“Is this what people talk about on dates?”
I smile and enthusiastically nod my head.
He appeases me. “Not much to tell. Dad ran off when I was a kid. Mom kicked me out when I finished high school.”
No wonder he’s so solemn half the time. The guy has no family.
“You?” He pours two more shots, and we each take one in unison.
I shrug my shoulder at my uneventful answer. “Mom, dad, brother. The normal boring life. Except I grew up in Manhattan. For some reason, people act surprised when I say that, as if no one could be born and raised there. But I was, and it’s true.”
He leans forward. “What should I know about you that I’d never think to ask?”
Wow, that’s a good question for someone who doesn’t do the whole first-date-conversation thing.
“Um…probably that I was married before.”
Nate’s eyes widen at my response. Good thing this isn’t a first date because he is totally freaked out by this revelation. I put him out of his misery—and my own since I have no desire to talk about the world’s shortest marriage. Well, besides Kim Kardashian’s. Or Britney Spears’s. Look at that. My marriage wasn’t as short as I thought it was.
“Who has been the biggest influence in your life?” I ask.
“The guy who raised me—not my dad. This other man took me in. Taught me a lot about life. More than my parents ever did.”
“Anything important?” I ask.
He just shrugs me off.
“What’s your biggest goal in life right now? Aside from finding a husband.”
“That is not my life’s goal!” I yell. Then, I realize I’m yelling, so I take it down a notch. “Fine. It’s high up there.”
“I’ve never met a chick who plays the harmonica. That’s pretty badass. How many instruments do you play?”
“Three. The cello, the harmonica, and the bass.”
He whistles through his teeth. “You must be passionate about music.”
“It’s just something I know how to do.”
“You ready to play again?” He gives me a wink.
The Barge Poppers start their set, and the two of us listen to their opening songs. At Nate’s insistence, The Barge Poppers invite me up for another performance. This time, I play the bass. They ask if I know how to sing, but I assure them, I can’t carry a tune. The whole time, Nate stands in the back of the room, arms folded across his chest and a smile on his face.
When I am done, Nate takes the bottle of Jack and motions toward the back room where we play a few rounds of darts. The liquor must be flowing through my bloodstream because our conversations start to get a little brazen.
“What does every man want in bed but would never tell?”
“Anal,” he answers like it was the easiest question in the world. “What about women?”
I walk over to the dartboard, take the darts out, and line them up along the line between seven and nineteen and seventeen and two, creating a pie shape on the lower half of the dart circle. With a sharp pointer finger, I point to the bull’s-eye. “Right there.” I point again to the same spot. “There.” Then, I take my finger and start pointing to all other areas of the pie. “Not there or there or there. It’s. Right. There!” I dramatically point to the bull’s-eye again.
“Point taken.”
“What is the most embarrassing thing that’s ever happened to you?”
We’re back at our table, The Barge Poppers packing up their equipment in the front of the room. The pub is half-full. So is the bottle of Jack.
“I starred in a music video wearing a string bikini and holding an orangutan.”
“What was the song called?”
“‘Boom’…hey, what are you Googling?”
“Who was your childhood idol?” Mine was Julie Andrews in The Sound of Music. I wonder if he’d be the Captain to my Von Trapp—wait, that doesn’t make sense.
“Braveheart.” His baseball cap is now backward. Those eyes are on full display, piercing around all the black. He has a really good-looking face. Chiseled jaw and scruff.
For the love of scruff…
Focus, woman!
“What is it with men and that movie? He gets castrated.”
“Way to ruin the mood,” he says. His voice is still strong. I wonder if his lips feel numb, too. “It’s a clansmen thing. I like the culture—”
“Outlander. That guy’s hot. I want to buy a red Toyota Highlander Hybrid and name it Jamie Fraser.”
“Who the fuck is—never mind. I like how the Scots wear their family’s clan over their shoulder. It’s like—hey, where are you going? I don’t think you should—you might be the first girl to ever dance on that bar.”
