Coalescence

by J. C. Hannigan

  Erik and I used to come here a lot.

  I’d left this minuscule detail out because if Kelsey knew, she would steer the night in the direction of club hopping, and I really didn’t have it in me. I was in a brooding mood, and it was tough to mope with house music.

  We pushed through the bodies gathering near the door, and that’s when I saw him. All six foot something, rippling muscles, thick, dirty blond beard and flowing hair. He would have made a better Thor than Chris Hemsworth. His eyes were just as powerful; a piercing blue. They pinned me from across the room, and I halted abruptly.

  “Umpfh.” Kelsey walked into me from behind. “Move it, sloth,” she grumbled, irritated. But his eyes held me in place, and the corner of his lip tugged up in a smile that ripped through me like thunder. Kelsey shoved me, steering me in the direction of the bar, her eyes on the only two empty stools in the entire place.

  I craned my neck, trying to keep my eyes on Thor—which is what I’d taken to calling the unbelievable god of thunder in my head. The nickname suited him.

  “I think I just got pregnant,” I exclaimed, falling heavily onto the stool. It wobbled, and I grabbed hold of the sticky bar to catch myself from toppling over.

  “What?”

  “Do you see Thor? By the stage?” I told her, gesturing with my thumb behind me. She looked over my shoulder, her jaw widening with surprise before she clamped it shut and nodded. “I want that for my rebound.”

  “Oh, now you want a rebound?” She frowned, sulking at me.

  “Um, HELLO! Wouldn’t you?” I whisper-shouted, waving my hands dramatically. “He looks like Thor!”

  Kelsey looked again, tilting her head thoughtfully. “Actually, now that you mention it, he does. And he’s staring at you, too…”

  “Oh, God,” I murmured, whipping my head around to look at her. “What do I do?”

  “Play it cool,” she said calmly. I had a tendency of not playing it cool. In the past, it had worked in my favour. I was the quirky one, but as I stole a glance over my shoulder, I couldn’t help but worry that quirky shit wouldn’t fly with him. He was a whole lot of man and was probably used to commanding women like Kelsey—self-assured, confident, articulate.

  “Can I get an Alice in Wonderland shot?” I shouted to the bartender. “Maybe three?”

  “Too cool.” Kelsey clicked her tongue in warning.

  “One of those is for you,” I frowned. The bartender pushed three shots toward us, and I tossed down a twenty, my hands shaking a little.

  I felt jolted awake, and for the first time in eight months, I wasn’t thinking about Erik or the breakup. I wasn’t thinking about how stuck I felt.

  Nah, I was thinking about how incredible it would feel to touch that fine specimen. Just his arm or his chest…just to see if he was carved from stone. If it weren’t for Kelsey seeing him too, I would have thought he was a figment of my writer’s imagination. He was too perfect not to be.

  I took the first shot, a tasty combo of Grand Marnier, tequila, and Tia Maria. For the last six years, it’d been my go-to shot. Risking another glance, I turned my head slightly, trying to be discreet.

  Our eyes collided, and I smiled just a little. His responding grin sent tingles down my spine. Kelsey was on to something—flirting with an attractive stranger could very well make me feel good.

  “Should I go talk to him?” I asked her, taking the second shot while I waited for her answer.

  “Not yet,” she responded. “Keep doing the glancing-flirty thing.”

  So I did. We stayed on our stools, listening to the band play, and I traded flirty glances with Thor while I sipped a beer and let my imagination run wild.

  There was no harm in a little fantasizing, and I couldn’t help but wonder how the perfect stranger across the bar was in bed. I was barely able to handle the intensity behind his gaze without melting off my stool, and if he kissed as well as he stared—there was no way I’d be able to resist bringing him home if I got the chance. I’d be certifiable not to.

  He was ideal—totally different from Erik in every single way, which would have been enough. But it was the confidence he exuded that caught my attention. He knew he had me.

  “I read somewhere that beards are dirtier than toilet seats,” Kelsey remarked thoughtfully. I swiveled to scowl at her.

  “Ew, that’s so not true. And I don’t care if it is. I’d lick every toilet seat in this bar for a chance with him.”

