A Moment of Madness (Boston Alibi)

by Brooklyn Skye

  With the tips of her fingers, she patted the stray hairs, and when that didn’t do much to tame them, she combed her fingers knuckle deep into them. Only half a foot separated their faces, and he watched her with what she could guess was amusement.

  “Better?” He grinned, and even though the entire lower half of his face was covered with hair, something told her that he had the most beautiful smile she’d ever seen.

  “Yeah.”

  Suddenly, her cousin’s face was in hers, alcohol-soured breath blasting with her words. “You two gonna stare at each other all night? I wanna go home.”

  “Right. Home.” Sailor whirled around, the plant’s branches whipping through the air beside her. “My car’s out this way.”

  …

  First the blubbering drunk, and now the girl trucking around a dead houseplant. Had he woken up in the fucking Twilight Zone? After the day he’d had, it sure seemed like it.

  Ryan followed Plant Girl across the Dirty Bird’s disgusting floor, bracing the unsteady redhead with each of her steps. Not even in his own bar tonight, and still dealing with belligerent people. Marty would’ve laughed. That’s what you get for having a welcoming face, son. Seems like wherever he went, beard or not, people assumed he’d help. Old lady who couldn’t find a seat on the subway. His best customer, Johnny, begging for money to fix his wife’s sagging tits.

  Ryan dodged an incoming tray of empty glasses balanced on the extended arm of one of the many waitresses. The next time someone asks me for help, I’m going to say no. Flat out. No questions asked. Just to shake the world’s perfect balance out of place for a bit.

  The redhead beside him blubbered again, but this time with the blaring music and chatter of the crowd, he didn’t hear.

  “What?”

  She planted her hand over her mouth, and Ryan had been around drunks long enough to know what that meant.

  “Ah, shit.” Quickening his steps, he pushed her through the crowd, keeping her in front of him and aimed away from his shoes. Probably the most important thing he’d learned with years of owning a bar—protect your shoes. Nothing was worse than the sour stench of vomit stinging your nose the entire night.

  Plant Girl held the door open, and Ryan guided the other one out onto the sidewalk. Chilly air nipped at his neck and arms, the only sign that fall was finally approaching.

  “She doesn’t look so good,” Plant Girl said, clutching at the redhead’s hand. She wasn’t looking at him, which gave him a moment to take her in again. Something about her… Was it the dirty-dishwater color of her shoulder-length hair? The mysterious glow in her dark brown eyes? The way she parted her lips when she was listening? No, it wasn’t any of those things that reminded him of the man he’d lost years ago. But there was something about her… It’d been a while since he’d thought about Marty—the only person who’d cared enough about Ryan to get him off the streets and raise him like his own.

  “Riss, hang on,” she said to her friend, and suddenly the thought clicked into place. Her voice. She sounded so much like him. Or…at least what he remembered Marty sounding like. Years of not hearing a voice could do that…steal away even the most cherished memories.

  Plant Girl wrapped the drunk one’s arm over her shoulder and tried to straighten against the limp weight. Ryan didn’t let go of her other side. Watching two girls spill onto the cement wasn’t really his idea of Thursday night fun.

  “My car’s not too far,” the blonde said to him, struggling to position herself against her friend’s side. It was kind of funny, watching this girl—who couldn’t be more than twenty-three or twenty-four—try to maneuver her rag-doll friend. Was this what girls did for fun—rescue each other from belligerently throwing themselves on guys exiting the bathroom? Maybe they were sisters. That seemed like something a sister would do.

  Tight jeans clung to her legs, stretching tighter as she stepped, bent, and stepped again in an effort to guide the girl toward the street. “Jeez, Marissa,” she said after a moment of struggling. “If you would just try to walk—”

  The sound of liquid vomit splashing onto the pavement echoed into the night, one heave then two, followed by a shriek. The blonde jumped out of the way, and the weight of the redhead—Marissa—lurched forward, tugging against Ryan’s grip on her arm. Her back was to Ryan, so he was clear of the projectile path, though the blonde wasn’t so lucky.

  “My boots, Riss!” Wet splatters dotted up the brown suede. “I was going to wear these tomorrow!”

