by BK Rivers
Jeremy finds me stalking my way to the bar and raises his brow. I shove him away and nod my head in the direction of Reggie. He rolls his eyes, claps me on the shoulder, and follows like a good wingman. Though, technically, I’m the wingman since he’s drinking and looking for a hookup, and I’m not. Not that I wouldn’t hookup with Reggie if the opportunity arose.
“Reggie!” Jeremy says a little too loudly. Both she and Stacey turn and smile, and hot damn Stacey’s eyes wander over JD’s chest as though she’s on a slow journey across the hot Sahara desert. “Damn, Stacey, it’s been a long time. How are you doing?”
Stacey’s lips tighten into a slim line as her cheeks go from pink to rosy. “I’ve been good. Hey, Jordan.”
Both girls sit on the stools at the bar holding girly drinks that make my stomach roll. Reggie’s drinking something fruity with Malibu Rum, and I begin to seriously rethink sobriety. Shit. My fists ball up in my pockets and I curse like a sailor in my head before turning away. It was a seriously bad error in judgment coming to Rowdy’s, especially now that Reggie’s here.
“I’ll be back,” I say, heading toward the door, needing a few minutes outside to keep myself from making a huge mistake. It would probably be a good idea to just head back to the condo and avoid the issues surrounding me right now. But when have I really ever listened to reason?
The crisp, late January air is like a slap in the face, and it feels good. After a few deep breaths, I decide I can do this. I can keep myself straight and watch out for my friends. I turn to head back inside and a warm hand falls on my shoulder. Reggie steps around my back and presses up against me, leaving little space between us. Her fingers walk up my chest, matching my rapidly increasing heartbeat, and stop under my chin. She sighs and runs her hand over my beard and leans in closer, landing her…shit. Her soft breasts press against my ribs, letting me know exactly how cold it is outside.
“Reggie-bug, what are you doing? You’re not wearing a bra.” My brain down south just woke up and has decided it’s time for a jaunt down memory lane. Her glossy eyes follow her fingers as they move across my bearded jaw and down to the buttons on my shirt.
“I’ve wanted to touch your face since I saw you that first night at Eggceptional,” she whispers, a smile playing on her pink lips. I can smell the alcohol on her breath, which would account for her sudden interest in me. “I wondered what it would feel like on my skin.” She shivers against my chest and nuzzles closer. “I’ve wondered what it would feel like if you kissed me.” She tilts her head back and gazes into my eyes.
It would be so easy. Kissing her. I could bring my hand to the back of her head and move it to where the kiss would zip through her toes. I could sweep my tongue into her mouth and see if she still tasted the same. It would be simple to lift her up and guide her legs so they wrapped around my waist, so I could show her exactly what her words and her touch is doing to me. But she’s drunk, and kissing her would be like taking a drink, and I won’t do that. As much as I want to kiss her and take her home to my bed, there is no way I’m doing that tonight.
“Let’s go back inside,” I say softly, brushing her silky hair behind her ear. “Stacey’s probably wondering where you are.”
Reggie glances up at me, and her brow crinkles in confusion. “I told her I was going to find you.”
“And you found me. Let’s get back inside. I’ve got to make sure JD isn’t getting himself into trouble.”
Her lips thrust into a pout as she rolls her eyes. “He’s a grown man, Jordan. If he wants to screw some girl in the bathroom, let him.”
“Shit,” I say, pulling on her elbow to drag her back inside the busy bar.
“Let go, Jordan,” she warns while attempting to jerk out of my grip, but I hold firm. Once I find Stacey still at the bar flirting with the bartender, I tell her to watch Reggie while I go find Jeremy. He’s not one to screw a random girl in the bathroom, which means he’s had way more to drink than I realized. He’s not in the men’s room, and when I push open the door to the ladies’ room, I hear bodies slapping together in one of the stalls. Glancing under the doors, I see two pairs of feet and then hear them finishing.