  “Okay, that was disgusting.” She laughed. “Sometimes, I can’t believe we’re related.”

  “You and me both, sister,” I murmured, rolling my eyes a little. Kelsey was tall and slender, with dark blonde hair and blue eyes. I was shorter and curvier and darker, and in a lot of ways, her polar opposite. But despite our differences, she’d been there for me through thick and thin.

  Regardless of her tactics.

  “Oh, look, he’s leaving,” Kelsey said, and I turned in time to see Thor’s glorious back disappearing out the patio door. Noting the disappointment on my face, my sister jumped up. “Come on.”

  “What are you doing?” I hissed, having no choice but to follow her as she headed for the patio after him.

  2

  Cliché

  Alaric

  I’ve seen this cliché somewhere before.

  Pretty girl walks into a bar. Guy notices pretty girl, pretty girl notices guy. They take turns staring at one another, sometimes catching each other’s eyes. He thinks about spreading her out on his mattress and lapping her up like ice cream, she’s probably thinking something similar.

  But I’ve seen how it ends, too.

  A positive sign on a pregnancy test, two years of trying to make it work, and then she leaves anyway—taking the kid, too. Visits every other weekend and one week in December, limited bursts of time that I had to fight for. The knowledge that some other man is there to tuck my daughter in at night, while I lay in my empty house feeling helpless.

  When Cheryl decided to move in with her boyfriend a year after we separated, I didn’t get a say in the matter, even though it meant she would be taking our daughter three hours south to Cobourg to live with him.

  I tried for a year, but I hated being so far away from Sawyer. I didn’t like spending half of our limited time together driving from her mom’s place to mine and back again. So, I sold my business, sold my house, and left everything behind, thinking that maybe Cheryl would let me see her more. I had this naïve notion that despite the way things ended between us, we could set it aside to raise Sawyer.

  I got the keys to my new place two weeks ago, and so far, Cheryl hadn’t budged on allowing me more time with my kid.

  Bringing my almost-empty beer to my lips, I took a sip, letting my gaze drift back to the woman across the bar. Even if this bar setup was a tired cliché, I saw the beauty in that instantaneous mutual attraction, the draw two people inheritably felt for one another. Sometimes, it lasted just a minute, a night. Other times, it led to more. I was only interested in one night, and this girl—this stunning girl with piercing eyes the colour of polished shards of metal, a killer rack, and a blinding smile—she rattled me enough to shake me from my ruminating.

  Pulling my gaze away from her, I turned my head to the stage, watching Jamie Wilkinson crooning into the microphone. Jamie had been the real estate agent that I’d reached out to when I was looking for a home in Northumberland County. He was a Port Hope native and knew the area well. He found a gem of a house in the country, eighteen minutes away from downtown —close enough that the highway was a hop, skip, and a jump away, but far away enough from people that it appealed to my need of avoiding them.

  In addition to being one of the best real estate agents in the area, Jamie was the lead singer and guitarist in a country folk band, and he invited me to his show. I didn’t have anything better to do on my Sawyer-free weekend, and I didn’t mind Jamie’s company, so I agreed to go.

  Worst-case scenario—I’d get a change of scenery. Best-case scenari
o—I’d burn off some steam before I started my new job on Monday.

  When Friday night arrived, my desire to leave the house diminished, and I nearly canceled. I had my keys in my hand and almost dropped them. But something drove me out. And right now, I couldn’t shake the feeling that the something was looking straight at me with fuck-me eyes and lips so red and full, it was easy to imagine them wrapped around my cock.

  When Jamie’s set was halfway over, I headed to the patio for a smoke. I kept telling myself I’d quit, but I didn’t have any reason. I ran my fingers through my hair, debating whether I should bolt or not. I felt a tug, a yearning to go back in there and buy her a drink.

  Before I could finish the thought, the patio door opened, and two women stepped out—the girl from the bar and her friend.

  The friend marched over, and she followed almost timidly behind, her gray eyes full of apology. “Hey, could I bum a smoke?” the blonde asked, blue eyes watching hopefully, the way a lioness watches its prey.

