Unexpected Angel

by Sloan Johnson

  “You’re leaving with him?” Holly’s lip curls as she asks the question.

  Where in the hell does she get off acting as if I am some sort of filthy creep? In reality, I am one of the few men in here any of them should be hanging out with. That’s not me being cocky; it’s simply the truth.

  “Yes, Holly,” I answer for her. “Tasha and I are going to get a bite to eat. I’m certain I can make sure she gets home safely.” God, I really don’t like her. I would never go so far as to tell a woman who she can and can’t spend time with, provided there’s no chance of harm, but if I don’t scare Tasha off by the end of the night, she and I are going to have to have a long talk about who she associates with when I am with her.

  Holly squares her shoulders, glaring at me. “The last I checked, Tasha was fully capable of speaking for herself.” She looks over to Tasha, who is still curled under my arm, not looking at all upset that I spoke for her. It is interesting to see how willingly she turned over control. Only time will tell if that is because her ex-husband was a controlling prick or because she has tendencies she might not yet fully realize.

  “I’m fully aware of that, Holly.” I probably should drop it, but this bitch is getting under my skin like no other. “Then again, if she didn’t want to leave with me, would she be stuck to me like white on rice? Perhaps you’re simply upset that your little plan didn’t work quite the way you wanted it to. She’s the one leaving with a real man while you four are going to play with the boys.”

  I feel Tasha tense beside me and fear I’ve gone a step too far. “Dylan,” she hisses. “Please, just stop.” She backs away from me slightly so she can talk to her friends. “Holly, we’ll have to get together another time. I appreciate you bringing me out, but this really isn’t my scene. I’ll text you when I’m heading home and when I get there. Okay?”

  “Fine,” Holly grumbles. The other three girls backed off long ago and are already deep in conversation with three young men sitting across from them. “But if you don’t text me by bar time to let me know you’re okay, I’m going to blow up your phone.”

  “Yeah, sure.” Tasha rolls her eyes at her friend. It’s interesting to see how protective Holly is and it appears Tasha doesn’t like the mama bear attitude from her friend. “See you guys later.”

  (Tasha)

  Dylan never takes his hand off the small of my back as we walk down the dark sidewalk. Maybe I should be more nervous, but it feels comfortable walking beside him. Even more, I feel safe. This isn’t exactly the best part of town, and yet I am safe standing next to this beast of a man I barely know.

  “Please tell me we’re not walking to the diner,” I whine after about a block. My feet are killing me and I wish I had thought to change back into my ankle boots.

  “No, Precious. We’ll be driving but my car is parked down there.” He points somewhere in the distance. “Do you need me to carry you?”

  While it is a sweet gesture, I’m not about to say that I do want him to carry me. Oh, the places he could take me and I would go willingly. “No, I’ll be fine as long as it’s not too far.”

  I barely have the words out of my mouth when I feel Dylan lift me off the ground as if I am a small child. My mind screams at me to slap him, yell, and do something to make him put me back on the ground. My aching feet, on the other hand, whisper in my ear to kiss him in thanks for the reprieve.

  My mind wins out, but just barely. “Dylan, put me down,” I shriek, playfully slapping him on the butt as he throws me over his shoulder. The view from this side is pretty amazing. Maybe it’s not such a bad idea to let him carry me for a while.

  “Precious, there are a few things you need to know about me.” While his tone is serious, he doesn’t sound upset. It is more matter-of-fact.

  “Is one of them why you insist on calling me ‘Precious’ when you know my name?” I can’t help myself. I’ve never been a fan of nicknames, especially ones that make me think of Gollum wandering around looking for his ring.

  Dylan swats my backside. “No, because I’ve already told you that. The other things you need to know are that I don’t appreciate being lied to and I will always protect and take care of what is mine.”

  “Well that’s good to know,” I snipe. “Two things you need to know about me. I’m not a liar and I do not belong to anyone.” I’m being a bitch, but this guy is getting on my nerves. Yes, he is sex on a stick and seems like he has a good heart somewhere under his tough-guy façade, but I feel like he basically called me a liar and that puts me on guard.