“Hang on there, killer.” Nate’s voice is nearby, very close to my left ear.
We’re outside, and the air is cool against my warm skin.
Too much drinky makes Crystal stinky.
I hope I didn’t say that out loud.
“You said that out loud.”
“What is the whiskey equivalent of Napa?”
“There isn’t one.”
There is a huge hole in the sidewalk because I fall to the side, and Nate grabs on to my waist, holding me up so that I don’t fall into it.
Stupid hole. “What about beer? Where is the land of beer?”
“That would be Oktoberfest.”
“I’ve been there! Let’s go to Munich!”
Someone really needs to get this sidewalk fixed. I have to reach up and hold on to Nate’s shoulder to keep from falling into the damn holes in the ground.
“Let’s get you home. Crystal…I can’t carry you if you’re grabbing my ass.”
“You have nice eyes.” My back is propped up against something hard. And rough. I lean back into it. It’s scratching my head. I look up.
Wow.
He’s pretty.
“So you’ve told me.”
“What does your tattoo mean?”
I think his mouth is broken because he’s not answering me.
“Undying love.”
Oh, that’s pretty, too. Like you.
“I could love you, Nate. But I won’t. Because you’re unlovable.”
“That makes absolutely no sense.”
“You have nice eyes.”
“Let’s get you inside.”
chapter EIGHT
“Your hair is so long.” I run my fingers through his gorgeous mane, grabbing the strands at the nape.
“I know how you like it,” Channing Tatum whispers into my neck, nuzzling closer.
Wrapping my leg around his torso, I pull him into me. His eyes bear down into mine, and I open my mouth for a kiss. Instead of entering my mouth, his tongue licks the sensitive skin next to my lower lip. I move to pull him deeper into me, but instead, he starts licking me more.
Sloppy.
Sopping.
Wet.
Cold.
His wide, wet tongue laps and licks my mouth. A cold wetness is surrounding my nose. I want Channing to kiss me, but he just slobbers around my face, and there is the distinct smell of—
“Holy shit!” I scream at the sight of the ginormous rottweiler staring at me.
I leap back so far and so fast that I fall, ass down, on the ground. Oh, man, that hurt. And I’m not talking about my ass. Raising a hand to my head, I rub the temple and try to calm the throbbing going on inside.
My mouth also tastes like I’ve been living in the Sahara for a month.
Getting my bearings, I rise up onto my knees and peer back up onto the bed. The animal is staring down with panting deep breaths striking directly in my face.
Looking around the room, there is not a single thing I recognize. The queen-size bed takes up most of the room. The walls are painted a deep gray, and there’s a navy-blue comforter under the rottweiler, sprinkled in black dog fur and a wee-wee pad, where I was sleeping. An alarm clock sits on the end table, and a single dresser is along the wall.
/> Not knowing where I am, I assess the situation, looking for my quickest escape. I am in a room. I am alone. I am—
Oh Christ!
My stomach nearly drops at the realization that I am wearing nothing but a bra and panties. Granted, they’re my good date-night set but still. I am naked. Alone. In a room that I presume is owned by a man.
Not again!
For a girl who doesn’t do one-night stands, I certainly have a way of finding myself in random men’s bedrooms.
That’s it. I am never drinking again.
Crawling on all fours, I look around the room for my clothes. They are nowhere to be found. I stand up and flip the comforter around, trying to find my skirt and shirt so that I can get the hell out of here.
There is a window, and if I were in anything other than my skivvies, I would consider climbing out. I open a door and find a closet that confirms the room does indeed belong to a man. That leaves door number two as my only means of egress.
Wrapping my body in the white sheet from the bed, I take tentative steps toward the door and open it. Peering around the doorframe, I see a small hallway, and I sniff the distinct smell of…coffee.
