Keeping Her Close: A Slow Burn Standalone

by Casey Diam

  “Your list of friends doesn’t go much further than the two girls I saw you with yesterday.”

  “I like friends who aren’t fake. I mean, I do have other friends, like the people I work with.”

  “Would you like a refill also, miss?” the waiter offered, holding the bottle above her glass.

  “No, thank you.”

  “Yes, fill her up,” Brandon interceded. “Don’t—” he added, stopping her before she could object further by covering her hand on the table with his.

  It was a friendly gesture to get her attention, but also a warm and soothing distraction. Her throat dried and butterflies swarmed her lower abdomen—yet another reason not to have more to drink.

  “I think I’m on a roll here,” he said. “So, if your friends consist of those two women, to you, that means you’re committed to your career and have trust issues. To me, it sounds like your life is boring. And the worst part is, I think you may like it that way. Conclusion, you’d never roast me. You wouldn’t dare; it’s not in you. It would mean you’d have to step outside of your bubble.”

  His voice was raw and dangerous. And she couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or insightful, maybe a bit of both.

  “That’s very kind of you to observe, but you don’t know me.”

  “I think I do,” he taunted. “To be honest, I’m surprised you’re even here with me.”

  Brandon, the first man she’d decided to have a casual dinner with since Todd, was purposefully trying to push her buttons. How absurd. Todd had done the same thing. Was that her type? Handsome men who had the power to make innocent hearts drown in tears?

  He was right. Why was she here? Had she not learned?

  The horrid person Todd turned into after drinking flashed before her eyes. Her time with him would haunt her for the rest of her life. She’d tried so hard to forget, but thoughts of their relationship were always at the edge of her mind, eating at her from the inside out.

  “Artesian, I’m trying to help you,” he said. “Can’t you see that? I love you like no one else. This is a waste of time. Is this what you really want to do when we get married? Sit at home and draw? Are you fucking kidding me?”

  “Todd, please, you’re drunk,” she cried, trying to pull the sketches she worked on for years away from him as he staggered with them to the fireplace. Her entire vision—

  “Jordan,” Brandon said. “Are you okay?”

  Emotion flooded her eyes, and she couldn’t look at him. She shouldn’t have accepted his offer of an alleged “hang out and get to know me” dinner. She wasn’t ready.

  “Excuse me,” Jordan muttered before rushing to the bathroom. She looked in the large mirror above the sinks and realized a tear had escaped. She pulled a tissue from a box on the counter and dabbed at the line beneath her eye. Brandon couldn’t see her like this.

  After a few long breaths to calm herself, she walked back to their table. Dinner would soon be over. Next time, she would listen to her instincts when they told her to stay away from guys, especially the ones like Brandon, who was starting to remind her of Todd.

  She seated herself without making eye contact and took a drink to calm her nerves. Then she picked up where they’d left off. “It makes life easy, organized . . . less painful. That’s why I live this way, and I won’t apologize for it.”

  Pushing his plate to the center, Brandon crossed his hands on the table and leaned forward. “You don’t have to apologize for your choices, and I’m not asking you to. You’re right. I don’t know you, and I don’t know your past. But I can tell it has something to do with how you live your life now. You’re hiding to prevent something from happening again, but that’s inhibiting you from moving on. You’re putting off the opportunity to have new people in your life who are surprisingly interesting and trustworthy. Like this guy,” he said, cocking his head and pointing his thumbs toward himself.

  Brandon didn’t know her, yet his advice hit home. The asshole was right. Again.

  Jordan sighed, circling her index finger around the top of her flute, wondering if it was a good idea to finish it. “What, are you a psychiatrist now?”

  “No. The same asshole. I won’t lead you on, Jordan, because—I don’t know.” He let out a breath and shook his head. “You’re beautiful, and I want you to be happy. I like watching you smile, and I also know I won’t be the guy you end up with. But after talking to you tonight, I’d still like to have you around.”

