It's a Date

by Jess Epps

  I'm not sure what to say to him. I'm embarrassed. I'm excited. I'm enthralled. As he walks toward me, my eyes roam his body. Holy F! The suit he wore at the show looked amazing on him, but it hid every single thing from me.

  Every. Single. Thing.

  From what I can see in the dim lighting, he’s wearing jeans that ride low on his hips. His black V-neck shows off his arms, and I think I’m going to pass out at how much man he is, how toned and tanned he is. He closes in on me and stops what seems like a hundred miles away when I want him less than an inch away from me.

  “Heather,” I say softly.

  He smiles at me and I’m butter in this heat. He holds out his hand to me in an effort to shake mine as he says, “Good evening, Heather.”

  I’m shaking inside. The way my name rolled off of his tongue...I want to hear him say it again. I'm selfish. I extend my hand and reach for his. His large hand closes around mine gently, yet I can feel how strong he is. I pray that he can't feel me trembling. I've totally forgotten about the movie and apparently forgotten how to speak. I stutter out a few words that I hope make sense, "I...I'm sorry...and you are?" I want so badly to finally know this mystery man’s name.

  He’s still holding onto my hand when he replies “Shit. Yeah. Noah. Noah Ryan.” His eyes move from mine to our hands and he loosens his grip when he realizes his fingers are still wrapped around my hand. My hand feels cold and wanting when he lets go. It’s bad that I want this man to touch me again…even if it’s just another handshake.

  I smile and I'm sure I'm smiling like an idiot. I finally know his name.

  Noah.

  Could that be any more perfect for him? Congratulations, Noah's mom, you nailed it. I try to keep my voice calm as I respond, "It's nice to meet you, Noah. Merry Christmas."

  The smile that forms on his face when I respond nearly knocks me off of my feet. “Merry Christmas, Heather. I saw you and wanted to apologize for last night. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  I’m too busy watching his mouth move to realize he actually said something. Shaking my head to clear my thoughts, I realize I'm still on my toes, a habit of a lifetime. I lower myself onto my heels and look up at him. "Oh...uhm...no. I'm sorry I didn't get a chance to thank you." My cheeks must be the fiery color of my toenails. I quickly steal a glance at my manicured feet to see my “Sexy Silhouette” color.

  “You have nothing to be sorry about. I’m just glad I didn’t scare the shit out of you. I don’t know what I was thinking. The way you…” He pauses in the middle of his sentence as if he’s realized he’s going to say something he’d rather not.

  Ah! Please don’t stop talking. Oh my, I want to hear his low, raspy voice again. I want to feel his vocal vibrations move through my skin, and I want to touch the slight bump of his Adam’s apple. I’m finding it so difficult to concentrate, let alone breathe around this man.

  I look down at my painted toenails again to try and get myself to focus. Dammit, Heather. Every interaction I’ve had with this sexy man has had to do with Nik and without someone else present, I’m flustered and blushing and I don’t know what to say to him.

  When I look up at him, his smile has fallen and he speaks before I can. “I…uh…you were amazing last night. I’ll let you get back to the movie. I’m sorry for interrupting.”

  I grin and reply, "Thank you, that's always nice to hear." I find myself wanting to catch a hint of his smile again. "And you're not interrupting."

  I watch as his eyes move down from my black chiffon cami to my linen white shorts and further down my bare legs. He pauses when his eyes reach my Jimmy Choo sandals. He almost laughs to himself before he looks up into my eyes again, like he’s got a little inside joke with my feet. I feel like he just memorized every single inch of my body, like he just undressed me and made love to me with his eyes.

  “I was about to head back to my truck. Would you mind if I walked you back to your car? That’s if you’re not with anyone else?”

  I want to bounce up and down with joy, but I keep my feet planted. Oh crap, I'm acting like an idiot. "Sure. I'm just over here." Pointing with my thumb as I turn around, I begin to walk toward my car. My years of training to be graceful all vanish. I’m so self-conscious that I feel like I'm tripping over my own feet.

  Maybe he’ll catch me? Oh my. I want those hands on me again. Maybe I should trip and see what he does?