“Dixon, you asshat,” I say as he stumbles out of the stall, zipping up his jeans and wearing an “I just got laid” smile. The blond girl stumbles out next, tugging down her skirt and pulling up her sequined, navy blue tube top. She smiles awkwardly and kisses Jeremy’s cheek before leaving the restroom.
“Happy now?” I ask, slapping the back of his head. He smiles broadly and follows me out of the bathroom and back to the girls. He’s going to be pissed at me tomorrow for letting this happen.
“You girls ready to call it a night?” I ask, placing my hand on the small of Reggie’s back. She stiffens and then melts into my touch, and I’m suddenly jealous of Jeremy and his bathroom fling. I wouldn’t do that to Reggie, but I want her so damn much.
Reggie turns to me, placing her legs on either side of mine and scoots close. Real close. Her fingers slip through my belt loops as she pulls herself up to meet my ear.
“Stacey and I took a cab here, and we’re not ready to go. I want to dance some more, and I want more to drink. I want to forget for just a night.” I know she didn’t shout, but her breath wraps around my ear like an embrace; even with the music so loud, she’s all I can hear. I glance at my watch. It’s only a quarter past midnight, and even though I’d love to keep dancing with her, I think Jeremy and the girls have had enough.
“Everyone’s had enough to drink tonight,” I say, brushing my fingers across Reggie’s cheek. Her eyes flutter as her tongue slides slowly across her lips. “And I’m driving you girls home, so let’s go.”
“Sober Jordan is no fun,” Stacey says, pouting. “Jeremy here at least had a little fun of his own. Maybe you should take his lead and find yourself a little tail. You know I could just start shouting who you are and every single one of these girls here would drop their panties for you.” She smirks and begins glancing around the room as though seriously contemplating shouting out to everyone in Rowdy’s that I’m here.
“Real nice, Stacey. Showing your true colors. You’ve always been a class act.” No use hiding my anger. “Keep on drinking, maybe you’ll finally learn to close your legs. Oh wait, that’s never been your thing, has it?” In high school, Stacey was known to be a little more than promiscuous. Rumor was if you wanted to have a good time with no attachments, she was your gal. Because she was Reggie’s best friend, I never listened to the rumors when they flew my way and even did my best to stop them.
Drunk as she is, I can still tell I struck a chord with her. I’ll admit, I feel bad. I don’t know if she’s changed since high school; truthfully I don’t really care. But calling her a slut was a pretty shitty thing of me to do.
“Hey, I’m sorry,” I say. “I shouldn’t have said that. Can I just take you both home so you can call it a night?”
“Fine,” Stacey says as she stands on wobbly legs. Jeremy’s surprisingly quick on his feet despite being drunk and pulls her arm over his shoulder. Reggie leans on me as the four of us leave the bar and walk to my car. Reggie climbs in front while Stacey and Jeremy climb in back, and it feels like old times with my girl riding beside me. She stares out the window as the streets pass by. As soft snoring from the backseat fills the car, she finally turns to me.
“That was a pretty crappy thing for you to say to her,” she says quietly as though not to wake our sleeping passengers. There is nothing more to do than nod in agreement; I’ve already apologized. What more is there to say?
“Were you following me again?” she asks after another few minutes.
I laugh because something obviously wants us together—call it fate or whatever, but Phoenix isn’t a small place, and running into her like this is far too coincidental.
“Maybe I put a trace on your phone so I would know where you’re going,” I tease, but her head turns to me so fast I swear it’s going to spin all the way around.
“Are you serious? I mean, I know you have a lot of money, but did you put a trace on my phone?”
“Right, because stalking is how I’m going to talk you into going out with me.”
She releases a breath as her shoulders sag. “You still want to take me on a date?”
“In case you didn’t realize what you were doing to me on that dance floor or outside of Rowdy’s, then I’ll tell you flat out. Yes, Reggie-bug. I want to take you out on a date. I want to kiss you. I want you to know what my beard feels like on your lips, on your skin. I want to see if you still taste like I remember. And I want you to say that you’ll let me take you out to dinner.”
