by V. Theia
My head swam as the alcohol coursed through me. It was hard to discern between fantasy and reality and the bar narrowed down to one man standing in the doorway watching me. My pulse thump-thump-thumped.
That stare. Holy god. It’s what intense was invented for.
He moved then.
Glided like a fucking Roman warrior parting the crowd with just his lean frame to get to me.
My brain too dazzled in internet shopping mogul Gray Ellison and watching the mechanical way his body shifted in alignment to get him from A to B that I’m overwhelmed now for a whole new reason.
And it has to do with the throbbing between my legs.
My god, could he hear my vagina humming?
Has walking ever been considered sexy before? Maybe in a Henry Cavill movie. Not real life. Not in a bar and not walking towards me.
Sexual longing jangled my bell and now it wouldn’t shut up.
Why the hell did I text him again?
He hadn’t replied, and I’d sagged a breath of relief that maybe I’d gotten the wrong number, or he was involved with someone and ignored it.
Oh, shit. What if he’s married? A lot could happen in a year. He could have a kid even!
I’m too drunk to rationally work through the logistics of why he came and if he’s entangled with a gorgeous brunette with legs up to her perfectly threaded eyebrows.
I have great sculpted brows, thank you very much. I paid enough for them from a little Turkish lady who almost always ripped off my skin.
My walloping heart nearly knocked me from the stool when he got closer.
I wouldn’t mind working up a good steam with him.
And then. Oh shit, Gray Ellison smiled from one side of his mouth.
Perfect fucking pillow soft lips and I felt it happen.
The crash and the tumble of my insides.
My belly turned and flopped over. A dead fish of lust.
One devastating smile and I was gone.
Reflexively my fingers grabbed the bar.
“Hello, sweetheart. Your message was better late than never. I heard you’re in need of a rescue.” He said just like that. A deep timber scratching over my skin making me warm and dizzy. A great bear growl from soft, pink lips surrounded in day old facial hair and I’m toast.
Gray Ellison with ten short words tied my tongue in knots and caused my clit to pulse.
Why the hell did I text him again?
That couldn’t be all it took for him to make me . . . horny.
One superhero penetrating glance and a quirk of a grin, a whiff of his masculine, spiced cologne and I’m ready to go right here down on the floor.
My hormones were always unreliable, little randy bastards when under the influence of 55% proof tequila. I glared at my glass before shoving it away.
I felt the lazy sweep of his gaze when he leaned his whole body using his elbow to keep him sexily slouched on the bar. Deep eyes reaching up beneath my clothes, making me uncomfortably hot and so damn needy it was a miracle I wasn’t howling my relief.
He smelled incredible.
The kind of good that took a woman’s brain into a bedroom, locking the door behind them.
But I’ve imagined his intense examination of me.
He probably thought I looked a hot mess.
Hello, drunk, remember.
Drunk girl in a bar he didn’t know texting him pathetic crap. Yeah, he probably thought I was a hot mess.
He could be married. Remember that too, silly, drunk girl.
“Are you married?” I blurted the moment the thought formed, with my brain swaying in tequila infested waters I wanted to snap the words back and bitch-slap my own damn mouth.
But all to come out of Gray was a crackling of laughter that reached into my chest and squeezed something I thought was gone.
My heart lurched.
Man, he was pretty.
Rugged-boy pretty for a guy much older than me. I wondered what he looked like when he was twenty. I bet he was just as gorgeous, but you know what they say about getting better with age. Suddenly I felt the obsession in me swell to see pictures of a younger Gray Ellison. Rangy with his hair longer I just bet. Mister popular. Maybe not a jock. He’d be the brain, the hot intelligent college boy.
Perfect side burns with a sprinkling of silver in his black hair that only made him more distinguished and had I mentioned those pouty, suckable lips? I was having depraved thoughts of what those lips could do if we were alone.
I knew he was forty-ish because I’d quizzed him that day I’d forced my best friend—who worked for Gray—into inviting him over to join us.