  “I hope you weren’t going to wear that sweater, too,” Ryan said, pointing at the blotches of liquid now soaking into the bottom half of the material not blocked by that stupid plant.

  Immediately, she moved to reach for the hem but then stopped herself, a visible cringe wracking her body. She closed her eyes. “I don’t want to look.”

  “You should. It’s pretty bad.” Ryan laughed and braced Marissa against a nearby planter box. “Unless you’re the type who throws up at the sight of someone else’s vomit. Don’t look if you’ll do that. I don’t think I can handle two chicks hurling their guts out in my presence.”

  Slowly, the blonde opened her eyes, meeting Ryan’s gaze with a crinkle in her nose. “Sadly, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to be DD for my cousin. And it’s definitely not the first time she’s barfed up thirty bucks in mojitos onto the sidewalk.”

  Ryan took the plant from her and set it alongside Marissa. “It’s not too cold out. You’ll probably be fine without the sweater on.”

  Marissa heaved again, the contents of her stomach splattering into the planter box. “Oops, sorry, purrrdy flowers.” There was another wretch, and the blonde let out a sigh.

  “Sailor,” Marissa mumbled, at the same time wiping her face with the back of her hand. “I wanna go home.”

  The girl chuckled. “There’s no way I’m putting you in my car now, so if you’ll just get all that out of your system, we can walk.”

  “Your name’s Sailor?” Ryan asked. The girl nodded, yanking the bottom of her sweater away from her body. He started to extend his hand out to shake but then thought better of it considering what was all over her shirt. “I’m Ryan.”

  “Hi.” The sweater stretched farther, Sailor’s nose pinching with the movement. “This is really gross.” She attempted to wiggle out of the sweater without the wet part touching her—a tricky thing to do, apparently. With the material covering her face and her arms bent above her head, she let out a nervous-sounding laugh. Then her muffled voice echoed from behind the fabric. “Um…Ryan? Are you still standing there?”

  Ryan crossed his arms, running his gaze over the tight white tank she wore beneath the sweater and the sliver of smooth skin that peeked out from below the hem. “Watching you tangle yourself up in a barf sweater? Sure am.”

  “Well,” she said, “I know we just met, and this might be awkward for you, but could you give me a little assistance? I seem to be stuck.”

  Without hesitation, he stepped closer, taking in the sight before him. Lifting her arms like that…removing the hideous sweater… Ryan would have never expected to see such delicate curves, especially ones that made his fingertips tingle. Suddenly, he wanted to touch her, to grip her tiny waist, palm her round tits, slide his tongue over—

  Fuck, this is so not the time, Edwards.

  Carefully, and without touching his bare skin to hers, he shimmied the material up her torso, past her face, and over her arms. Pieces of her short hair sprung straight up with the static. Standing toe to toe, she tilted her head to the side and giggled. “That wasn’t embarrassing at all.”

  “Try being the one removing a stranger’s clothes in the middle of the sidewalk. I feel a tad creepy right now.” He pointed to her static-straight hair, his grin widening. “Need some help with that, too?”

  Quickly, her hands shot up to her head and smoothed down the strands. “I actually need to get my cousin home.” She threw the sweater into the pot of the dead plant and then tried to worm her
body under Marissa’s bent-over form.

  Her cousin moaned.

  Sailor moaned.

  Yeah, no way was she going to be able to get even five feet. “How far do you have to walk?” he asked.

  “Two…” Sailor’s shoulder dipped, and Marissa stumbled back against the wall. “Dang it.” She sighed and glanced to Ryan. “Two blocks. I have no idea how I’m going to get her there, though. She’s dead weight.”

  Two blocks was too far—not only because a limp Marissa was no match for Sailor’s small frame, but because this was Boston, and a pretty girl shouldn’t be walking the streets in the middle of the night.

  “I’m escorting you.” Ryan closed the distance between them and lifted Marissa over his shoulder.

  Marissa didn’t protest the movement, but instead wailed, “My plannnnt!”

