by Ava Harrison
He waves to the new waitress. “Another.”
After our second drink, I’m much looser. We’ve talked about nothing in particular, but it’s nice to let go and have fun for once, especially after my job debacle. He brought me to some swanky club that’s for members only. High roller members from the looks of things. It’s nothing but fancy suits and tumblers of pricey scotch. I might have gone to private school and grown up wanting for nothing, but this is a whole new level of wealth. I’m out of my element, but the man next to me manages to make me feel like I belong here.
“So, tell me what happened. Maybe a bit slower this time.” He smirks, and heat spreads through me. First from embarrassment from my rambling, but soon it transforms into something else. Understanding. This stranger with piercing green eyes looks at me like he understands. And the thought warms every molecule in my body.
“Oh, where to even start.” I look off toward the drapes, trying to avoid eye contact. It’s dark in our enclave. Only candlelight illuminates the space. They flicker like little fireflies on a warm summer night.
“The beginning is always a good place.” Grant’s deep voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I look up at him. We lock into a stare, and I swallow before speaking.
“It’s been a rough day.”
“We established that.”
I smile. “You said you’ve had a rough day, too?”
“Yep. It’s been a series of rough days. Hell, it’s been rough months. Fuck it, years.”
“I was basically sexually harassed at the workplace if it makes you feel any better,” I blurt out, and he sets his glass down.
“What do you mean, basically?”
“I got a job through a temp agency, and the guy was horrid. I left, but the problem is that it’s the Karen Michelle agency, and Karen Michelle is the best.” I roll my eyes. “But enough about me. What about you?”
“You did the right thing in leaving. Karen will have to deal with it unless she wants one of her clients to have a lawsuit on their hands. Sexual harassment is no joke, Bridget, and you shouldn’t make light of it.”
“I’ll deal with it. Just not tonight.” I beg him with my eyes to drop the subject. He catches the drift by lifting his tumbler to his mouth and taking a gulp of the amber liquid. “So, what’s your deal?”
He groans. If he thought he was getting out of sharing, he’s sadly mistaken. “I’m having some interoffice conflict.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Too complicated to explain.”
“Well, I’ve probably had one too many to understand anyway.”
As I say the words, the lightheadedness rushes in. The drinks have been flowing like water as we’ve talked and enjoyed each other’s company.
“As have I.”
“So, let’s not discuss it anymore. Let’s have another drink.” I laugh. One more drink and his hand has found a resting place on the back of my chair. “Tell me something about you,” I demand playfully.
“Hmm . . . let me think.” He taps his chin. “I don’t have a lot of time to watch television, but when I do, I like to watch reruns of Cheers.”
My brow rises. “Cheers? Like the old bar show?”
“The old bar show? It’s a classic, Bridget.”
“Classic is the keyword here,” I deadpan, but I can’t stop my gaze from running over his every feature. He’s older than me. A few small creases etch away at his forehead, but they don’t take away from his devastatingly handsome face.
He chuckles, and tiny lines form on the outside of his perfectly delectable lips. “Well, I’m older than you, it would appear.”
“You don’t have to age yourself by admitting you like Cheers.” I bite my lip to stifle my chuckle.
“Hey”—Grant laughs—“you bruise my ego.”
“Don’t worry, pops. You’ve still got it going on.” I wink.
“You don’t say.”
Grant’s hand has moved from the back of my chair to my leg. I’m not sure when that happened, but the motion of his hand rubbing lightly against my exposed flesh has tingles shooting through my body.
Our eyes meet and heat pools behind his pupils. The lust is so thick in the air I can barely breathe. The need to touch him is intense. He leans into me, his mouth dangerously close to the shell of my ear.
“Want to get out of here?” My body shivers from the feeling of his words tickling my skin.
“Sure,” I rasp. It’s as though I’m in a heady trance, and leaving with him is my only option. Everything about this is wrong. On a normal night, this wouldn’t be happening. On a normal night, I wouldn’t leave with a stranger. But this isn’t a normal night. Lord knows I have no idea where it will lead, nor do I care.
He takes my hand turning abruptly, leading us out of the room. “This way,” Grant orders, his voice low and husky, dripping with a raw sexual undertone that makes it impossible not to agree.
“Okay.”
The rough pads of his fingertips trace a pattern against me, making me feel hot. Needy. Together we set out, his gait faster. His long strides pull me with him, out of the bar and down a back hall. I follow him down a long corridor, and then out a door that leads outside. Brisk air kisses my skin, and I realize we’re in the back alley.
“Where are we—” I’m pushed against the wall, forcefully. The hard edge of the brick bites my flesh.
“I want you,” he grates roughly. “Say yes.”
“What?” The word escapes on a breathy whisper as it takes everything in me to remain controlled. I’d only have to lean in a few inches and our lips would touch. I’d taste him. The thought sends a jolt to my core.
“Bridget,” he groans. “Say it. Tell me you want this. I’m losing patience not being able to kiss you, but I don’t want to be like the other asshole you’ve dealt with today. Say yes. I won’t take what’s not given freely.”
“Yes.” The word comes out harsh, desperate.
