“Wrong on both counts,” I say. “Art.”
He slaps his hand down on the bar top. “Damn,” he says. “That was my third guess.”
I laugh. “Liar.”
He looks at me and winks. His smile is so free and genuine it tears at me. Pulls me toward him. He lights up when he laughs.
“That explains the paint, I guess,” he says.
I hold my hands out, studying my fingers. I try to keep my nails short, but I always end up with paint or clay or something under my fingernails.
“Good eye,” I say. The fact that he noticed the paint even in the darkness of this place impresses me.
“Something like that,” he says. “Want another drink?”
A buzz of energy flares through my body. I want to know this guy. It’s such a foreign feeling, I don’t even know what to do with it.
I look toward the dance floor and see that Monica is standing at the edge of the crowd staring at me, her mouth open in shock. She catches my eye and jumps up and down like a little girl. She raises her fist into the air and heads back onto the dance floor.
I laugh and shake my head, then turn back to Judd.
I said I wanted something to bring hope to the season. I said I felt the universe was trying to tell me something. How can this all be a coincidence? Maybe it’s fate.
And who am I to deny fate?
Without taking my eyes off of his, I reach out and tap the bar top twice.
Chapter Eight
Several rounds of drinks later, my head is spinning. For the first time in weeks, I’m actually having fun. Judd is smart and sexy and he makes me laugh.
We talk about school and our favorite movies and music. It’s so amazing to just let loose and be myself around a guy. I can’t even remember the last time I talked about myself so freely or had someone who seemed genuinely interested in what I have to say.
With every drink, my lips become a little looser and my inhibitions fade.
“If someone walked up right now and offered you two tickets to any concert in the world, who would you go see?” I ask.
Beau sets another drink down in front of me and I transfer my straw from my empty to the new one. I’m not sure how many of these I’ve had, but I’m pretty sure at this point, it’s one too many.
I’m not about to push it away, though. I like this version of me.
“Do they have to be alive?” Judd asks, then tosses back the last of his beer.
I squint my eyes, thinking. “Yes,” I say. “Wait, no. Living or dead. Best, most amazing concert of your life. Who would it be?”
“The Beatles,” he says. “Hands down, no contest.”
My eyes widen. “The Beatles are my life,” I say. “What year? Early years Beatles or Abbey Road Beatles?”
“Abbey Road,” he says, lifting a single eyebrow. “Stupid question.”
Abbey Road is my favorite album on the planet and the fact that he just gave that answer makes me want to crawl across the bar and kiss him.
Without thinking, I grab his hand. “You are my soul mate,” I say.
An electricity passes between us when we touch. His eyes meet mine and time stands still for one long moment. My heart races inside my chest, and I’m so in love with this feeling I don’t ever want it to end.
“Let’s dance,” I say. I slide off my chair and pull him toward me.
I expect him to act like Preston always does, refusing to dance and acting like I’m stupid for wanting him on the dance floor.
But he doesn’t. Judd smiles and stands, walking with me hand-in-hand to the dance floor.
I stumble a little, my sense of balance totally screwed from all the vodkas. Judd reaches to steady me and as his strong arms circle my waist, my breath catches. I press my body close to his and start moving to the music.
The song is fast, but we move slowly at first, exploring those first tentative touches.
He presses his palms flat against my lower back, pulling me closer.
I lift my hands to his arms and run them slowly from his elbow up his bicep, electrified by the feel of his skin against mine. I look into his eyes as I touch him, letting my fingers explore every ripple of muscle.
Something deep inside me responds and my whole body grows warm and eager. Any inhibitions and sadness I felt on this dance floor a few hours ago are gone, replaced by a desire that rocks me to my core.
Who the hell is this guy? And where has he been all my life?
Right now, I’m not even thinking about the future. I just want him right now. I want this. And in my drunken haze, I feel so incredibly attracted to him, I suddenly wish we were in a more private place so I could explore more of him than just his biceps.