  “You said you were fine when I asked if you wanted me to carry you,” he points out. His pace slows as he caresses the back of my thighs. “I would be willing to bet my car that that was a lie.”

  He’s right. While I never lie about the things that matter, I am no different from most people when it comes to little things. “I’m sorry, I just didn’t want—“

  He carefully sets me down on the hood of a rich purple 1969 Barracuda. I notice that the way he holds my ankles causes my legs to wrap around his. I wonder if that is so he can be close to me or if it has more to do with not wanting the lethal spikes on my boots to scratch his paint.

  His fingers slide around my neck and he tilts his hands so I am looking up at him. “If you were going to say you didn’t want me to have to, you need to stop. That goes back to my second point. I will always take care of what’s mine. And that includes you.”

  “But I’m not yours.” Are there really women out there who would let a guy make claims like that after an hour?

  “True,” he agrees. “But no matter what happens between us sexually, I’d like to think we’ll become friends.”

  Wow. Well, no one could accuse this guy of beating around the bush. “What’s to say I’d want anything sexual to happen between us? I think you’re getting a bit ahead of yourself there.”

  Dylan leans into me so close I can feel the heat radiating through his white button down shirt. “Because when I do this,” he whispers, nibbling on my ear. “I can feel it here,” he continues, placing his hand between my breasts where I have no doubt he can feel my racing heartbeat. “You might not be ready to admit it, but you want me as much as I want you.”

  My breathing becomes quick and erratic. Nick is the only man who has ever touched me in this way, and yet feeling Dylan’s strong fingers grazing along the bare tops of my breasts feels like the first time I have been touched by any man. I don’t want him to stop. I want to feel those fingers curl along the edge of my corset, dipping low so he can pinch my hard nipples.

  Just as I am about to succumb to his advances, he pulls away. Giving me a peck on the tip of my nose, he lifts me off the hood of the car after opening my door. He gently settles me on the seat before reaching in to buckle my belt. If I lean forward, I could bury my face in the warmth of his neck. If he turns toward me, I have no doubt he’s close enough for our mouths to lock together in a passionate kiss.

  Do I want him? Yes, I am definitely feeling something, but is it sexual attraction to a stranger or the thrill of being out there meeting someone for the first time in my life? I watch him walk around the front of the car as I focus on steadying my breathing. I can’t let him see that he affects me in such a way.

  “So, where are we going?” I ask as his car roars to life.

  Dylan lifts my hand to his mouth, gently kissing the back of each finger before placing it on his knee. While I admittedly have very limited experience with the game of seduction, this guy is good. He could tell me just about anything and I would go along with it.

  “There’s a diner where a group of my friends hang out,” he says, keeping his eyes on the road. “They were at the club earlier, but some of them have a low tolerance for the crap that goes on there so they left.”

  This isn’t the first time he has made a negative comment about the club. It makes no sense that he would be there if he knows he doesn’t like it, but I don’t feel like it is my place to ask. I like that he isn’t into t
hat kinky scene. If he was, I’m not sure I would be willing to go anywhere with him.

  “So, you met me just over an hour ago and now you’re taking me to meet your friends? Moving a bit fast, aren’t you?”

  Dylan lets out a throaty chuckle. “I consider myself a good judge of character. I won’t lie, Tasha, I’m attracted to you, but tonight is nothing more than a group of friends hanging out together.” He reaches up to cup my cheek and I feel myself leaning into his hand. “I would like to think that you and I are friends, too.”

  “But you don’t even know me,” I scoff. “What if I’m the crazy serial killer? I now have you right where I want you.”

  “I think I could hold my own against you,” he laughs. He pulls into the parking lot and parks in the spot furthest from the door.

  “Do you always park so far away?” I ask, not looking forward to walking even further in these ridiculous boots.