  I look over my shoulder at him as he takes a few quick steps to catch up to me. In my peripherals, I’m watching his body move. He shoves a hand into his front pocket, and all of my thoughts about tripping are gone as I imagine him without those faded blue jeans on.

  “Have you seen this film before?” he asks as I walk up to my convertible “Damn. Nice ride, Heather,” he adds and my body wants to scream to get rid of all of this sexual tension that is buzzing in the air between us.

  I spot my pile of candy lying on my driver’s seat and I quickly turn to block his view. Leaning against the door and looking up at him, I answer, "No, I've never seen it. Have you?"

  “Yeah, about once a year actually. Since I was sixteen.”

  The wind blows and a strand of my hair gets caught in my lip gloss. He raises his hand as if he’s going to tuck the strand behind my ear but then he drops his hand.

  No! No! Oh hell. Please just touch me once more.

  It’s like he can read my thoughts. He raises his hand again and moves the strand of hair from my lips and tucks it neatly behind my ear. I feel shy and wild and oh so needy. I inhale deeply when I catch the scent of his cologne as he brings his hand back. Oh. He smells of pure, clean, floral woodiness. His cologne leaves a crisp, fresh scent on him, making him smell so sweetly intriguing and uniquely masculine.

  And Holy F! I want to lick him. Crap, Heather. You sound like your sister. The power of his cologne, his scent, his yumminess, is dramatic. I’ve forgotten my words again.

  “Heather?” His raspy voice brings me back from myself. “I’m glad I was able to meet you.”

  God, I love the way his voice sounds. I beam up at him. "It was great meeting you, Noah." Saying his name a bit too slowly, I quickly glance down at my feet then back up at him. "And thank you for last night."

  “I’d do it all over again. Enjoy the weather here in Phoenix and have a safe trip to wherever you’re going.” His hunky smile lights up his face as he turns and walks away from me. He gets into his truck a row behind me.

  When I watch him walk away, I literally moan. My ovaries might be crying out to me. I open the door and sag down in my seat, feeling like I’ve just run a full marathon. My legs are so wobbly and I’m so warm. Plus, my hands feel clammy and wet. Right then, the movie ends and the screen goes dark. I'm sitting there staring at my phone, wanting to call my sister...but why? I've got nothing to tell her other than I've just spoken to the most gorgeous man I've ever laid eyes on, a man I’ll never see again.

  I hear a truck start and I turn around to watch him, watch this Greek god, Noah, drive away from me. I want to jump out of my car and in front of his, begging him not to go. I don’t beg for anything, but for this man, I will.

  My libido is in overdrive as the parking lot empties out and all I can do is sit there, my flushed complexion staring back at me in the rearview mirror.

  Noah Ryan.

  Makes me so unbelievably flustered.

  Noah

  December 31st

  New Year’s Eve

  IT HAS BEEN six long days since I last saw her. Six days and I’m still trying to right what she did to my world. I’ve sworn to myself that I won’t take this obsession with her into the New Year: I’m leaving her behind and she’ll be part of a Christmas I’ll never forget.

  She’ll be the one that got away.

  After spending the rest of the week with Mae, I’m finally at my apartment and alone. Family over the holidays can be stressful, I’m told, but Mae…I’m pretty sure she can be worse than having an entire family. I love her dearly, but I’m glad I can finally e
scape. Everything in my one-bedroom apartment is just as I left it. It’s one big-ass man cave. I am a bachelor after all. There is rustic wood and steel everywhere; the leasing agent called it modern and edgy. As long as there are no trinkets and paintings of fruit on my walls, I couldn’t care less.

  My phone goes off with a text and I pull it out of my pocket. It’s Coen.

  You still up for drinks tonight, man?

  Damn right I am. I punch in, smirking as I hit send.

  Nice. I’ll see you there in a few hours.

  Feeling good about tonight, I grab my duffel and head out to the gym, deciding to hit it hard today. I need to get rid of this sexual frustration.

  THREE HOURS LATER I leave the gym and drive home for a quick shower before heading out to Phoenix for the night. I’m pleased I booked a hotel room because I’m not driving drunk back to Tempe after this New Year’s Eve celebration. And there’s a more than slight chance I’ll be bringing someone back to the room with me. There’s no way in hell I’m bringing a woman back to my place—never let them know where you live. I don’t need a crazy-ass stalker.