  My eyes darted to the woman behind her, lust awakening in my loins as I took in the curve of her jaw and her red-as-sin lips. “Yeah, sure,” I said, fishing my pack from my back pocket. I held it for the blonde without looking at her, and she took one. I heard the click of a lighter and the intake of breath as she inhaled, but my focus was on the dark-haired one. She was biting on her bottom lip, her gaze shifting from me to her friend.

  “Gwen, hold this,” her friend said, shoving the cigarette at her. “I have to pee!”

  “Kelsey!” the brunette, Gwen, called, but the girl—Kelsey—carried on like she hadn’t heard her. The patio door opened, and the sounds of the crowded bar and the band spilled out until they were silenced the moment the door clanged shut behind her.

  I chuckled, rubbing at my beard. Subtle.

  Gwen flushed and drew in a deep breath. “So…” she said, peering down at the cigarette and watching it burn for a moment.

  “Gwen, is it?” I asked, feeling amused.

  “Yes, Gwen.” She nodded. “And you are, Thor?”

  “What?”

  She blushed. “I mean, what’s your name?”

  I laughed. She was like a breath of fresh air, and she blew through me with the warmth of sunshine. “Alaric.”

  “Huh,” she said thoughtfully. “Well, Alaric. It’s nice to meet you, and I apologize for Kelsey.” She held the smoke out to me. “Neither one of us smokes, so…”

  Laughing again, I took it from her, our fingers brushing ever so slightly. I put it out against the railing and let it drop into an ashtray, my gaze never leaving her. A moment of silence stretched between us as we eyed each other with curiosity and fascination.

  “So…do you come here often?” she drawled, her lips curving in a smile that smashed into me like a tidal wave.

  I laughed at her cheesy line. “Not usually, no. A friend of mine is playing tonight and told me about it. Figured I’d come to see him play.”

  “You’re missing the show,” she pointed out, arching a delicate brow at me.

  “I wouldn’t say that,” I replied, leaning against the railing and tossing her a smile that I knew charmed her when her eyes took on a dream-like quality.

  She blinked a few times, her thick lashes brushing against the lenses of her glasses. She cleared her throat, beaming. Her white teeth offered a sharp contrast to her red lips. My cock stirred with desire.

  “So, if you don’t come here often, where do you usually go on a Friday night?” she asked, her dimpled smile stoking my attraction to her. She was charming, cute. Engaging.

  “Well, I’m new to the area. So, I don’t really do much, yet,” I explained, unable to keep my lips from curving. Smiles hadn’t come easily for me over the last few years, and yet here a perfect stranger was, coaxing them from me effortlessly like she’d done it a hundred times before.

  “Oh! Well, I’d be happy to give you a tour if you’d like. I’ve lived here my whole life,” she said, her eyes shining. “Let’s start with my favourite bar.” She leaned forward enough to reveal some of her ample cleavage and gestured grandly toward the Watering Hole, waving her hands dramatically. “Tada!”

  “This is your favourite bar?” I grinned.

  “There’re not many in town, unfortunately.” She laughed, straightening and tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. She had a cute laugh—the lilt of it, joyful and free, was the kind that made you want to hear it repeatedly.

  “Well, so far, I’m impressed. It’s a nice bar.”

  “You should try the Shiny Bootleg Pale Ale. It’s so good! They make it at a nearby microbrewery.”

  “You’re a beer girl?” I arched a brow, mesmerized.

  “I enjoy a good ale every now and then, but you won’t catch me drinking a Coors.” She shivered with disgust, and I chuckled lightly.

  “So, any other recommendations?”

  “There’s a burger joint you should check out and a pizzeria. What we lack in bars, we make up for with great food. Which is my secondary love, after craft beer.”

  Our connection was broken by tires squealing against the pavement. We both turned to look, watching a white SUV cruise by.

  “God damn it, Kelsey!” Gwen swore, turning beet red as she watched her friend drive away. Spinning around, she headed for the exit to the street while she wrestled her phone from her clutch. She paused abruptly, reading something on her phone, her wild hair falling like a curtain, veiling the expression on her face.