I couldn’t help myself.
One look and my ovaries starting vibrating.
Instant attraction that day swept my feet out from under me.
I’d wanted Gray Ellison immediately and instead of acting on that attraction, I’d shied away. He’d asked for my number when Sena visited the bathroom. I’d laughed and told him nope, I didn’t do that. So, he’d plugged his number into my phone and said he’d wait for my call because he wanted to take me on a date.
I chickened out big time and why? Because I knew it wouldn’t be just a casual hook up with Gray Ellison. In fact, the things I’d felt for him that day all came crashing back, swarming and heating me all over.
“Hi,” I croaked. “Sorry, ignore that. None of my business.”
I stared at the distinct bow curving the top of his lip and wondered if anyone had ever sucked him right there. Of course, they had.
“I’m not married, sweetheart. I’d be a giant dick if I’d left my wife at home to come to a bar for another woman, wouldn’t I?”
Oh, lovely. Now I was thinking of his giant dick and I warned my eyes that if they even dared to look at his crotch I was poking them out with an olive pick.
God, his voice. It was bottomless and rich. His voice was hot chocolate with a triple squirt of fresh cream. It’s a voice that would go directly to a woman's hips.
Even with the pumping sound of excitable sports fans in the background, I heard every syrupy syllable scrape over my inner stomach, the reverberation vaulted an extra quiver of exhilaration across my back.
I’m so glad he’s here.
And wasn’t that just insane, really?
I didn’t know him from Adam. Save for an hours’ worth of conversation a whole year ago he could be anyone. For all I knew his hobby was making skin suits from unsuspecting, tipsy bitches.
But there it was. Relief he was here. He’d come. And crazily he seemed happy to see me too. I wasn’t imagining that, was I?
“Don’t try to make a skin suit out of me, mister. I’m warning you, I’m fluent in making men cry.” I announced, and he laughed again, this time dipping his head over his hands. When he looked up he had a perfect dimple in the middle of his cheek. A fucking dimple I wanted to lick.
Who the hell was testing me right now?
“I can honestly say it never crossed my mind but now I have to ask what cogs turned in your brain and came up with that?”
“Well—you know. Serial killers. Don’t you watch Dateline? Handsome guy meets a pretty blond woman,” I fluttered my lashes and offered him a grin, “in a bar, next thing she knows she has no skin and he has a new trophy hanging in his kill basement.”
Forget Paul Spector, Gray would be the sexiest serial killer.
“I don’t know who this Paul Spector is, but at least I’m sexier than him, right?”
Oh, shit. I slapped a hand over my mouth only to see him smirking like a little boy with his hand in the cookie jar.
Why did I find that adorable?
“I said that out loud, didn’t I?”
He nodded. Grinned.
But then it occurred to me. Smart bitch that I was. That if I was drunk I could totally take advantage and flirt freely with him and he wouldn’t take me seriously. I was free to worship all his pretty-man face and touch his strong arms and giggle and tell him how sexy I found him, and it wo
uld be hassle free because no one trusted the word of a drunk person, right?
“Those lips,” I started and watched his eyes darken immediately, “are incredible. Did anyone ever tell you that, Grayson?”
“Just Gray.”
“Huh?” My not so attentive eyes were still on his mouth watching him form letters and occasionally lick them.
“My name. It’s just Gray.”
I blinked. “Not short for Grayson? Huh. I was sure it would be. I think Grayson sounds sensual on my tongue.”
He grinned again. Just a twitch of his side-mouth this time but it was no less powerful hitting me right where it hurt … in my panties.
Around us the bar continued to go on breathing and swelling. The hot bartender walked back and forth serving his drinks, sweeping a cloth over things.
“You don’t think Gray is sexy?” He teased.
And because I had an inch of sassy underneath all my woe-is-me I rolled a shoulder and twitched him a smile I hoped translated as kittenish and didn’t make me look like a troll. “Grayson is sexier.”