Walking down the small hallway, I make a left and am in a living room. A single sofa, TV, coffee table, and a bookshelf overflowing with books make up the modest furnishings in the room. To the right is a small table with two chairs, and beyond it is a kitchen with oak cabinets, a simmering coffee pot, and a six-foot whiskey-pouring devil bearing an unsightly smirk in appreciation of my current condition.
Wearing jeans, a navy T-shirt, and a San Francisco Giants cap, Nate has a coffee cup in his hands. His smile only disappears when the cup rises to his lips. “Morning, sunshine,” he says before taking a sip. “Sleep well?”
My tummy grumbles in part-hunger, part-aggravation, and mostly nerves.
What the hell did I do last night?
On the counter beside Nate is my purse. I leap forward and grab it, making sure to keep my sheet intact. “Where’s my phone?” My voice is slightly panicked as I notice it’s not in there.
“I plugged it in.” Nate makes a motion toward the dining table.
I have to text Naomi. She is probably freaking out that I never came home last night. I turn on my phone, expecting to see several missed calls and text messages. Instead, I just see the Home screen and the time.
“Naomi knows you’re safe,” he says from behind me.
I turn around and eye him in question.
“After you passed out, your phone starting blowing up with texts from her, so I texted her back and told her you were safe.”
Thumbing through my text messages, I see that Nate and Naomi sent a few messages back and forth last night. Some about my whereabouts and then some about what drunk Crystal is like.
“I don’t snore,” I scowl at him.
“Yes, you do. And Naomi confirmed you only do when you drink.”
Traitor. I am going to have a talk with that woman. And how did she know this random guy texting her wasn’t a crazed killer who had me tied up in bed? He could have been a sex freak.
Speaking of which, I ask, “Do I even want to know why I’m naked?”
Nate laughs into his cup and then puts it down on the counter, smashing his lips together, trying to contain the smile. “You stripped”—he points to the middle of the living room—“right there.”
My eyes are seriously bugging out of my head. I can feel them stretching and widening.
“We didn’t…” I make a hand motion, pointing from him to me and back.
“No”—the smirk vanishes from his face—“we did not.”
I let out a huge breath and sink into one of the chairs. “Thank God.”
“I offered you my shirt, but you passed out, ass up, in my bed, so I just let you sleep.” He opens a cabinet. “You were in no condition to drive last night, and you wouldn’t tell me where you lived, so I brought you here.”
Holding my sheet tight with my left hand, I rub my temple with my right. My head hurts, but it’s not as bad as it should be, considering the amount of whiskey I consumed.
Nate holds up a coffee cup in asking. I nod my head and accept. A nice hot cup of caffeine will do wonders.
“I had you drink a shit-ton of water before you passed out. There’s Tylenol on the table behind you.” Nate pours my coffee and pours Sambuca into it before handing it to me.
I pop a few pain relievers and take a drink of my coffee. “Thank you”—looking down at the table, I see a pile of mail—“Nathaniel Teller.”
As he rests both hands along the counter behind him, his chest and biceps twist and curl beneath the fabric of his T-shirt. He looks different in the daylight. His eyes are lighter, brighter, and his skin is clearer. Even his smile seems to make a few more appearances in the daylight.
If I recall correctly, he smiled a lot last night.
“I had fun last night,” I offer.
“Me, too.” He looks down with a grin. “I had to put a wee-wee pad under you in case you pissed yourself.”
“Nate!” I scream, temporarily losing my sheet when I go to raise my hand in frustration but then bring it back. When it is back around my shoulders and snug tight, I add, “I am not an animal!”
Nate shrugs and twists his face. “I didn’t know what kind of drunk you were. You talk a lot when you drink,” he says with annoyance in his voice, but the crook of his mouth says otherwise.
Nate’s dog comes barreling out of his room and nearly knocks me over when he smashes into me for attention.
“Willie!” Nate’s voice is commanding yet ineffective.
“That’s okay. I love animals.” I squat down and wrap the sheet under my armpits to free my hands, so I can pet the big lug. “Hey there, Willie. You’re a good boy. Yes, you are.”