  “Yes.” He doesn’t explain himself before getting out of the car. Before I realize that he isn’t going to say anything else on the subject, he is at my door. And holy hell, he is unbuttoning his shirt.

  “Don’t get out yet,” he warns. A lump forms in my throat and my heart begins to race, but not in a good way this time.

  What is he doing? Better yet, what am I doing? The first time I go out as a single woman and I wind up in the back of a dark parking lot with a man I barely know. He’s telling me to stay in the car while he takes off his clothes. This is very, very bad.

  I scan the parking lot, trying to see signs of anyone else around. There is no one. I am completely alone and about to have one of those life-changing moments that will forever shatter my trust in people.

  Shit, what was I thinking?

  “Precious,” he says softly, leaning into the car. “You need to relax.”

  My stomach curls at the feeling of his skin against mine now that I know what is happening. I hate Holly for making me wear this impractical outfit. I hate all of my friends for making me set foot in that depraved club. I hate myself for marrying the first man I dated and for being so trusting.

  (Dylan)

  Things had been going well. I have never picked up a woman in a bar before tonight because they are usually too drunk and horny for me to want anything to do with them. Some men see an inebriated woman as an easy score; I see it as a risk I’m not willing to take. But there is something different about Tasha.

  Seeing her cower away from me in the car twists something inside of me. I don’t want her to fear me. “Hey, what’s going on?” I ask, crouching down beside the car. I know damn well I am an intimidating guy and hope that making myself appear smaller will help ease whatever is causing her to panic.

  “Wh—what are we doing here?” She asks, unable to look at me.

  What in the hell is she thinking? It’s obvious she thinks I am going to hurt her in some way and that pisses me off. I crack my neck to both sides, resting my hands on my knees. I want to touch her, to comfort her, but I know that isn’t what she wants or needs right now. Looking closer, it looks like she’s shaking and about to cry. The sight tears me up inside.

  “I already told you,” I say, working hard to keep my voice calm and quiet. “We’re going in to have something to eat and hang out with my friends for a while.”

  She glances at me out of the corner of her eye but still won’t look at me. “And that requires you to take off your shirt?”

  Things start to click for me. If I was a female, I probably would be scared too if a man parked in a deserted parking lot behind a building and started undressing. Holy shit, she is so far off base it would be laughable if I didn’t see where she is coming from.

  “Tasha, look at me,” I command, still keeping my voice low. She hesitates, but finally turns her head in my direction. “I took my shirt off so you would have something to wear. I figured you would rather wear my shirt than walk in there in lingerie.”

  She buries her head in her hands. Her body is still shaking, but now I don’t know if it is because she is laughing or crying. “Oh, my god. You must think I’m a complete freak,” she sighs. “Thank you, Dylan.”

  I help her out of the car and hand her the shirt. She subtly tries to sniff my shirt as she pulls it over her head. I hold in the laugh that wants to come out, not wanting her to know I caught her. “Sorry I didn’t have any clean shirts. I took my bag inside earlier.”

  “It’s okay,” she says, smiling. It is the first time I really see her smile and it astounds me. Her cornflower blue eyes sparkle in the moonlight and she has the slightest hint of dimples at the corners of her mouth. It does nothing to dispel the all-American girl image forming in my mind. “I’m sorry I jumped to conclusions. It’s just, I haven’t been out much, and you hear about things like this on the news all the time. I guess I let that and all the warnings I got tonight about being careful send my mind racing. Really, you’ve been—“

  As cute as she is, we need to do something about the rambling. “Tasha, it’s okay. Come on.” I hold out my hand to her and she willingly reaches for it. As we walk to the diner, I can see her limping slightly. “Why did you wear those boots if they’re that uncomfortable?”

  Women’s footwear is something I will never understand. Sure, her red leather boots are nearly fucking orgasmic, but they are totally impractical.

  “Holly said they looked better than the boots I was going to wear.” She shrugs as if that should explain everything. All it does is piss me off. As if I don’t already have plenty of reasons to dislike Holly, I am about ready to strangle her for making Tasha so uncomfortable in so many ways.

