“Because he’s infuriating!” My hand flies to my mouth, far too late to save me from the words that have already escaped.
Sophie’s entire body slumps. “Nora.” Her chastisement feels a thousand times worse than it sounds. Even more so when she doesn’t follow up with anything else.
“I’m sorry, I just… I felt abandoned when he was seeing other people, and I tried to tell him, but then he wasn’t returning my calls,” I blurt, recognizing ninety-nine percent of these accusations as lies. So I sprinkle a little bit of truth because… I’ll feel better if I do. “I was falling for him, and he wasn’t falling for me, and I knew it.” Okay, still half lies.
I should have given my friend a bit more credit.
“Bull. Shit.” Carefully, she brushes her three taco wrappers off her lap and stands, not waking the little man. Flowerkraut jumps to attention like a canine bodyguard, following Sophie into the house.
“I panicked when I thought I was pregnant,” I call through the screen door. That actually is the truth. The problem is I can’t tell her why I panicked. I haven’t been able to admit to myself why I panicked, though I can say it was not a potential baby.
I don’t hear anything else, so I follow them inside and close the door behind me.
Sophie rocks back and forth on her feet. “Why did you panic?”
“I couldn’t handle being pregnant at the time. I—it was a commitment I could not make. It terrified me,” I say, feeling the deeper truth of the statement, which sends a chill through me. I shake it off as quickly as I can. “I’m so sorry I never brought it up. And then when your shit hit the fan, I felt bad bringing it up since you wanted to get pregnant. For the short time I thought I might be, all I could think of was—”
“I know,” she says, stopping me from saying it out loud. “You don’t have to say it. I know you hate the thought, but you shouldn’t feel guilty about having to make a choice that’s right for you.”
I exhale, relieved. “I’m Irish Catholic. It’s built in.”
She smirks. “So why didn’t you tell him? Why not try to patch it up?” she asks innocently.
“He’d already moved on,” I say, remembering the next time I saw him, the busty redhead he was flirting with. My lip curls in an automatic snarl.
“But he talks about you so fondly, almost like you were the one that got away—”
The thought breaks me a little. I always assumed he’d moved right on without a problem. “I love you, Soph, but can we change topics? It’s too late. Past. It’s okay, right? I’ll be all civil and pleasant for the baptism. Downright friendly, even. Yay! Team Godparents!”
I grin when she throws me side-eye. “If you say so.”
“Brilliant.”
4
THE BAR
NORA
“BENNETT,” A VOICE says behind me, and I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Doc. I also know he’s grinning like the cat that ate the canary. “Fancy finding you here.”
His words are slow, lazy like a happily drunk pirouette. It takes a lot for me to admit how his warm baritone resonates where I don’t want it to. It always has, which is part of the annoyance. I sigh heavily enough that my shoulders lift and drop, so he can see my disdain before I even turn around.
“Wellesley,” I say, arching an eyebrow. Shit, I think I forgot to get my eyebrows threaded. I hope it’s not as unibrow as it can be. Fuck it. It’s dim in here. And I don’t give a fuck what he thinks. “What can I get you?” I plaster on a sweet-as-pie smile, like I’m selling Girl Scout cookies by the truckload. It’s wholly unnatural, and his reaction reflects it.
“Who are you and what have you done to my Nora?” he asks, narrowing his eyes at me.
The possessive phrase hits me in the chest. Yes, I was getting too attached when we were together-ish, but I hadn’t thought he was attached in any way. He’s far too good at casual, and I’ve become exactly as casual as I need to be. That is to say, completely casual and never attached. I won’t do it. Not again.
“Your Nora?” I repeat, leaning on the bar on my elbow—which, if I’m being honest, is usually my go-to move when I want to motivate a significant tip out of a patron. You know, showcase some cleavage. It’s demeaning, sure, but I’m working my angles. Literally. “Last I checked, I was never your Nora.”
The comment nails its mark—his brow pinches to the center, his eyes narrowing a bit. “Ouch. I know it wasn’t serious, love, but we had something. You have to admit that.”
I’m not keen on how he can lay endearments on me and they don’t bounce off like rain on an umbrella. So I use the frustration.