My mouth is so dry, I can barely swallow. I let my lips part slightly so I can breathe and his gaze dips to them. Desire flashes in his eyes and it makes me feel beautiful.
Brave.
I want to kiss him, but the raw, sudden need for it scares the crap out of me. What am I doing?
I lower my hands and pull away slightly, not knowing exactly what I want. Or what I should want.
I close my eyes and lose myself to the music instead. A new song begins and the bass is thumping hard. I let myself go, feeling free after so many weeks of feeling hopeless and broken.
I turn around, pressing my back to his. We move together, our bodies pressed close. Judd’s hand circles around my waist, resting at the spot where my shirt meets the band of my jeans. Sometimes when I move, his thumb brushes the bare skin on my stomach. Every touch of his skin is like fire against me, burning me up.
Sweat trickles down my back. I left my hair down tonight and it’s so long, it falls all the way down my back to my waist. After a few dances, it’s so hot, I have to reach up and pull it away from my neck. I gather it all into a bun high up on my head.
Behind me, Judd blows cool air on my neck and I shiver.
I turn around and he swallows as I lift my eyes to his.
I’m breathless, wanting him and completely helpless to deny it. I don’t know if it’s the alcohol or the look in his eyes, but I don’t care. I just want to lose myself in this feeling of being wanted.
I place one hand on his chest and his lips part. I grab his shirt into my fist and pull him down toward me. Our eyes are locked the entire time, as if we’re the only two people here.
His eyes close just before his lips reach mine. I lift up just slightly on my tiptoes, closing that last breath between us. And when his lips meet mine, a fire erupts.
I can’t breathe. I can’t think. My body is reduced to fire and need. My fist tightens and I lean into his kiss.
His mouth opens, asking for more, and I obey. I open to him and our kiss becomes a conversation. A question and response. A give and take.
His hand grips my hips, squeezing and tugging me closer.
Below my waist, I feel my body respond to his touch. I grind my hips against his, gasping as he hardens against me.
At the edge of my mind, I’m aware of the fact that we’re in a room of people, but I don’t care. I couldn’t force myself away from him if I wanted to.
Beneath my fist, his chest rises and falls with each heavy breath. I feel the rumble of a groan even though the music’s too loud for me to hear it. I loosen my grip on his shirt and let my hands find their away around his neck. I run my fingers through his hair and he sucks in a breath and pulls away.
When he looks down at me, his hazel eyes are intense and deep with need. We’re both breathing fast and hard, our bodies no longer moving to the music. We’re statues, pressed tight, wanting more but not wanting to move away from this moment.
He leans his forehead against mine and we work to catch our breath.
My heart vibrates in my chest and I know with absolute certainty that I want him. I’ve never had a one-night-stand before, but I’ve never wanted anyone as much as I want him right now.
I want this night to last forever.
I lift up, getting close enough that he can hear me ov
er the thumping of the music. “Let’s get out of here,” I say. “I want to go home with you tonight.”
I’ve never spoken so boldly to anyone before and when his body tenses, fear zings through me.
He steps backward, untangling himself from my embrace. His forehead is wrinkled with tension, and I stare up at him, questioning.
He reaches for my hand and I give it to him, not sure exactly what he’s thinking. He leads me back toward the bar where the music’s not quite as loud, but he doesn’t sit back down. Instead, he throws a twenty dollar bill on the counter and waves to Beau.
I think he’s going to take me back to his place, but as soon as we step out into the cool night air, he pauses. He’s not acting like a guy who knows he’s about to get laid.
I swallow, nervous. The last thing I need right now is to get rejected, especially after falling all over him.
But I already know it’s coming. I can feel it in the way the air between us has changed. More rejection. Oh god, what have I done? I never should have come out tonight.
“Bailey, I really like you,” he starts.
I pull my hand away from his and turn away. Tears spring to my eyes. I’m mortified. I just want to run away. I don’t want to face this.