  There’s a line outside of the club door, which wraps around the building, stretching all the way down the street. Trione is Phoenix’s most popular club and people come here from all walks of life. I manage to get in without having to stand in that long-ass line—being friends with the bouncer has its perks.

  The music is blaring and the booze is already flowing when I arrive at 10:00 p.m. Searching the bar for Coen, I spot him chatting up some blondes before the three of them down a double shot of amber liquor. Shit. He’s going hard tonight.

  I walk up and smack him on the back. “Coen, you motherfucker! Getting the ladies going already?”

  He looks over his shoulder at me and grins. "There's the lady killer now!" he says to the two blondes. The alcohol has obviously affected him: the goofy-ass grin on his face gives him away. Looking over his head at the bartender, I order a round of shots. If he's going hard, I have some catching up to do. I hand my card over to the bartender and start a tab before I hold up my shot glass. Bending down to the obviously augmented blonde, I shout over the music. "Don't believe anything he tells you. He's a fucking liar.”

  The girls laugh as if it's the funniest fucking thing they have ever heard. "Here's to the last two hours of the year. And to two hot blondes!" I throw the shot back and breathe through my teeth as the three of them drunkenly yell something incoherent before taking theirs.

  It's been about forty-five minutes since I got here and these girls are toasted. Coen usually picks the ones without inhibitions and these girls are no different—easy lays. This one with the large tits has been hanging all over me since I've arrived. Don't get me wrong: she's good looking and I'm sure a decent fuck, but I highly doubt she could handle it. None of them have been able to—my blessing and a curse. No point in wasting my time.

  I'm tipsy as shit and these girls—Brandy and Sophie...Sofia?—are getting annoying. I spin my bar stool around and check my watch: it now reads 11:01 p.m. I lean my elbows back against the bar and look out at the dance floor. Big-tits asks me to dance, but I decline with a shake of my head. I tilt the bottle of beer back and take a long drink as I eye a woman on the dance floor, a hot little brunette moving to the music so sensually. She knows how to move her body. Now that's the kind of woman I'd get off my ass for.

  She's facing the other direction as she moves her tight ass to the music. I take the last swig of my beer when the brunette turns around, her hands in her dark-chocolate hair as she shakes her tits. I choke on my fucking beer. I'm coughing like a dumbass when the blonde pats my back. My body takes it as a sign to go get her, and my alcohol-induced mind agrees. Slamming the empty bottle down, I move off the bar stool and make my way across the dance floor to Heather Lane as Coen yells, "Yo, dipshit. Which one are you tongue fucking for New Year’s?"

  I turn around and flip him the middle finger when I walk straight into something. "Oh shit!" I grab hold of an arm and a hand, unsure of what I’m holding onto while pulling up so I don't knock whomever it is over. When I'm able to look down at the person I just ran over, Heather Lane’s jade green eyes peer up at me. Just my motherfucking luck.

  She looks up at me with the cutest dazed smile. I can tell she's about to say something when I see the recognition flash in her eyes—what a rush when the girl you lust after recognizes you. Her eyes light up for me, and I can’t explain the way that makes me feel. “Noah!” she screams excitedly.

  I’m drinking her in, in all of her beauty. Once again, she’s flawless. She starts moving to the music again and I chuckle, “Hey, my fault,” I say while getting sidetracked by her swaying hips. “I didn’t know a graceful ballerina could move like you do, Heather.”

  My eyes catch on her tight black sequined dress as a strap falls off of her shoulder. Fuck. Me. The sexiest drunken giggle escapes her lips and my eyes flicker back to her face.

  "I'm a dancer, Noah. Trust me...I can move."

  Damn right you can! My eyes wander over her body again and even though I’m having a damn good time watching her wiggle that tight ass in front of me, I want to get her alone. I can’t get her out of my head. Taking a chance, I lean down as I gently touch her elbow. "Can I buy you a drink?"

  The sides of her lips curl up as she nods. “I’d like that, Noah.”