The soft, rolling syllables of his name held the power to melt me.
“It’s good to see you, India.”
Heart meet throat.
His smile was easy and beautiful.
Did he lean further toward me? Was I swaying nearer to him?
I shuffled on my stool, legs tucked under on the rung of the seat. I’d come right out in my work clothes, so my hair was still clipped in a tight, blond knot at the nape of my neck, I wore minimal make up during the day, so just a sweep of mascara with green shadow to match my hazel eyes and my pencil skirt was the color of Gray’s eyes now I come to think of it.
I was dying to shuck off the thin cotton jacket. Did hot bartender turn up the heat? A tipsy troll in a $300 Prada skirt. I seriously was going to be the only bridge hobo with my cart full of designer shit.
“I’m curious why now, not that I wasn’t happy to see a text from you.”
I’m still stuck on his face. That kind of devastating handsome needed a minute to process it. Not in a classic way. There’s a crook to his nose as if it was broken at some point and a scar through his eyebrow. The longer I stared I knew my reaction to him last year had to have been dimmed because he made me feel all fluttery and feminine.
“The truth? I was having the lousiest of days.” I watched those beefy eyebrows fold down, “and I wanted company.”
“I don’t like that you’ve had a bad day, but if it got me here, I’m glad. What kind of bad day, India?”
At that hot bartender sidled over. “What can I get you? Another for you, India?”
Before I could speak Gray said. “We’ll take two bottled waters.”
“Grayson, this is Ardan Murphy. Do you know him? Best bartender in Manhattan.” I praised with a grin. Ardan winked and grabbed the bottles placing them in front of us. Gray paid. “He’s from those Murphy’s.” I whispered, but not really. I was probably yelling over the hockey crowd.
Gray laughed. “Can’t say as I do. Hey, man.” He offered as a greeting. “Those Murphy’s?” I watched him uncap the bottle and then died a thousand horny deaths when his thick neck and pronounced Adam’s apple worked to take the liquid into his god-like body.
Oh, damn.
“Yes, he’s famous, isn’t that right, Ardan?” I forced my voice out in a squeak.
“Ah, not sure about that. Me mother would clip me ‘round the ear if she thought I was playing on our good name.” The Irish man half-smiled with the sounds of his birthplace pitched through his tone. He’d entertained with stories of his homeland for several hours when I’d creeped my doleful self in and sat at his bar. I elbowed Gray without thinking, leaning his way. “He’s being modest, his family are big time—what did you call them? Chancers. I think he means criminals.” I giggled. “They’ve been on the news and he’s got a priest cousin who sounds just as colorful as this guy. Isn’t that right?”
“Close enough,” he grinned. “Me cousin Danny out in Colorado is a pastor.”
What it must be like to have a lively, close-knit family, I wondered. I’d hung off his stories, not because I was trying to flirt with him, but the way he spoke of his people, it felt like he was telling a fairytale. People he loved and who loved him.
When Ardan went to serve I turned to Gray and found his eyes on me.
That gaze was startling. Evocative. Intense.
“What kind of a lousy day have you had?”
An invisible fist grabbed my heart.
When was the last time anyone asked how my day was and meant it, and wanted to hear all the gory details? The way he was looking at me it didn’t skip my notice he truly wanted to know the answer.
I felt a hiccup trap somewhere in my windpipe. “Can we go and sit somewhere private?”
He helped me down off the stool and kept hold of my hand as he led us through the crowd to a table vacated by a couple. I took the booth seat against the wall and Gray slid beside me. The heat of his thigh along my leg burned hot.
Pulse clamoring. My hands sweated.
If I’d known sending one little text would cause this reaction in my body—nothing to do with the booze, and everything to do with the man at my side looking at me like he saw something he liked—then I might have reassessed my impulsiveness.
His presence was more compelling than when I had cereal cravings at 2am. At least when I want Reese’s Puffs I slaked my craving after one bowl.