  I place my hands firmly on Tasha’s shoulders, turning her to me. “Do you do everything Holly tells you to do?” Having seen her “friend” around, I know she is into some crazy shit, the type of stuff I hope like hell Tasha is smart enough to stay away from.

  She avoids making eye contact with me again. That is something else we will have to discuss if we are still talking to one another come morning. “I guess, yeah. We’ve been friends forever and she’s never gotten me into trouble, so I listen to her. And let’s face it; I can’t even dress myself appropriately if left to my own devices. I mean, look at me…”

  Her voice trails off and I can tell she is deep in thought. That’s another thing women do that I’ll never understand. They feel the need to think about shit obsessively. “Precious, I’ve been looking at you all night, ever since you caught my eye while you were in line. Yes, you look fucking hot as hell, but you don’t look comfortable. Shit, you shouldn’t have even been there tonight. A girl like you doesn’t belong in a place like that.”

  (Tasha)

  Am I so pathetic that there are clubs I should and shouldn’t be allowed to frequent? I may not have the life experiences my friends, and more than likely Dylan, have but that doesn’t mean I should be kept out of certain establishments. I wasn’t comfortable while I was there, but I will definitely remember this experience. And who is Dylan to say if I should have been there or not?

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I ask defensively.

  I don’t resist when he scoops me up in his arms and starts walking through the parking lot. Instead, I wrap my arms around his neck, feeling the hard, sculpted muscles beneath his tight white t-shirt. In my still slightly tipsy haze, I want to reach up to feel his smooth head. When the image of running my tongue from the base of his neck up behind his ear pops into my head, I bury my face in his neck trying to hide the flush in my cheeks. That is a bad move; all it does is allow me to smell his unique blend of cologne and sweat. I scrunch my face when I realize I am actively sniffing him.

  What in the world is wrong with me?

  “You okay, Precious?” There is a trace of humor in his voice now.

  “You smell good,” I admit, immediately hating myself. Where is the filter between my brain and my mouth? I am never going to drink again when I go out. I like being in control of everything I say and think and that is gone after three drinks. Better
to be the designated driver than cheap entertainment for everyone I am with. “I mean...oh heck, you probably think I’m pathetic, huh?”

  “Quite the opposite, really.” I feel his lips against the crown of my head. “It’s refreshing to spend time with a woman who doesn’t feel the need to play a part for me. You’re honest and I like that. Well, other than refusing to admit that your friend gave you bad advice about the boots.”

  He sets me down when we reach the front of the restaurant. I can see a group of people clustered in booths at one end of the building, all staring at us. Either those are his friends and they are trying to figure out who I am or they are incredibly rude and nosy. I hope for the former, as much as I don’t want to be on display.

  I hide myself behind his body as we walk toward the group. After guiding me to the lone empty booth in their area, he reaches for my legs and starts unzipping my boots. “What are you doing?” I ask, swatting his hand away.

  “Your feet are killing you. I’m taking off your boots so they can have a break,” he states simply. Never mind the fact that my feet can’t smell great after being in leather for the past few hours, but we are in the middle of a restaurant. Apparently, ‘no shirt, no shoes, no service’ means nothing to this man.

  “I can’t be barefoot in here,” I say, trying to get him to stop. “That’s just gross.”

  Dylan laughs at me. “You’ll be fine. If you have to, curl your feet up under you and no one will know. I’m tempted to take those boots away from you so you’re not tempted to torture yourself again.”

  He slides into the seat next to me, leaving the other side of the booth vacant. It feels intimate, sitting side by side this way. Nick and I never sat beside one another when we were out. I hate comparing him to Nick, but there is no one else I can use for comparison. He is the first and only person I dated. When we went out to eat, it wasn’t to spend time together; it was more of a way for neither of us to have to fix something for dinner. I’d probably said more to Dylan since we walked in than Nick and I said at most meals.