  For whatever reason, a strong connection was forming between them, and after that last comment, Jordan found herself re-evaluating him. Now she wondered if he was someone who should be in her life. Brandon’s candor made him sincere, and that was probably what she needed. Who said they had to date? They could be friends, like she and Richie were. She wouldn’t even know how to handle a man like Brandon romantically, and she wasn’t sure she wanted to learn, not when she’d be vying for his attention on the regular.

  He tossed an impish glance her way, and her body heated. She was too attracted to him. Friendship would never work.

  “I think you need something sweet to balance things out. I’ll take you home right after dessert?” Brandon proposed, checking his watch. “Whoa, you’ve survived an entire two hours with me. Impressive. Actually, I’m more impressed with myself. I’ve been a good boy, haven’t I?”

  Jordan rolled her eyes but smiled. “I’m not going to stroke your ego; it’s big enough.”

  With a dark gleam in his eyes, he assessed her, and she wanted to melt into the chair. She didn’t know when it had happened, but Brandon had taken control of her emotions. And they were bringing about a sexual urge so strong, her mind was coaxing her into thinking it would be okay if she had this one night with him. It would be okay if she traced all the muscles beneath his clothes with the tips of her fingers, okay if she gave herself to him. She wriggled in her seat.

  Shit, he was right about wanting to flirt after drinking. How did he know? Was he having the same feelings? Or worse, he’d experienced it before with other girls who’d been all over him after just one dinner and champagne.

  Am I just one of those girls, unable to resist the charming Brandon Kuvat?

  Holding his gaze, she let herself feel the attraction she’d been trying to squelch with the devious bubbly. Was that why she’d drank so much? She was always the babysitter when she went out with her girlfriends, not the one who needed to be babysat.

  Jordan brought her glass of water to her mouth when she realized she must have been staring at him for who knows how long—and possibly like he was dessert.

  “How do you feel?” he asked, his eyes piercing. “You seem . . . distracted.”

  “I’m fine.” Her cheeks scorched as she looked down at her mostly untouched food.

  “Look at me,” he ordered.

  Is Brandon being bossy? How adorable. Well, you’ve met your match, Kuvat. I’ll have you for breakfast . . . I could have him for breakfast. He’s so hot. I bet he tastes . . . Oh, shit. She tried to pull herself together, but when she looked at him, she couldn’t stop grinning.

  He shook his head in disbelief. “Excuse my French, but you are so fucked up right now.”

  Jordan rested an elbow on the table and set her chin in her palm. “I’m not. I’m good.” She giggled, biting her lip. “I swear.”

  He held up a spoon. “Okay, prove it to me. Take this spoon from my hand.”

  It was a simple task, but when she reached to grab the spoon, he shifted it to the side. Without thought, she reached for it again, whacking her glass of champagne. He was either super fast, or her brain was processing things super slowly, because he managed to stop the glass before it spilled.

  “Proven.”

  “No, you cheated,” she argued.

  He laughed. “No, I didn’t. You were so focused on grabbing the spoon, you forgot the glass was there. Now I’m sure there’s something about drinking and judgment somewhere . . .”

  “No, you tricked me.”

&
nbsp; “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it was my way of knowing whether you’re drunk enough to tell me all the dirty details about my new friend, Jordan. The ones I know she’s hiding.” Brandon thanked the waiter as he removed their dinner plates and replaced them with dessert. “May I have the check, please?”

  “Yes, sir, and please let me know if you need anything else,” the waiter said, looking at Jordan.

  Jordan smiled as the waiter walked away. “I love chocolate, but right now it looks sickening.”

  “Do you feel nauseous?”

  “No. Just constrained. I need to move. Walk it off.”

  “We will as soon as I pay, but you need to put something else in your stomach.”

  “But I don’t want to.”

  “Who’s the twelve year old now?” He laughed, scooping a piece of the ice-cream dessert from the plate and lifting it to her mouth.

  She shook her head. “No. What are you doing?”

  “Come on, or I’ll do the choo-choo train.” He grinned.

  “You wouldn’t,” she said, getting her poise back in fear of the impending embarrassment.