“Fuck,” he growls as his mouth descends. His tongue slides in, taking possession of all that I am.
I want every part of this man.
His hand slides up my side, leaving goose bumps in its wake. I’m electrified by his touch, emboldened by his arousal. I shouldn’t be allowing a stranger to have me pinned against the wall. I shouldn’t be going down this path. A war wages in my mind, but when determined fingers pull at my panties and cup my core, the battle is lost. He parts me. Slides his finger. Then another.
I need this.
My only choice is him.
My kisses are filled with desperation. All thoughts are of him claiming me, of his body pressed against mine, of how it would feel to have him inside me. A pleasure pain builds as he finds the sensitive spot and torments me. The friction of his ministrations has me clawing at him.
I need more.
So much more.
“Please,” I plead against his mouth. Pulling my lips away, we lock eyes. “Please.” I want him to take me. To fuck me against the wall in the back alley. I need him. The force of his movements increases.
I can feel it.
I can taste it.
The world around me fades away. All noise ceases as I chase my high. I’m almost there.
Undone.
“Fuck,” he growls, yanking his hand away, leaving me vacant and needy. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuck.” He pulls frantically at the root of his hair. I watch confused as Grant slams his fist into the wall. My eyes round in horror as I now know that’s not lust in his voice. It’s regret.
“I can’t do this,” he mutters as he walks away, leaving me baffled and alone.
What did I do wrong?
Only everything.
What the fuck did I just do?
How did that happen?
How did I let myself go so far?
I’ve officially lost my ever-loving mind, that’s how.
My bones scream in pain. Glancing down, I notice that there’s blood on my knuckles. Shit, things got out of hand real fast.
It started harmlessly. She ran into me and took my breath away. She was upset, and she needed me. It’s been a long fucking time since a woman has needed me and it felt good. It didn’t help that she’s beautiful. At that moment, I’d never seen anyone so gorgeous, so sexy, yet so innocent at the same time. I think I needed her as much as she needed me.
Fucking idiot.
I watched as she went from being desolate to only moments later embracing letting go and throwing her head back and laughing. How she let go with such abandon after what she’d been through had my blood boiling with jealousy. Every once in a while moments of weakness and self-doubt crept in. She hid it well under the sarcasm and tough exterior, but it was there. Her jaw ticked. She bit her lip. The look in her eye told me she was unsure of what to do or say next. I knew the look. The confused feeling that must have run through her body. So I went against every moral I had, every rule I’d ever set, and dragged her away from prying eyes.
And the moment we were alone, I was lost to her.
When her gaze met mine, those same eyes I’d watched dance in wonder looked at me as if I were the only man in the world, and I wanted that to be true. I wanted it so badly that I needed it to be. So I took her. I shouldn’t have, but I was desperate for her. Desperate for the feelings. The feel of her.
God . . .
The feel of her in my arms. It’s been too long since I’ve had a woman in my arms. I was drunk on it. Drunk on her. Her warmth. The way she pressed against my hand, her body urging me to take her. To fuck her. To take what I wanted. It’s been so long since I’ve felt that. Something so pure and tangible and wanting it to be mine. But in the end, I couldn’t. My fucking conscience had got the better of me. It killed me to pull away, but as I took with no regard for anything but my basic needs, I became everything I hated. And deep down, as much as I hated the idea, I knew what I had to do.
So I left.
Pulling myself out of the sordid memory, I run my hands through my hair.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Fuck.
Now what do I do? I don’t know the girl, and I never have to see her again, but will she be okay? Despite every voice in my head shouting no, I can’t help it. I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a prick to people who don’t deserve it.
I push the door open, and I’m met with an empty alley.
Shit.
I’m sure she’s fine. Pissed, but fine. Letting out a huff of air, I make my way back down the hall and into the lounge. I plaster on my fakest smile, straighten my back, and let the mask fall. I need to leave. Coming here was a bad idea.
“Grant,” I hear from behind me and glance over my shoulder. A woman I once dated in college is standing there. Her heavily injected lips pucker, and she pushes her fake breasts together, giving me an ample view of her cleavage. Monica is just as fake as she was the last time I saw her. She reaches out to touch my arm.
“Monica.” I look down at her hand, then give her a pointed look. She can’t be touching me like that. No matter how much she wants me, it’s never going to happen. Monica, as beautiful as she is, could never make me sway.
It was wrong of me to go there with Bridget, but I couldn’t help it. She was so enticing . . .
I almost faltered in my resolve.
Almost.
I don’t remember how I got home last night. My brain was in a fog of alcohol mixed with humiliation. What I do remember is the irony of the fact that I once made fun of my sister Olivia for making out with a stranger and now not even a year later, I’ve done the same thing. I guess as much as I try to not follow in my sister’s footsteps, I do. The only difference is Olivia fell in love with her stranger and I was left with the trash. The memory makes me wince.
He rejected me. But worse than the rejection was the look in his eyes. Haunted. Tormented. A look in which it was obvious that not only did he hate what he did, but he hated me for it. As if it was my fault that it happened. As if I forced him. Just thinking about it has my head pounding. What is it with men taking advantage of me? He didn’t exactly force himself on me. I came willingly, but the way he left . . .