Her eyes widen and flutter closed, and her tongue glides over her bottom lip like she’s remembering how it felt to kiss me all those years ago. Her mouth opens the smallest amount to let a sigh escape. And I can see I’ve won. My hands clench the steering wheel because if I don’t hold onto the leather grips, I’ll pull her into my lap and crush my lips into hers.
When we stop outside Reggie’s apartment complex, I notice what a dive it is. Every kind of beat up car is parked in the lot, and the building looks older than dirt. I must have looked like a real prick to her when I asked her to show me condos.
Reggie turns around and leans over the seat to nudge Stacey, who opens her bloodshot eyes.
“Hey, we’re home,” she says before climbing out of the car. Jeremy is still passed out in the back, so I quickly step out and jog around to her side.
“I’ll walk you up,” I say, placing my hand on the small of her back. Her entire demeanor changes, and her back stiffens as she pulls away.
“No, Jordan. I don’t want you coming up to my apartment.” She pulls Stacey’s arm over her shoulder, who is leaning farther and farther to the left. Before she turns to go, she leans up on her toes and kisses my cheek, thanking me for the ride home. I move to follow her, but she scowls and shakes her head.
Chapter 10
Reggie
Micah assaults me way too early after the night out with Stacey. He’s an early riser, like 6 a.m. early, and the swaying of my bed after he jumps onto it makes my stomach turn over. Why did I drink so much?
“Micah, honey, will you please get Mommy an ice cold cup of water?” He kisses my cheek and bounds out of my room as I trudge into the bathroom for three extra-strength Tylenol and then splash cool water on my face. I’m surprised my little boy didn’t run from me when he saw the black mascara under my red-rimmed eyes. I’m never drinking like that again, no matter how much Stacey tries to convince me to.
Micah returns with the water, studies me with his head cocked to one side, and smiles wide as he wraps his arms around my waist in a huge hug. Times like this melt my heart and make me forget it’s 6 a.m. and I have a hangover from hell. I live for this little human I created.
I spend the day doing errands with my little guy and end the afternoon at a park down the street from our apartment. I love watching Micah climb the rock wall and slide down the curvy slide, sporting an open-mouthed smile that reminds me so much of his father. The father who doesn’t even know Micah exists—and I have no intentions of ever making him known.
Stacey is waiting for us when we return from the park and takes over my mommy duties while I change for my shift at Eggceptional. I truly dislike wearing the diner uniform of a short skirt and top, but Jim, the owner, is stuck on the idea that sex sells in a retro fifties diner. I kiss Micah goodnight, hug Stacey, and head to work.
Four hours into my shift, the door swings open, and my heart nearly leaps out of my chest, attaching itself to the man walking through. I kind of wish I’d drunk more than I did so I wouldn’t remember how it felt to have his hands on me. Or how instinctively I walk toward him as though I’m a magnet and he’s steel and we’re drawn to each other. Or this smile. The damn smile that takes over my face when I see him or think about him.
“Reggie-bug,” he whispers as he leans down, pressing a featherlight kiss on my cheek. “You look good.”
That. Right. There. I’m a puddle of goo on the floor. My bones have been reduced to a gelatinous mess, my skin melts, and I want nothing more than to be the only thing he wants in this world.
Somehow, I manage to pull myself together and show him to a table in my section. I hand him a menu, but he shakes his head and places it back in my hand.
“I know exactly what I want, Reggie-bug.”
Yep. Goo.
“When is your break?” Jordan leans his elbow on the table. He’s always been gorgeous, with brown hair that always seems to have summer highlights and brown eyes that are almost too big for his face. When I first saw photos of him sporting his scruffy five o’clock shadow on tour, I couldn’t help but think it made his baby face less appealing. But time changes your outlook, and the neatly trimmed beard he has now is so damn sexy it makes my fingers itch every time I see him.
“In forty minutes,” I say, remembering he asked me a question. “Why?”
“I want to ask you something.” His lips turn up at the corners, and my stomach rolls over.
“You can ask me now,” I say, pointing out the nearly empty restaurant. He shakes his head, gives me his food order, and winks as I turn and walk away. Forty minutes? I have to wait forty minutes to find out what he wants? Kill me now.