“Actually, I don’t,” I snap.
Unfortunately, I’m also forced to remember my place. I turn my head slightly to see Teresa staring at me. She’s the manager and didn’t want to hire me as it is. I think I slept with her boyfriend—before he was her boyfriend. I may be averse to relationships, but I’m no homewrecker. But with some people that shit doesn’t matter.
As I refocus on my insanely hot, bearded nemesis, I inhale some tolerance and exhale rainbows and glitter like a goddamn unicorn. That’s Sophie’s favorite “calm your shit down” mantra. She often sees me torqued up and chants it like a stoned yogi. Even though she rarely, if ever, partakes.
“Seriously, though, what are you thirsty for?” I immediately regret this question. It’s one of the flirty phrases I use when bartending. Some people think it’s cute, and it loosens them up so I can get a drink down their gullet. With Doc, however, I’ve just left the door wide open for…
“I could do with a tall glass of you, if I’m honest,” he says just loud enough for his warm voice to crawl above the blare of the music. And that accent, gah… “Even a taste.”
My poor thin nails dig in to the countertop, one managing to bend backward. I want to put that smug face in a headlock. Between my thighs.
Stepping one foot in front of the other, I squeeze my legs together as if to remind them he is no longer welcome between them. My pussy clearly disagrees, if the throbbing means anything.
“So, a spot of Irish whiskey, then?” I say, ignoring the way my voice sounds. It’s a little airy and wistful. I’m hoping the music covers me.
Doc smirks and pops an eyebrow.
“I’ll take that as a yes.” I spin away, my hands working on autopilot to pour some Jameson. After sliding the shot smoothly from my side of the wood counter into the space between his hands opposite me, I watch his fingers caress the side of the glass, gingerly pressing it between his thumb and middle finger. He lifts it and rolls it horizontally along his jawline until it hits his ready pout. He tips back, draining the drink and dropping the heavy glass into his waiting palm.
I very nearly come in my short-shorts. Thank God my expression masks it. At least I think it does until he breaks into a grin and sets the upturned glass on its rim, pushing it back to me.
“Not as good as you, but it’ll do in a pinch,” he says.
Teresa is no longer staring at me, but a huge group of douchebags just walked in, so I’m about to get good and busy. “Look, I don’t have time to… whatever this is with you right now. I have to work.”
“I know,” he offers, like he had no intention of getting into anything with me tonight. “I’m meeting Zeke for a couple, and he’s late. It was fate that I saw you when I walked in the door.”
“Fate is for assholes,” I quip.
His chest jumps with a fed-up laugh and his eyes roll. He shakes his head. I feel heavy and victorious. The combination is not great.
“I would like to talk to you,” he tells me. “In all seriousness.”
My eyes go wide. He’s not done with me by a mile. I thought he was just giving me shit, which I can handle. But it looks as if some rehashing is about to go down. I have no desire to revisit anything. Not really. Nothing I’d admit. A chill runs through me, but I’ve no time to react to it, as one of the popped-collar kumquats is making gestures and shouting. Mariel is chatting u
p a beefcake at the other end, so that means I’m up.
“Another time,” I say to Doc, effectively brushing him off as I try not to rush to the group of customers so subtly chanting “Drink Me.”
“What’ll it be, guys?” I ask with a smile, because tips.
Also, I’m not afraid to spit in a drink if it’s really necessary. I have an impressive tolerance for bullshit from customers, in truth. “A steel exterior,” someone once told me. But for the warmest hazel eyes turning my bravado to dust from ten feet away? I am the most delicately transparent onion skin.
***
Mariel waves at me as she pushes out the door. I wiggle my fingers at her, satisfied to hear her boyfriend Nick’s booming greeting somewhere outside. It’s just past four in the morning, but he has never failed to pick her up—or so I’m told. I’ve only been here just over a month or so.
“Night, Teresa,” I call, hoping the frigid bitch will warm up soon.
She waves me off, never looking up from the deposit bag and slip she’s preparing.
I roll my eyes and walk to the door, saluting my favorite bouncer. “Night, Paulie,” I say as he holds the door for me.