  “I’ve never had an escort before,” Sailor said with a glint in her brown eyes. In Ryan’s head, the only words he could manage were why the hell not? She was the most stunning woman he’d ever seen—in a normal-girl sort of way.

  Sailor grabbed the plant but didn’t start after him. “Shouldn’t you tell your friends you’re leaving?”

  Friends?

  He stopped, peered over his shoulder. Right, because sneaking into your competition’s bar to see what they have on you is what most twenty-seven-year-old guys do on Thursday nights. “I’ll text them later,” he lied, adjusting Marissa’s hips so they’d quit digging into his collarbone. “Which way?”

  Sailor gestured down the street. “She’s off Fourth.”

  Ryan waited for her to join his side then started down the sidewalk.

  “So…” Sailor looked up at him from behind the plant. “Why does a guy like you grow a beard like that?”

  “A guy like me?” He lifted an eyebrow. “And what kind of guy do you think I am?”

  “Are you undercover or something?”

  A laugh bubbled up Ryan’s throat. “A cop? That’s what I look like to you?”

  From behind the plant, her gaze skimmed him up and down and then tiny crinkles crawled across her nose. “I guess not.” She cocked her head to the side. “Do you have a bike? Like the loud Harley type?”

  “Sorry to disappoint. My wheels are a truck. Any other beard clichés we need to get out of the way?” His bare arm brushed against hers as he reached up to tick off a few more on his fingers. “I’m not a hippie, I don’t make duck calls like that family on TV, and I sure as hell wouldn’t say I’m homeless.”

  She shook her head, the longer strands of blond that framed her face swaying against the mounds of flesh pushing out of her tank’s neckline. “You’re too…” Her gaze met his again, pink blotting over the highest parts of her cheeks.

  “Too…?”

  She swallowed. “Too good-looking to be any of those.”

  This girl was embarrassed? Around him? The sudden thought had his pants stretching a little too tightly against his skin. Girls didn’t get uncomfortable around him at his bar. Being the owner, typically they just threw themselves at him in hopes for a few free drinks and the right to claim they’d gone home with him.

  He allowed it—mainly because he didn’t do relationships. Putting that much trust in someone, when they were bound to up and leave, would make him a jackass. Life was already hard, but it would be harder if he were stupid. Easy girls were convenient. Not to mention they helped with the boredom now that his best friend, Micah, had gotten married and moved into the suburbs to start a family. Micah had been the one to help Ryan with the bar when Marty first willed it to him, helped him keep it afloat and preserve his word to Marty that he would continue the Carlson family business.

  This embarrassment of Sailor’s stirred something else in Ryan—something difficult to place. Like a breath of fresh air. Seriously? A tiny hint of pink and you turn into a cliché-spouting dumbass?

  “Well then…” He halted his steps and turned to face Sailor with a half shrug. “If we’re exchanging compliments, you’re fucking gorgeous.”

  Chapter Two

  Truth #20: Orgasm Town is a real place.

  Had Sailor heard him right? Gorgeous?

  Muscles along the top of her arm burning, she shifted the potted plant to her other side. “Um…thanks?” Good God, at least she hadn’t let out that stupid nervous laugh because…

  Was this what it was like to be devoured by someone’s eyes? He wasn’t even looking in all the places a guy should be looking—her chest, her backside. It was only her eyes, a deep intensity to his as he just…stared. A few seconds beat by, her chest growing tighter and kind of uncomfortable. Moisture from the night air clung to her skin, competing with the unexpected heat of it. Then his gaze ticked once to her mouth.

  And her insides combusted.

  Oh.

  Hot, suddenly she was hot all over. Like standing in a sauna, or an extended soak in a Jacuzzi. It sent her head into a spin and—

  Wait. Jesus, did she want to kiss him? As discreetly as possible, she peeked at his lips nestled in the dark hair surrounding it. Not that she’d ever considered kissing a guy with a beard, but looking at him and the way every clipped hair on his face was set precisely into place, the way his pinkish lips contrasted against that sea of blackness…

  Like a life preserver in an obscure sea…

  A single marshmallow floating in a mug of hot chocolate…

  Prickles of heat crept up the back of her neck, snaked up and over her jaw, and settled along her lower lip. Since when did you become such a lame excuse for a poet, Sail?