“Hey wait,” he says. He rushes around to stand in front of me, putting his hands on my shoulders. “Listen, I mean it, Bailey. I like you so much.”
“But?”
He runs a hand through his shoulder-length hair. “But I don’t want to ruin this by sleeping with you the first night.”
I shake my head and start walking. “I get it,” I say.
“Where are you going?” he asks, jogging to catch up with me. “Hold on a second. Let me walk you home.”
I stop, feeling like such a fool. “Don’t bother, okay?”
“Why are you getting so angry?” he asks. “I thought we had a good time tonight.”
“I did too,” I say. “That’s why I wanted to go home with you. I didn’t want it to end. But apparently you did. I get it. You don’t want me.”
He laughs and it stings. I keep walking.
“Bailey, come on,” he says. He grabs my hand and pulls me back toward him. “It’s not that I don’t want you, believe me. You have to know that. Kissing you just now?” He sighs and searches the air above my head, then looks back into my eyes. “God, that was just about the most amazing kiss in the history of kisses. But we’ve been drinking. A lot. I’m not going to take advantage of you.”
My heart aches. If kissing me was so amazing, why doesn’t he want more?
“It isn’t taking advantage if I want it too,” I say.
He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter,” he says. “I’m not that kind of guy, Bailey. Believe me, I do want you. You have to know that.”
“Forget it,” I say, yanking my hand from his. “I’m going home.”
Even though I’m drunk, I’m partly aware that I’m irrationally angry. I don’t even understand why I’m so mad. All I know is that I wanted him and I needed this tonight. I wanted to feel beautiful. I wanted to feel wanted. And rejecting me now just ruined everything.
He calls my name again, but I don’t turn around. I just keep walking.
I stumble slightly in my heels, but catch myself before I fall. I stop and yank the shoes off my feet. I throw them down onto the paved path and just leave them there.
When I glance behind me, I see him pick up my shoes and keep walking.
“Bailey,” he says.
I lift my hand, not turning around. “Leave me alone,” I say. “Just leave me the fuck alone.”
I walk all the way back to my apartment without turning around again. Still, I can feel him behind me. It takes me a couple of tries to get the key into the lock, but when I finally do, I push my door open and turn to close it, catching a glimpse of Judd standing in the parking lot below, holding two red shoes.
Chapter Nine
The alarm jerks me from my sleep.
I moan and slam the snooze button. I sink deeper under the covers, hiding my eyes from the sun shining through my windows.
My head pounds and my eyelids feel sticky and heavy.
The memory of last night comes flooding back and I curl into a ball under the covers. My stomach gurgles and I press my lips together tightly, waiting for the wave of nausea to pass.
I can’t even remember the last time I had so much to drink.
What was I thinking?
I pull my pillow over my head, wanting to hide from the realization that I made such a fool of myself with Judd last night. We were having such a great time, and I completely ruined it. One kiss and I was ready to jump into bed with him? I bet he thinks I’m a complete idiot.
He’ll probably never talk to me again, and I wouldn’t blame him.
My door clicks as it opens and I groan into the pillow. “Go away.”
“Good morning, sunshine,” Monica says. She yanks the covers off my body and snatches the pillow out of my hands.
I sit up and reach for the comforter, but she smacks my hand.
“No way are you going to avoid me this morning,” she says. “Especially not after you abandoned me at the club last night.”
I scoot toward the headboard and pull my other pillow into my lap. Monica has a steaming cup of coffee in her hand and she offers it to me.
“Thanks,” I say. “And I’m sorry about last night. I don’t know what got into me.”
“Apparently a tall, sexy guy with long, dark blond hair,” she says, a sparkle in her eyes. She sits down across from me, tucking her legs under her slim frame. “Tell me everything.”
I lean my head back against the wall. “You don’t want to know.”
“I half expected him to be here when I opened the door,” she says.
“Then why did you come in without knocking?” I throw the pillow at her. “You perv.”