Gray Ellison? I had a feeling that kind of craving would be everlasting.
I’m thinking of a one-night stand.
I’m considering using his hard body to make this shitty day have a happy ending at least.
The kind of happy ending with his name screaming out of my vocal cords.
The way he stared was a distraction I desperately needed. I concentrated on the bow shape of his perfect lips. Would they be soft or forceful when we kissed?
He’s seriously one of the hottest men I’ve ever seen in my life.
Maybe because he’s older than me but he seemed so … together.
Capable. Reliable.
None of which should interest me when all I wanted was his body.
But the interest is there. Lurking.
It’s his eyes. For all this man’s palpable confidence, they’re heartbreakingly kind as he watched me.
I could crumble under that kind of beautiful scrutiny. And that’s ridiculous because kind men have never appealed to me before.
Kind men stick around.
Playboys and fuck-boys are more my style because there’s no chance of them attaching to me or forming relationships. They only want one thing and I’ve always taken self-serving pleasure in not only knowing that they lie as often as they charm, but I’m always the one to end it first.
But the kindness in Gray’s eyes pulled until all I could hear over the rattling crowd was my drumming heart.
I wished right then to be able to crawl into his thoughts. What was he thinking as he looked at me? Compassion?
He’d been attracted to me last year.
Was it still the same now he’d seen the real me?
“Ready to tell me, sweetheart?”
My breath hitched. The endearment slipped through my blood.
I snorted a huff, leaning a shoulder against the back of the seat, my legs crossed, I angled towards him without realizing. “Where to start? I lost my job to a calculating bitch who stole my idea and earned.” I finger quoted, my face screwed up in disgust at just how devious Mel had played me for months hanging off my coattails until the right moment to strike. “My promotion. I get home to find a notice letter of eviction. The landlord sold up. And…”
It’s there I paused, because I never share the other … most important part … with anyone. It’s too real, too raw, and I at no time let anyone see that side of me.
A hand covered mine. I looked between my own ringless, paler fingers to the tanned ones covering my hand. “And what?”
/> And just like that, his soothing rough voice had all kinds of hidden words falling out of my mouth. “It’s the anniversary of my younger brother’s death, so all in all it’s been a crappy day, Grayson.”
I didn’t know I’d started crying quietly until two arms gathered me in, held me against a strong, good-smelling chest, rocking me with quiet shhhhhh’s near my ear.
The tears didn’t stop there.
They fell, soaking Gray’s shirt.
An avalanche of suspended grief poured out of me all at once in a terrifying storm as I clutched the back of his shirt while tear-destroying the front.
The magic of kind eyes and comforting arms were my floodgates and in a crowded bar, surrounded by hockey fans, I let out the broken part of my heart while the objective of some of my dirty-night fantasies of the past year rubbed a palm softly down my spine.
Holding all my pieces together.
So, that just happened.
If not for the buzz of alcohol still lingering in my body I would have felt a beating of mortification having broken apart in a semi-stranger’s arms.
Let’s blame all my heart skips on tequila and not for the quiet way Gray calmed me for thirty minutes.
He came back to our table with a black coffee for me and another water for himself and his arms overloaded with chips of all flavors he let drop to the table before retaking his seat.
“They stopped serving food, so I got all their chips.”
“How did you get coffee?”
He looked at me, square in the eye. “I asked for one.” That simple. A shiver rushed through my arms making them feel numb.
The effect of him was staggering. Was I just that drunk?
His warm all over gaze made me think of cuddling on a sofa and I’d never cuddled any man like that in my life with no plans to start now so why was the image of being wrapped safe in his strong arms in the front of my mind?
The truth of it was like a bucket of water over my head and the fact that my eyes couldn’t stay off him for even two seconds was unsettling.
Had I made a big mistake texting him? Undecided.
I made my hands move. Grabbing some, I was already through half a bag of vinegar, when I mumbled around a mouthful that I loved chips.