  Shit. If she says my name one more time my balls will implode. I hold out my hand to signal to her where to go and she walks in front of me. Smirking to myself, I get another look at her ass.

  She gets up onto a bar stool and I stand behind her. “What would you like?”

  She swivels to the side and looks up at me. My eyes are fixated on her lips when she speaks.

  “A French martini, please.”

  I have to smile at her drink order. Don’t ask me why, but I happen to know that fucking drink is pink. I get the bartender’s attention and ask for a top-shelf French martini and a bourbon on the rocks. “Make it a double,” I yell out as the bartender turns away. A few moments later we have our drinks and I reach for her hand. She doesn’t fight me on it, so I lead her away from the bar and into the VIP section.

  “I know the owner of the club. He’ll hook us up with a private spot. I’d like to get to know you a bit before you leave Phoenix.”

  I look behind me and down at her when I don't hear a reply. Her eyes are glazed over; she's nibbling on that lip of hers while her eyes are locked onto my ass. Not gonna lie, I fucking dig it.

  “Heather?” I probe as Nate, the owner, starts walking us toward an available booth. Her eyes flicker up to mine as a bright rosy blush replaces her pale complexion.

  “Right…sorry, I, uhm, got distracted.” she says as we walk up to the booth. The music isn’t blaring in my ears and I can actually hear her when she says, “So I’m guessing you come here quite often.”

  I can't tell if she's throwing me a line or asking me why I received preferential treatment just now, but I laugh. "Damn. I’m going to pretend that wasn’t a horrible pickup line."

  When we slide into the booth, her dress hikes up her thighs and I want my hands on her smooth skin. Yesterday. I check my watch when I slide in next to her and we have all of forty-five minutes until we ring in the New Year. Letting go of her small hand, I move my arm to rest on the table. She sips on her martini as I watch her lips move on the rim of the thin glass. They should be moving on the head of my cock.

  She speaks before I can this time. “I’m glad I get to see you again before I head back to New York.”

  New York? Well fuck. “Oh yeah? I thought I’d never get to see you again, actually. I’m surprised that you are here…and alone.” My eyes move down from her eyes and to the black dress that shows off too much cleavage. I’m immediately envious of every motherfucking asshole that has laid eyes on her tonight. I want to take my shirt off and cover her up. I want to be the only man who gets to see her like this, who gets to watch those cheeks pinken as her breasts move wit
h every solitary breath she takes. I realize I’m still staring at her breasts when a waitress comes by and asks us if we’d like another round of drinks. I nod curtly, pissed that she took two seconds of my attention away from this gorgeous woman in front of me.

  When I turn back to her, she’s eyeing the waitress as if she wants to smack her. I’m glad I’m not the only one who feels so abnormally possessive. Hell, if she were mine, I’d be in so much shit. I’d fuck up any dickwad who looked at her. I clench my fists to rein in my sudden anger. I need to cool it on the alcohol.

  “Noah?” she asks softly.

  “Yeah?” I answer as I set my glass down on the table.

  “This is going to sound horribly silly, but what is in this drink? I feel even drunker now than I did five minutes ago.”

  I can’t hold in a laugh when my first thought is that she’s drunk on me. “I know the feeling, but the combination of vodka and champagne is going to give one hell of a hangover.” Her giggle sends a chill down my body, all the way to the head of my cock. She has this unspoken grip on me and it’s so damn tight. I know, without question, that this woman is going to be the end of me. She’s fucked up my entire world. I’ve been so entirely consumed by the mere thought of her that I haven’t studied for my exam since I laid my eyes on her.

  She's in her own little world as her body moves to the beat; she’s watching the crowd on the dance floor. I don’t recognize the song playing, but it’s got something to do with bodies grinding and a surfboard? She’s almost grinding on the booth.

  I want to be the damn booth.

  She has my balls knotted up.

  I slide out of the seat as the waitress walks by to deliver our drinks. Offering Heather my hand I say, “Come dance with me…”

  Thankfully she slips her hand into mine and takes one more sip of her martini before getting up. Keeping hold of her hand, I let her lead the way as I watch her sexy, tight body start to move before we even get to the dance floor. If she continues at this rate, I’ll be hard in seconds.