She ducks and the pillow sails past. “Hey, if you have a chance to see a guy like that with his shirt off, you take it, okay?” she says with a laugh.
“You are so bad,” I say. “I’m so sorry to disappoint you.”
“What happened, then? You guys were looking very into each other on the dance floor, if I remember correctly,” she says. “And what the hell is up with your shoes on our doorstep this morning?”
“This morning?” I ask, raising an eyebrow. “Does that mean you just got home?”
She shrugs and tries to hide her smile.
“You slut,” I joke.
“Hey, you’re one to talk,” she says. “I saw you kissing him. Who was that guy? He was freaking h.o.t.”
I sink deeper, pulling my legs up to my chest. “His name is Judd,” I say. “He’s a med student who comes into The Cup sometimes.”
She gives me a sideways look. “Why haven’t you mentioned him before?”
“I honestly barely noticed him before.”
“How is that even possible?” she asks. “If that guy walked into Amerigo’s, I would make a beeline for that table and spend the whole night at his beck and call.”
I roll my eyes, wishing I had an extra pillow to throw at her.
“Well, I ruined it, so it doesn’t matter anyway.”
“What do you mean? He seemed very into you the last time I saw you guys. I assumed you left together,” she says.
“We sort of did,” I say. “But I was such an idiot, Mon. I mean, we were having an awesome time and then we started dancing together. I thought there was something there between us. I had way too much to drink, I guess, because I pretty much threw myself at him.”
“I don’t think he minded,” she says with a giggle.
“I didn’t either, at first. But then I asked him to take me home.” I cringe as the words leave my mouth. I’ve never done anything like that in my life, and I have no idea why I chose last night to start.
“And?”
“And what? He said no,” I say with a shrug. “End of story.”
“Wait, you guys spend h
ours talking at the bar, you kiss like crazy on the dance floor, and then he tells you that no, he isn’t interested in taking you home and ravaging your body? Okay, so he’s crazy.”
“No, I’m stupid,” I say. “He was probably just being nice to me after hitting me in the face with a door and—”
“Whoa, wait a second,” she says, holding up her hand. “He’s the one who hit you with the door?”
“Yes,” I say, lifting my hand to the sore spot above my eye. It’s still tender and I suck in a breath. “Classy, huh?”
“It’s cute,” she says. “Not the cut, but the story. So he comes into your cafe to study and hang out sometimes and then he just happens to hit you with a door? And then somehow, he also just happens to be at the same club we were last night? It sounds like fate to me.”
“Shut up,” I say, not wanting to tell her how close she is to being right. “It’s not fate. It’s…I don’t know. Coincidence. A very embarrassing coincidence. I’m sure next time he sees me, he’ll run the other way.”
She reaches out and squeezes my foot. “Don’t say that,” she says. “Besides, maybe he was just trying to be a gentleman. Maybe he doesn’t put out on the first date.”
I can’t help but smile. Monica always knows how to make me feel better, but I think this situation is kind of hopeless. “What guy says no to a drunk girl who is throwing herself at him?”
She stares at me, her mouth slightly open.
“See? No one,” I say. “The only guy that says no is a guy who either isn’t interested or who, I don’t know, is saving himself for marriage or something. And he doesn’t strike me as the type.”
“What about the kiss?” she asks. “Did he kiss you? Or did you kiss him?”
I close my eyes and absently touch my lips. “I kissed him,” I say. “But he kissed me back. He was into it. Or at least I thought he was. There’s no way I imagined that. There was something there between us. What if I’ve been out of the game so long, I just imagined that he was into it? What if he was just being nice?”
“Kissing you passionately just to be nice? I don’t think so.”
I laugh. “Yeah, maybe not,” I say. I take a few more sips of the coffee, my headache easing up. “I don’t know, then. Maybe he’s dating someone else. Or maybe he’s just not really that into me and didn’t want to take it any further than a fun night at the club.”
A Season For Hope (A Fairhope Christmas Novella) Page 4