Willie turns into me as I pet him behind the ears.
“What kind of name is Willie for a rott? Aren’t they supposed to have names like Maximus or Brute?” I say these names with a baby voice as I nuzzle my nose against sweet Willie.
“His full name is Willie Mays.”
I cock my head at Nate. “The baseball player?”
He points to the San Francisco Giants logo on his cap.
Who would have guessed that Nate was a baseball fan? He seems so too cool about life to be an all-American sports lover. At least he likes animals.
I give Willie my full attention again. “I had a cat. Mr. Magoo. He would have liked you.”
“Cats are the devil’s foot soldiers.”
I stop rubbing Willie’s ears for a moment to look back at Nate. He is still standing there, all tall and lean. His square jaw and high cheekbones offset those almond-shaped eyes that are a sin for men to have. I suppose it’s for the best that he’s a sports-loving cat hater.
I stand up and readjust my sheet. “I should get out of here. Where are my clothes?”
Nate releases his hands from the counter and folds them across his chest. “I washed them last night after you went to sleep.”
“They’re dry-clean only,” I groan.
“I know. I washed them by hand. They’re hanging in the bathroom,” he answers, like it’s the most normal thing for a man to hand-wash the clothes of a woman who he kinda knows but mostly doesn’t know before hanging them to dry. Most guys would have left them in a ball on the floor. “I don’t have a washer anyway, so it was wash them or have you smell like stinky whiskey all day,” he adds.
I have a light rush of déjà vu.
“Oh. Okay. Well, that was very nice of you, I guess.” I think back on something he just said. “Why would I be wearing them all day?”
Nate puts his hands in his pockets and lowers his chin in a way that he has to peer up at me from underneath the lid of his cap. “We’re going wine-tasting today.”
I blink back at him. “We are?”
“We made plans last night. You said you’d never gone wine-tasting and asked if I’d take you.”
“And yo
u said you would?” Why am I surprised by this?
Nate pauses a moment and then takes his hands out of his pockets. He stands up straight and motions toward the bathroom. “Yes. So, get your ass dressed, so we can go.”
“I’m not wearing last night’s clothes. And I need makeup. I can’t go anywhere, looking like this.” I haven’t even looked in a mirror, and I know that I look like the quintessential walk of shame, minus the actual shaming.
“We’re not driving a half hour to St. Helena, so you can spend an hour changing. Your clothes are clean, and you don’t need makeup. It’s just me.”
Just him.
Yeah. Sure. I can spend the day with a guy while looking like last night’s leftovers. Not! I need a new outfit, something appropriate for a wine tasting. And I need to blow my hair out and put makeup on my face.
Just him.
What if we’re out and I see someone I know? Unlikely. Because the only people I know in this town are…
Just him.
I grab my purse and turn on my heel toward the bathroom. “Fine. But if anyone makes any comments about the hag you’re with, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
I get to the bathroom, shut the door, and look in the mirror. My face looks like I’ve aged five years. The caked on eye makeup is smeared around my eyes. My hair is wild yet manageable since I curled it before I went out last night. I take a sniff under my arms. My body reeks like a liquor cabinet.
I take a giant swig of my coffee and turn on the shower.
I wrap my hair in a towel, drop the sheet on the ground, and climb in. There are no frilly body washes or a loofah in sight. I pick up the simple bar of soap and lather down.
Out of the shower, I dress in last night’s clothes that are on a hanger on the back of the door. I open the surrounding cabinets in search of a hairbrush, but there isn’t one or a spare toothbrush. Making do with what I can, I run my hands through my hair and use my finger and toothpaste to rid the stink from my breath.
A dig through my bag discovers mascara, lip gloss, and a rogue piece of gum. I haven’t been this au naturel with a man since I was in junior high school.
Walking back into the living room, I see Nate coming in through the front door. He closes it behind him and does a double take when he sees me standing here. I look down at the small white shopping bag in his hand.
Wild Abandon Page 10