  “Hey, if you want, I could give you a lift,” I told her, the words escaping before I could call them back. She turned slowly to look at me, her phone still in her hand.

  “You could be a rapist slash murderer,” she pointed out, arching a brow. “A very attractive one, and an honourable way to die, but I digress.” She placed a hand on her hip, jutting it out.

  I grinned, my eyes crinkling as I laughed lowly. “You could be a rapist slash murderer, too.” I took a step toward her. She watched me, her eyes darkening with need.

  Shaking her head, another smile graced her red lips. The small silver hoop in her left nostril glinted beneath the streetlights, and she exhaled. “All right, I accept your offer for a ride home. But know that I have a vicious attack dog.”

  “Noted.” With a nod, I led the way to my 1989 Heritage Softail Classic. I bought it when I was nineteen and worked on it with my dad, restoring it to its original glory, and continued improving it every year since then. I’d almost had to sell it a handful of times, but I somehow always managed to hang on to it. Next to my daughter, it was my pride and joy. I loved the open road, the wind in my hair.

  “Are you fucking kidding me?” she said, her mouth agape. “A motorcycle?”

  “You okay with that?” Most women melted for motorcycles, but there was the odd one who was terrified of them.

  “Oh, absolutely.” She nodded decisively, her eyes sparkling as I pulled out the spare matte half helmet from my saddlebag and stepped toward her. Clearly, she fell into the first category. I helped her put it on, adjusting the straps and brushing her hair from her face. I felt her intake of breath and stepped away, grabbing my regular helmet from the other bag.

  I mounted, holding the bike upright. “Climb on.” Tentatively, Gwen swung her leg over and gripped my shoulders for balance while she settled behind me. The warmth of her body was a tangible promise that I wanted to keep, at least for tonight.

  “Wait!” she said when I went to turn the key. “How am I supposed to give you directions?”

  “Shout out the address, and I’ll put it in the GPS,” I replied, turning my chin to look at her over my shoulder. The tops of her cheeks flushed with embarrassment.

  “Right,” she said woodenly, clearing her throat before adding, “Wellington Street.”

  I typed it in, then turned the key, the bike roaring and rumbling to life beneath me.

  Gwen frantically gripped the arms of my jacket. I took her hands in mine, pulling them so that they rested on my stomach.

 
; “Hold on,” I told her, pushing the kickstand up with my work boot and walking the bike forward a little, checking behind us to make sure it was clear. It was late, and there were hardly any cars, but I still used extra caution as I pulled onto the road.

  We took off, the powerful machine vibrating between both our thighs. I leaned with the bike, bending into the turn, and Gwen’s hands tightened against my torso, sending a jolt straight to my cock. Gritting my teeth, I did my best to ignore the way it felt to have her against me.

  It wasn’t a far drive, and within six minutes, I was stopping outside of her apartment building. Gwen slid off, unbuckling the helmet. She held it in her hands for a moment, looking at it. I kicked the stand down with my toe and lifted my leg over.

  Taking the helmet from her, I put it back in the saddlebag and looked around. Her complex seemed a little dodgy at night, and I didn’t like the idea of her walking alone.

  “Mind if I walk you up?” I asked, deciding to base my chivalrousness on her comfort level. If she still thought I could be a rapist slash murderer, she’d take her chances walking through the parking lot alone.

  “Sure,” she said, smiling, leading the way to the heavy glass door. We walked up one flight of stairs before she paused at the first door on the right side of the old, beige hallway. “Thanks for the ride home.”

  “My pleasure,” I replied, giving her a crooked smile.

  Pulling the keys from her clutch, Gwen opened her door and paused in the doorway, her eyes drinking me in. She bit her lip, considering me. “This is going to sound crazy, and I really hope you don’t judge me but…did you want to come in, maybe?”

  “I’m not sure, Gwen.” I raked my fingers through my hair and inhaled slowly, trying to ignore the ache deep within my balls that her invitation had evoked. “I want to—don’t get me wrong, you’re gorgeous, and I haven’t been able to stop looking at you all night—but I’m not in a good place for a relationship right now.”