I get not five steps past when I see Doc waiting for me, leaning against the driver’s side door of my beat-up, old BMW—the one I had to trade the beautiful, brand-new one for once I could no longer afford the payments, let alone the insurance. I have to assume he recognized it as mine among the three cars left thanks to the St. Christopher medal hanging from the mirror entwined with a Manchester United mini-scarf. They were the only things I could transfer from one car to the next, save the license plate.
Stomping toward Doc and his half-smile would be juvenile and petulant, but I can’t stop myself. “What the fuck are you doing here?” I hiss. “By ‘another time’ I did not mean ‘later on this very same night.’”
Maddeningly, the half-cocked amusement on his lips stretches wide as he chuckles. His eyes, though, they’re clear and focused. “I couldn’t get you out of my mind.”
His voice is soft and fucking irritating…ly sexy, like he’s been sleeping and just woke up.
I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him, either. Every beard that walked in the place tonight raised my temperature just a little bit. But I can’t tell him that. “Well, I didn’t think about you at all.”
He doesn’t react. When he pushes off the car and steps into my personal space, I feel engulfed in a massive kick of heat, as if the car behind him had erupted into a metal fireball. My chest rises and falls rapidly, as I am panting against my will. I’m so angry at my body and at him that I could be the next thing to erupt.
But first, he kisses me.
It’s aggressive and insistent, though one hand cradles my face like this is all some intimate and fragile operation. Meanwhile the other hand has grabbed my ass and pressed me against him. My knees nearly dissolve when I feel his tongue deep dive past my lips. And then I do. Erupt, that is. I grip his hair in my fingers so tightly he moans with a break in the middle. I can’t tell if he loves it or it really hurts, or both. I don’t care, though, because I’m so fired up, I only want wherever this is going. I’ll figure the rest out later.
I swallow his sounds until we can’t really contain ourselves anymore. We collectively fall against my car, grunting and writhing like half of the drunk couples that left the bar already. Except sexier. Of course. And sober-er. I think. I’m sober, but I don’t know… I can still taste whiskey on his tongue.
Ahh, fuck it, Nora Diane. Stop analyzing.
It’s been over a month since I’ve gotten laid, so what the hell? I put thinking on hold and let lust take over.
“Your place, yeah?” I ask, breathy and desperate. “You’re closer.” It also gives me an easy out.
He shakes his head. “I can’t wait that long,” he grinds out, all gravel and sex.
“It’s a five-minute drive,” I argue. “I’m not getting fired for fucking in the parking lot. There are cameras all over this place.”
“Forget us getting arrested,” he retorts, clearly amused.
“Okay then,” I say, trying to pull away, but he holds me to him. “What do you suggest?”
His gaze volleys from me to the road behind me to my car, never blinking. “Get in.”
“What?”
“Get in your car, but I’m driving.”
I’m not sure what the deal is, but thanks to this prick, I’m horny as fuck and not backing down. I slap my keys into his hand and run around to the passenger side. The door’s barely shut before he peels out, narrowly avoiding clipping the nose of his own vehicle.
I don’t have time to ask what his plan is before he kills the lights and turns in to a long private driveway thirty seconds down the road. The house at the end is not visible, and Doc’s already sucking any resistance out of me with a scorching open-mouthed kiss.
“Are you kidding me?” I ask, my voice hoarse and wheezy.
Thoughts of the homeowners having seen the car lights or the police spotting us parked in such an odd way in this random driveway flee the moment he replies.
“No. I’m fucking you.” His growl is low and demanding.
For once, I’m not of a mind to argue.
“Get out of the car,” I command.
He takes in the look in my eyes and smirks. In unison, we open our respective doors and stand, staring at each other over the top of the car. Doc crooks a finger at me, his eyes burning with intention. Our eyes remain locked as I kick my shoes into the car. He doesn’t flinch when I follow that by slamming the car door.
His eyes tell me, Fuck the people who live here. We’ll give them a show.
Despite the hairs on my body all standing at attention at the unwanted idea of being seen, that look makes me not care. I wish I was already naked.