It was shitty.
Between my hangover and last night, I need a distraction. Picking up my cell, I fire a text over to Lynn.
You around?
I pray she is. After yesterday, I need my best friend. I need to vent, and maybe scream, and Lynn is the only person who will fit the bill to make me feel better.
Lynn: Yep, Carson is gone all day.
I breathe out the pent-up oxygen I didn’t even know I’ve been holding.
Me: Want to hang?
Lynn: Time and place?
Me: 72 Diner? I could use some greasy food.
Lynn: Ha. Hungover?
Me: You have no idea! What time?
Lynn: One hour?
Me: Great. See you then.
Knowing I’m going to spend the day with her has my corded muscles uncoiling. I need someone to talk to about what transpired at the lounge last night. More importantly, I need a pep talk in how to handle the situation with Karen. As much as I’ve tried to push it aside, I can’t do it any longer. Everything from yesterday has me realizing more than ever that it’s time to grow up.
An hour later, I find myself in a small, dingy booth sitting across from my sister. My head is pounding, and I can barely muscle up the energy to lift my mug to my mouth. Lynn, on the other hand, is grinning away at me as she sips a cup of hot coffee and nibbles on a french fry. I want to smack the smirk off her face. Why did I think coming here was a good idea? The people around us are way too loud. The place is too bright. God, all I want right now is to be still in my bed.
“You know, I’m trying not to laugh at you, but it’s hard. You’re pulling the funniest faces,” Lynn says.
“Why would you laugh at me? You’re my sister, and right now you’re supposed to be supportive in my time of need.”
“I know, but I can’t help myself. Watching someone with a hangover is just so much better than experiencing it yourself. I was feeling miserable last night when I got into bed with my book before ten. But now I’m feeling quite pleased with my decision.”
“Cruel. So cruel.” I wince. “So, what am I going to do about this whole situation?”
“You mean the romantic one in which you kissed a handsome stranger out by a dumpster?”
“Real funny, asshole. There was no garbage.”
“Girl, you were probably so hot and bothered you didn’t even notice the stench.” She winks at me. “But for reals, what are you going to do?”
“Nothing. I’ll never see him again.”
“Well, he sounds like a whack job. Good riddance,” Lynn offers in support.
I chuckle. “Yeah, that’s one way to describe him. One minute he’s kissing me like his life depends on it, and the next he’s running off in anger. I know I was tipsy, but I definitely didn’t imagine his complete change in demeanor. Was the kiss that bad?”
“I doubt it. I’ve been told by a good many people that you happen to be a good kisser.”
“You have? Like who?”
Lynn laughs. “I don’t know. I just said that to make you feel better. But I’m sure you’re a good kisser.”
“Good to know.”
Lynn lets out a long sigh. “I need a good kiss. I swear it’s been forever.”
“How long has it been?” I raise an eyebrow. “Because unless it’s been over a week, it can’t be worse than getting kissed by someone who runs away afterward.”
She looks down at her food.
“How long?”
“About an hour.”
“Whore. What the hell, man? An hour.”
“Yeah, Carson is really neglecting me.” She grins.
“Stop rubbing it in.”
“Sorry. As for you, the man was clearly delusional. Like I said, he sounds like a bit of a weirdo. Honestly, Bridge, don’t worry about it. You have way too much going on in your life to worry about some sociop
ath who makes out with you and then leaves you high and dry. He probably can’t get it up anyway.” She brings her cup to her mouth and takes a sip of her brew. “Want my suggestion on what to do?”
“Sure.”
“After this, head to Barney’s, buy a new outfit, and kick some ass.”
“That’s all well and good, but I’m kind of on a budget. Internships and temp jobs don’t exactly pay worth a damn and, well . . . I don’t even have a job at this moment, remember?” I purse my lips.
“Have you talked to Karen?”
“Hell no. She’s worse than Miranda Priestly.”
“Who?” Lynn’s eyes widen in question.
“Devil Wears Prada—duh.”
“Of course, your cultural references will be from a chick flick. She sounds scary.”
“Frightening. And FYI, it was a book first.”
Lynn leans toward me, giving me her no-bullshit smirk. “Here’s some tough love. Suck it up, buttercup, and have the talk with her. At the end of the day, her client was in the wrong, not you.”
“You’re so smart.”
She winks and dives into her plate of fried grease.
She’s right, and I know I need to own my decision. Scary or not, I need a job.
Hangover and all, I find myself sitting across from Karen. The sneer on her face has my back going ramrod straight. She’s definitely not happy.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing walking out on the Axis Agency? You will go back there today and explain this was all a misunderstanding. He’s a legend. The best in the business. I can’t afford to piss him off.”
“I can’t ever go back there. He—”
“I don’t give a crap what he did. He’s the most influential person in marketing. Piss him off, and there goes every chance of getting a full-time job. If he decides you’ll never work in marketing again, guess what? You’ll never work in marketing again. That’s how this business works.” She clenches her jaw while drumming her nails on the desk. “If it weren’t for your sister and Spencer Lancaster, I’d never place you anywhere.”