  He raised an eyebrow in challenge, and she forced herself to consume the bite. But soon after, she pulled out her cell phone. When had she become this irresponsible? She was beyond tipsy with a stranger. What was she thinking?

  “Who are you calling?” he asked, watching her put the phone to her ear.

  “Someone I trust, who is not a stranger. No offense.”

  “What?” Brandon asked, a hurt expression on his face. “Why?”

  “Adrianna, are you busy?”

  “Maybe, why?”

  “I’m out, and I drank too much. I think you should come get me.”

  “Who are you with and where?” Adrianna asked.

  “Brandon, and a restaurant.”

  “Seriously? You never drink enough to get drunk. Anyway, if you’re with Brandon, you’re overreacting. Let me talk to him.”

  “What? No, you can’t talk to him.” Brandon reached for the phone, and she pushed his hand away. “Adrianna—”

  “Hey,” Brandon said after retrieving the phone. “No, I have it under control. I don’t know why she called you . . . I see . . . She is completely safe, I promise you . . . No, I don’t want that to happen to me . . . Okay, got it.” He handed the phone back to Jordan.

  “Is she coming to get me?” Jordan asked, drinking more water.

  “No. I’m not a complete douche, Jordan. I would never take advantage of you. And if you think I would, I’m highly offended. I won’t touch you at all unless you’re falling over or something. You have my word.”

  “This is Los Angeles; anything is possible.” She shrugged. “And you’re still kind of a stranger. I’m just trying to be safe.”

  “You’re safe with me, I promise. Also, Adrianna said you were a lightweight when it came to drinking, so why would you knowingly do that to yourself?” His probing gaze caused Jordan to pick up the spoon and toy with the tartufo on her plate.

  Because I like you. No, no, no.

  I can’t—he can’t—shit. Calm down, Jordan. It’s not like he can read your mind.

  “I don’t know,” Jordan mumbled.

  After one too many glasses of champagne, he could see the horniness all over her, and his cock was throbbing to get closer. But he wasn’t planning on touching her, at least not tonight. He was more concerned with how innocent she seemed, when he knew for a fact that women never were. Which caused him to wonder, what was she hiding?

  “Tell me about you. Something. Anything. You must have done something rebellious at least once.” Brandon smiled. “Make me feel better about myself, please?”

  “I can’t think of anything.”

  “Jordan, you can’t be serious. Come on, you can’t tell me you have an unsoiled reputation. No running out to get tattoos or piercings as a teenager?”

  Jordan stared at him for a few seconds, her expression impassive as she shook her head. “My dad passed away when I was thirteen, and my brother went to the same high school as me, so guys barely had the nerve to even come near me.”

  She was being genuine. She was simply too good for him. “Sorry about your dad,” he said.

  Giving him a faint smile, she nodded, but he wasn’t satisfied.

  He wanted to know more about her, and he had no fucking idea why. “We have stuff to do after this.”

  She examined him. “What kind of stuff?”

  “Not that kind of stuff, silly. I already told you I’m not touching you. I’m not that guy, at least not for the most part.”

  “You could have fooled me.”

  “Oh, Jordan, don’t get your panties in a knot. I assure you, my needs are well taken care of.”

  She scowled at first, but eventually agreed to go with him to do the “stuff” after some good, live-your-life-to-the-fullest persuasion tactics.

  As they left the table, Brandon was relieved to see her walking smoothly. The champagne seemed to have only affected her in the form of giggles, which broke free every few seconds as they stood outside the restaurant, waiting for the valet to bring his car around.

  When they’d settled into his car, he drove to the gas station and bought a few packages of toilet paper. Afterward, he brought her back to the mall to change cars, so they could take hers instead of his and have a lower profile. Again, he somehow persuaded her—either that or the champagne had relaxed her. Either way, he was enjoying this easier-to-convince version of her.

  “I’m letting you drive my car; at least tell me where we’re going,” Jordan said.

  “Shhh . . . It’s a surprise.” He put his finger to his lips. “Nice car, by the way. Very economical.”

