hours have crawled past at a snail’s pace. I’m feeling a little tipsy and the world sways when I get to my feet, but I otherwise feel okay.
Other than, of course, the great gaping pit in my stomach every time Grant very pointedly ignores me.
Kyle and Allison haven’t noticed. They’re talking and laughing together - and with Grant, who is apparently one of their friends (and why didn’t I notice, Allison told me that Kyle was part of a bike group, and who is the biggest club around, idiot, idiot), drawing me in when they notice me drifting too far away.
The moment I saw him, I should have walked out. I know I should have. I have no place here. But I didn’t want to cause a scene, and I definitely didn’t want Kyle and Allison to know anything about the history Grant and I share.
So I stayed. And now… now it’s hard to even think about leaving.
Grant is here, right in front of me. In my wildest dreams, I couldn’t have predicted this. I’ve thought about it once or twice, about what would happen if I ever came across Grant again.
Somehow, though, none of those dreams ever included stumbling across him in a bar while we awkwardly pretended the other didn’t exist.
Would Grant leave if he could? He’s working, so he can’t leave. I should really be the one to leave, it’s only fair, especially since this is his turf. But I can’t stop watching him. While he’s busy avoiding looking at me at all, my eyes have just been constantly drawn to him all night.
His hair is longer than I remember. It had always been scraggy, but it looks nice in the ponytail. There are dark bags under his eyes and he looks almost as tired as I constantly feel. He’s put on some muscle too, but his smile, which he directs at his friends and the customers – everyone who isn’t me – is exactly as I remember.
There are reasons why I walked out on him, of course. But, it’s hard to remember all those reasons while he’s standing behind the bar in an apron, his body flexing every time he moves or bends over to grab a drink from the fridge. He fills out his black pants nicely and my mouth goes dry as my eyes trail over his legs.
God…I want him so badly.
A distant part of my mind is screaming at me. I’m not stupid enough for this. I’m not drunk enough. There was a reason we broke up. There’s a reason I never went looking for him in the three years we were apart.
But…
“You alright?” Allison asks.
“Yeah,” I say.
“We want to head out,” she says. “Want to grab a taxi with us?”
“No,” I say with a shake of my head. “I’ll stay out a little longer.”
Allison looks conflicted. She doesn’t want to leave me here. But I’m not going anywhere, I suddenly decide. There are things I need to say to Grant, now that he’s right here in front of me. And things I need to hear from him.
Kyle snorts.
“Grant!” he calls.
He turns around, waving off a few others that are leaving; it’s almost two o’clock in the morning, now, and there’s barely anyone here.
“Yeah?” he asks, making his way over.
“Look after Jessica, yeah?” Kyle says, beaming. “Allison doesn’t want to leave her alone, but I want to get the fuck out of here. Is that okay?”
A conflicted expression crosses Grant’s face. He sighs quietly.
“Yeah, okay,” he says unenthusiastically.
Kyle grins, not noticing. Allison hugs me and then they’re gone, leaving me alone at the bar with Grant. I look up at him and he stares over my shoulder.
“Want me to call you a taxi?” he asks, his voice flat.
“No,” I say. “Not yet.”
He huffs and takes two steps back, out of range to have a conversation but close enough that no one will mess with me. I take my phone out of my pocket and send a message to Hazel, asking if she was okay staying later; I might not be home for a while. She sends me back a cheerful agreement.
I sit at the bar, quietly nursing an empty glass as the bar starts emptying. All too soon, I’m the only one left and Grant is still avoiding my gaze, though he has to feel the weight of my eyes on him. His shoulders are tense and his hands are clenching at his sides.
Finally, he turns around.
“What do you want?” he asks.
He sounds tired, like he doesn’t have the energy to do this right now. Maybe I should give up, go home to my son, stop this foolishness before it goes any further.
But, instead, I lean across the bar. My shirt rides down a little, and his eyes dart down before springing back up, his lips twisting in a grimace. He still finds me physically attractive then.
That thought is more arousing than it has any right to be.
“I want to talk,” I say.
“Look, can we do this some other time?” he asks. “I’m tired, it’s late, I really don’t want to deal with this…”
He rounds the bar, putting his hand into his pocket to reach for his phone. I’m off my seat before I realize I’ve moved, wrapping my hands around his muscled arm. He smells exactly the same way I remember, and my heart pounds at being so close to him after such a long time.