Somewhere in the span of those forty minutes, the restaurant fills up, and I don’t have time to breathe let alone take my break. Jordan finished his meal a while ago, but continues to sit at his table while scratching some notes on a small pad of paper. Each time he glances up and our eyes meet, my stomach switches places with my heart. Finally, after almost ninety minutes, I’m able to take my break.
Jordan closes his notepad when I sit across from him at his table. He leans back in the chair and threads his fingers together behind his head, revealing well-toned biceps—yet another change for the better.
“You wanted to ask me something?” The air is thick between us, and I find it hard to be in the same space as he is, so I slouch in my chair and place my hands in my lap. My heart is thundering in my chest in anticipation of what I hope will be him asking me out. I already know I will say yes—I can’t deny him or the feelings boiling near the surface. The only problem is Micah.
Micah, my son.
Damn.
I can’t go out with Jordan. It’s the worst idea ever. I swallow my anticipation and exchange it for the strength to refuse him. I already know this will be one of the hardest things I’ll ever have to do. Not only because it’s the right thing to do, but also because of how much I wish we could go back to how things were in high school. We were young, fearless, and in love. Time has changed things, and neither one of us has had it easy. I’ve had to make sacrifices to give Micah the life he deserves. I can’t pretend none of these things exist or that it’s possible Jordan’s a ticking time bomb who might revert to a life of drugs and everything else I can’t bear to think about.
Suddenly, it feels like a rope is pulling tight around my heart and squeezing the heck out of it. I can hardly breathe my chest hurts so much.
I make a move to stand, but Jordan quickly reaches across the table and his fingers glide over my wrist to twine through mine. Heat surges up my arm and settles on my cheeks.
“It’s only a date, Reggie-bug. Please let me take you out.” His big brown eyes gaze into mine; he’s practically begging me. I shake my head as the corners of my eyes burn with tears dying to escape.
“I can’t,” I whisper, pulling my hand from his. The loss of touch is like a rib pulled from my side—it hurts, and I gasp as the realization hits me: he’s all there ever will be for me. No one else will ever be able to pull these feelings from me, no matter how hard they try. Jordan is like a parasite that not only makes me feel good, but damages me from the inside out.
Jordan stands when I do, and he follows me across the restaurant floor into the steamy kitchen.
“You can’t be in here,” I say with my back to him. The kitchen is
cramped as it is with Rico cooking, but adding Jordan to the mix only makes the walls feel as though they’re caving in around us. “I need to get out of here.”
Rico raises a brow and points his greasy spatula at Jordan. “He bothering you, Reggie?”
I shake my head, give him a quick peck on the cheek, and tell him I need to leave.
“Okay, I’ll have Miranda cover the rest of your shift.”
“Thank you,” I say, making my way through the kitchen toward the door leading to the alley. I open the door and hear Rico say, “Hurt her and you die.” I choke on the tears trying their best to escape and slide down the brick wall, bringing my knees to my chest.
“Please don’t cry, Reggie-bug,” Jordan says as he sits down beside me, resting his hand on my shoulder.
“Stop calling me that.” I want to scream at him. I want to tell him it hurts too much to hear him use the nickname he gave me so long ago.
“What can I do to make this right? I don’t even know what I’ve done wrong.” He runs his fingers through his hair, pulling on the soft strands, and emits a low groan of frustration. “What did I do to hurt you so badly?”
A sob bursts from my lips, and it’s too late. The tears fall down my cheeks one after the other, landing on my knees. I watch as they slide down my skin, leaving trails of salty tears.
“Reggie, please. Tell me what’s wrong.” Jordan moves in front of me, lifts my chin with his fingers, and gazes into my eyes. “I need to fix this. Please let me.” His other hand brushes the hair off my forehead and tucks it back over my shoulder before traveling back to my cheek. My eyes flutter closed as his palm flattens and his thumb softly, slowly, glides over my bottom lip, making me whimper. His touch is like my own personal drug, and I crave it like it’s the only thing keeping me alive.