  “Hey,” Jordan pouted.

  “Didn’t I tell you to stop getting your panties in a knot? It’s a compliment,” he said, glancing at her before turning his attention back to the road.

  As they approached their destination, he shut the car off at the neighboring house, which darkened everything around them, except for the streetlights a few yards away.

  “I don’t know if I can trust you, Brandon. I swear, if you get me arrested—”

  “We met each other’s family, and they know you’re with me. Are we having trust issues again?” he joked.

  “You’re not funny, and I’m telling your mother if you get me into trouble.”

  “Since it’s dark in here and I need you to know what’s happening, I just rolled my eyes. Now, let’s focus, girl, because you need to be ready to teepee.” Brandon took one of the toilet paper rolls out of the plastic and dropped it in her lap.

  “Are you kidding?” Jordan crossed her arms over her chest. “There’s no way. You’re on your own.”

  “Oh, don’t be a chicken. Have some fun! I’m doing this for you. Call it me helping out your reputation. It’ll be fun, I promise. Besides, I know who lives here.”

  It was Kelly’s house, but Jordan didn’t need to know that, because he didn’t care about Kelly or their past. Tonight was about Jordan. His vision adjusted to the dark, allowing him to see as she shook her head, then smiled.

  “Fine. Let’s do it before I change my mind,” she said, getting out of the car.

  Brandon grinned. He liked this. He liked her.

  After accomplishing their teepee mission, they stood back and admired the unfurled toilet paper covering the trees and some plants. A light flickered on inside of the house.

  “Shit! Let’s go,” Brandon whispered.

  They darted back to the car, jumped in their seats, and drove off, laughing in unison at the sudden rush. This had triggered what he’d been trying to get to all night: the rebel in Jordan. He’d known it was in there somewhere.

  After a forty-five-minute drive north to Jordan’s place, Brandon walked with her to an upstairs apartment. She sighed as she reached the top of the stairs. “I can’t believe I did that tonight. It felt good in a bad way. I should be ashamed, but it made me happy.”

  Brand
on laughed. “Let’s think of it this way: it’s easily removable unless it gets wet.” Though he didn’t want the night to end, he added, “I guess I should call a cab.”

  “But I want to do more. Should we end the night so soon?” Jordan asked, eyes pleading.

  “We shouldn’t. If you’re up for it, we could get a drink—maybe just a soda since you’re apparently a lightweight. Do they have dive bars around here?”

  “Yes! I’ve seen one a few blocks away, and I may be a lightweight, but as you can see, I’m still walking. Gosh, I haven’t been to a dive bar since college.”

  “Really, what have you been doing with your life?” Brandon laughed.

  “Exactly! Starting tonight, that’s changing. I’m no longer the cautious girl, afraid of a little fun. I’m free to—” She threw her hands up. “Actually, can I change my shoes first? And then I’m free!” She twirled around, her golden hair flowing over her shoulders.

  Brandon nodded, then shook his head as he shoved his hands into his pockets. The urge to drag her into his arms and kiss her like she’d never been kissed was right in line with his cock’s reaction, making it nearly impossible to behave.

  He walked with her into a sophisticated yet cozy apartment where a cream-colored sofa centered the living room space. His eyes followed Jordan as she kicked off her heels. His mind skewed to impropriety as she walked barefoot across the carpet toward the kitchen. And upon getting a semi in his pants, he realized everything in her apartment would lead back to sexy thoughts of her, even the scent of her lingering perfume.

  He leaned against a wall near the kitchen’s entrance. “Why do you live in an apartment instead of a house or condo?”

  “Because I’m a single, twenty-seven year old.” She smiled. “It’s crossed my mind that I need to buy a place soon. I just don’t know what I want. A condo would be less lonely, I think. Anyway, no more serious talk. Let’s ride this endless night into bliss.”

  She waved a stainless-steel shaker at him. “Would you like a shot?”

  Brandon grinned in pure awe of how sexy she was. “Really? That’s the road we’re heading down tonight? Who’s going to drive?”