The leaves and dirt beneath my feet are soft, like they’ve been mingling most of the summer and are mostly broken down. I’m taking my time, watching him watch me. My body remembers exactly what making him wait does to him. He’ll act like he’s punishing me, but it’s really my reward. Guaranteed. I mean, I can practically hear his gears grinding. Or maybe he’s growling.
Fuck, yes.
I don’t have a moment to think once I round the front of my car. As soon as I’m within his grasp, he spins me so my back is flush with the quarter panel and hood, hanging half off like a sloppy pinup posing for the next calendar. My heel pushes hard into the metal to gain some leverage, but the only one with leverage here is Doc. He’s trying to avoid scratching this piece of shit and that makes me laugh out loud.
“Fuck it,” I say, panting. “This car is a… I don’t even care; peel the paint if you have to.” Even if I were in my right mind, this car represents a string of poor life choices. I’m not rubbing this bitch with a diaper.
In the darkness, cracked by flashes of moonlight through the trees, I see Doc’s mouth curl. My underwear are already marching down my legs to escape the flood. Not that they need to, because he snags both my shorts and panties with his thumbs and rids me of them. I pay no attention to where they go because I’m busy sitting up to rid him of his pants. Well, it’s up to him to step out of them, but let’s just free the missile he’s packing not-so-discreetly inside his form-fitting jeans, shall we? Yes, please.
It seems to take all our strength to not attempt fucking before we’re rid of our clothes. At the last second, I tear at his shirt, inexplicably desperate to feel his chest against mine. I don’t remember when he got my shirt and bra off. It’s a bit of a brain scramble at this point.
Doc calls out in a growl that ricochets through the trees around us as he tears at the buttons. I see at least one go flying in his battle with them. It’s all frustration, and I think we’re both going to combust. One of my feet hits the ground as my bare ass slides off the hood. I mean, hell, it’s probably a Slip N Slide by now. I’m going to have to hit the car wash.
When he returns his body to mine, his erection is trapped between
us instead of inside me, and this fact pulls a whining sound from within me. I can’t even be mad because he engulfs me—in a kiss, in his arms, his hands. He pulls my left leg around his hip, and I lock it above his perfect fucking ass. The toes on my other foot dig into the dirt, as though I could lift myself high enough to mount him without help. There’s no need.
In a swift motion, he lifts me and plunges inside. My fingernails anchor into his shoulders, one hand moving to grip the back of his neck. I’m desperate to hold on, to come, to feel every thrust pound the daylights out of me. Anything but think about where my life is at present. The frenzied rhythm hits at each worry, each fiber of stress, and with each strike of his hips against mine, the agony of anticipation grows nearly unbearable. Bliss could be a single thrust away, and I am breathless for it. I am push by pound hammered smooth, not a worry or fleck of reality within range to touch me at this moment.
When I peak, my orgasm slams through me so hard I’m sure I’ve left my body temporarily. I feel like I watch my right foot lift from the ground and wrap his other side, so as to secure the source of pleasure where he stands, driving away at his own release. When he finally reaches it, I get an aftershock second, all of my limbs contracting to hold him to me for those last few breaths. It’s like they know what I’m going to do next.
Standing outside my car, I slip into my shorts. My underwear is MIA, and there’s no way I’m trying to wrangle the girls back into the bra right now. The sun will be up in an hour—in fact, it’s already getting lighter. As I tuck my shirt in, I peek at Doc, who’s putting on his and frowning at the missing button. I watch as the symbol tattoo on his shoulder disappears beneath the white cotton. Fuck me, he looks too good in white.
“Come on,” I say, shaking it off. “I’ll drop you back at your car.”
“Can I call you later?” he asks, ignoring my request.
“Look,” I say. “This was nice, but let’s not make a thing out of it.”
He makes a confused face. “Christ, Bennett, I didn’t ask for your hand in marriage. I just thought we could pick up again.” I feel my chest tighten as Doc steps toward me, his heat boxing me in against the front panel—the exact place he just fucked me. “I missed you, Beauty.”
Doc (Bodhi Beach Book 2) Page 3