  Mentally shaking her head, Sailor eased a step back, the answer to that question already taking form in her brain. Since laying her eyes on him.

  One side of his mouth pulling up, he glanced side to side. “This is Fourth. Where to now?”

  Right. This absurd stare-at-each-other’s-mouths standoff had gone on long enough. Sailor stood tall and said, “She’s in View Point, right over there.”

  Ryan followed her across the street and up to the small landing in front of the door, her backside scorching with every step. Was he watching her butt? Did she even care if he was? If she had to admit it to herself, then yes. After that heated stare down, she most definitely cared if he was looking. And more specifically, she cared what he thought.

  She stopped at the front door with her keys, fumbling to locate her cousin’s on the ring, and then fumbling even more to get the stupid key into the lock. Footsteps ticked behind her one by one until the heat of Ryan’s body brushed against her back.

  The key slipped from the lock, and then Ryan’s hand cradled her fingers and very, very slowly slipped the key into the hole.

  His warm breath brushed over her neck. “The trick is not to jam it in.”

  Oh…wow. That was an oddly sexy sentence. So was the rasp in his voice in delivering it.

  Dogs yipped from her cousin’s gated-off laundry room as Sailor opened the door. “Marissa runs a mini doggy daycare from here, so don’t mind all the barking.” She walked halfway across the living room then spun to face him, pointing to the bedroom. “We should probably just put her to bed. I doubt she’ll be able to get there herself.” She set the plant on the small wooden coffee table and hurried into the bedroom, her entire body suddenly feeling uncomfortably warm, like it’d been dipped into a vat of gooey chocolate fondue.

  Because of him?

  Gah, cue the pathetic newsreel of her life: Tragically inexperienced girl humiliates herself in front of good samaritan.

  Her mind caught on those last two words. Was that all Ryan was—a guy trying to help out a girl in need of someone strong to carry her cousin?

  Sailor flicked on the light and watched as Ryan’s gaze lingered over her body, starting at her stomach and then up, up, up, every inch of her burning hotter with every second. Or was he looking for something more?

  Did she want him to be?

  Ryan entered the room and laid Marissa out over the bed. Okay, she needed to stop this mental angst. She wa
s a grown adult and needed to start acting like it.

  Marissa’s eyes fluttered but remained shut.

  “How much did she drink?” Ryan asked, tugging the edge of his shirt straight.

  Sailor shook her head, at the same time removing Marissa’s heels. “No idea. Obviously enough to end up mauling you.” Both shoes off, Sailor stretched a blanket over her.

  He met her stare, one side of his mouth quirking up. “Is that your job in the friendship?”

  Why was he looking at her like that? Not like he was accusing her of what he’d asked, but like it would’ve been perfectly fine with him if she mauled him. Like he wanted her to do that right now.

  Her reply came out embarrassingly breathy. “She’s my cousin, not my friend. And is that what kind of girl I look like to you?”

  “I don’t know. All I know so far is you trust your cousin enough to bring a shriveled-up plant to a bar.”

  Sailor laughed. “I was supposed to bring pants.”

  “I heard.”

  “And I brought a plant.”

  “I saw.” Very slowly, Ryan slid his hands into his front pockets and flexed his arms. She glanced across the room at him, a fluttery buzz radiating through her stomach. She’d seen good-looking men before, she’d fantasized pathetically over a few, too, but never ever in her life had the simple presence of a man jolted her out of feeling anything close to normal.

  She just needed to see him to the door, thank him for helping, and call it a night. Though, when she opened her mouth, something entirely different came out.

  “I’m sorry your night got cut short. Can I make it up to you with a drink?”

  Just one… Long enough to let him know she appreciated his help.

  …

  Ending a shitty day with a drink—how cliché was he going to be today? But if Ryan was honest with himself, a drink sounded damn good at the moment. Especially after witnessing the Dirty Bird’s crowd tonight. Ryan wasn’t able to pull hordes of partiers like that to his bar without hosting expensive, time-consuming weekend events. What was he doing wrong?