“Jessica,” he says warningly, the first time all night that he’s spoken my name.
“We need to talk,” I say.
Grant suddenly glares. He leans back, away from me.
“I think we did all the talking we needed to do three years ago,” he says coldly.
I tighten my grip on him. I don’t like the bitterness in his voice. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me, so cold and distant. It doesn’t fit with my memories; when he would smile at me and speak with fondness clear in his voice. Has he forgotten me?
I don’t like that idea, either.
I’ve missed Grant. I don’t like to admit it, but it’s true. For the last three years, I’ve missed Grant, wondering at what would have happened if I had just stuck around and spoken to him about my misgivings instead of just walking away.
Now he’s here. For now, I have the chance to be with him again.
Words aren’t going to work right now. The alcohol I’ve had has taken the edge off all my inhibitions, so I throw caution to the wind. I wrap my free hand around Grant’s neck, stand on my toes and kiss him on the lips.
I feel his entire body freeze. I step toward him, pressing the line of my body against his, my hand still gripping his arm in an iron grip. God, I’ve missed him. His skin on mine feels just as good as I remember. I scrape my teeth against his bottom lip, teasing his skin with my tongue.
Then, suddenly, his hands are wrapped around me, pressing against the small of my back to pull me in even closer, until we’re melded so closely together than I almost don’t know where we’re separate.
I don’t know why Grant is kissing me back. Maybe he missed me as desperately as I missed him. I don’t care. I’m just happy to have him here, in my arms, for now.
My back meets the bar counter, several stools falling over. Grant steps toward me and I can feel his growing interest straining in his pants. I pull back, gasping for breath, and lower my hand to cup his penis, making him inhale sharply.
“Still interested, after all these years,” I say in a low voice.
“Shut up,” he growls, pulling me into another kiss.
The sound of his voice sends tingles down my spine. I moan into the kiss, arching up toward him as his fingers grip my hips in an almost punishing vice. I wrap an ankle around his knee and tug him in even closer, spreading my legs so he can stand comfortably between them. I’m already wet and overheated; it’s been far too long.
But I haven’t been able to look at another man without seeing Grant everywhere, questions in his eyes and heartbreak on his sleeve. Then there was Owen to consider, too…
I pull back, logical thought r
eturning. Owen! This is stupid, I need to get back to my son.
Then Grant’s teeth graze against my throat and I moan, throwing my head back.
“Still so fucking sensitive there,” Grant says, his voice rough with need. “What else hasn’t changed?”
“Why don’t you find out,” I say, fumbling with the tie of his apron behind him.
The material drops to the floor, and Grant steps over it. There’s a burning look in his eyes. It isn’t the love that I remember. It’s desire and aching want, all rolled into one, desperate need that has driven him to allow this, despite the fact that he’s made it so clear, all night, that he no longer wants anything to do with me.
We should stop. I need to walk away. But everything in me is driving me to take advantage of this weakness for each other that we share, to have at least one more night to prove to myself that I did the right thing. Part of me knows that I’m just going to walk away with more regrets but right now, I can’t bring myself to care.
“There’s a lounge,” Grant mutters, ducking his head to bite at my collar bone, making my entire body shudder.
“A lounge sounds great,” I reply, unbuttoning his shirt and pushing it over his shoulders.
It falls as he shrugs it the rest of the way off before lifting the hem of my shirt, pushing it up over my stomach. I raise my hands and allow him to pull it all the way off before throwing it somewhere. It occurs to me that I’m going to have to search for my clothes later. But that doesn’t matter.
“You’re still wearing too many clothes,” I say, running my hands over his bare chest, drinking in the sight; he’s been working out since I last saw him.
“So are you,” he counters.
He reaches behind me and flicks open my bra clasp. I allow the bra to fall, my breasts bouncing free of their confines before I step closer to Grant once more and press them against him, both of us shuddering at the feeling of our naked, heated skin meeting.
I push against Grant and we both stumble back, weaving our way toward an open doorway. As we move, I flick open the button on Grant’s pants, and he fingers the elastic of my skirt. There’s still too much cloth between us; it needs to go.
