by Cassie Cross
I don’t answer, because really…it’s worse.
The club’s bass is pumping, the smell of sweat and too much alcohol in the air. A sea of bodies moves along to the beat on the dance floor, while Alexa and I fight for a little bit of real estate at the bar.
A guy slides up behind me, pressing his cold glass against the sliver of exposed skin at the small of my back as he grinds his erection against my ass, his free hand inching dangerously low across my belly. His cologne is as strong as his advances, and I shudder when he leans in close, his hot breath on my ear.
Gross.
“No thanks,” I say firmly, pinching his wrist to get his hand off of me as I jam my stiletto into his foot as hard as I can.
“Bitch.” He gives up easily though, flashing an annoyed look my way before he slinks back into the crowd, moving on to less fortunate prey.
Men like these are the reason I hate clubs; assuming any woman is willing and there for the taking, available to touch however he wants. I realize this is basically a meat market, but I’d like someone to understand that there are boundaries, and give me the chance to indicate I’m willing to have mine crossed before they do the crossing.
Alexa’s busy trying to find some commitment-free fun of her own, but by the looks of it, she’s having about as much luck as I am. She twists away from a handsy jerk a few feet away and makes her way back to my side.
“Remind me why we’re here again?” I ask Alexa, before taking a sip of my whiskey sour. It was on the house, which seems to be the only redeeming quality about this shitty evening so far.
“We’re here to get you laid!” she replies with an enthusiastic yell. I know she was just making sure I could hear her over the crowd, but she didn’t anticipate the lull between the DJ’s sets, and her words reverberate through the crowd.
Everyone in our immediate vicinity stares at us.
Oh god. Have I mentioned that I hate clubs?
“She isn’t interested in any of you!” Alexa shouts as the music picks up again, then she grabs my hand and leads me away from the bar. “I’m so sorry about that.”
Alexa looks so upset with herself that I can’t possibly be angry with her. She only has my libido’s best interest at heart.
“It’s okay,” I assure her, even though my cheeks feel hot as the sun from sheer embarrassment as we push our way through the crowd.
“Wanna leave?”
All I’d have to do is nod and this failed experiment of an evening would be blessedly over. I should tell her yes; part of me really wants to. But for reasons that even I don’t fully understand, I say, “No.”
We’re a few drinks in, and Alexa’s off grinding against some man who looks like he’s old enough to be her father, which is exactly her type. She seems happy, so I can’t hate her for that, but I can hate her for leaving me here alone.
Just me and my drink all by ourselves in the corner like a couple of losers. I’m trying to convince myself to stop being such a wallflower and dance already. I toss back what’s left in my glass and set it on the ledge behind me, when an astonishingly, unbelievably hot guy catches my eye.
Actually, astonishingly, unbelievably hot doesn’t even begin to accurately describe this man.
Hot Guy is incredibly tall, has a mop of dirty blonde hair, and raspy scruff peppering his movie-star jawline. A tight Henley shows off every inch of his broad chest and muscular arms from where he stands across the room, just staring at me.
Seems I’ve caught his eye, too. That never happens to me.
His lips part when our eyes meet, like he wants to call out to me or something, but instead he keeps on staring. Staring in a way that makes my heart beat double-time, that makes my knees weak. He doesn’t smile, doesn’t nod, doesn’t do anything other than look at me like he wants to devour me.
Without really thinking, I hurriedly make my way over, not even trying to play it cool. I slide between couples who are bumping and grinding on the dance floor, and when I reach Hot Guy, he smiles. It’s not the slick grin of a slime ball who knows he’s going to get laid tonight; it’s sweet and sexy, with just the hint of a dimple shining through.
“Hi,” he says, all soft and familiar despite the fact that we’re complete strangers.
“Hi.”
“I’m glad you came over.” He leans in close, and all I can think about is how good he smells. I want to press my face into his neck and breathe deep. I want his tongue to become familiar with every single inch of my body.
I’m feeling turned on and brazen, and the way Hot Guy’s eyes skate across my body makes me pretty confident that he feels the same way, too. That’s what gives me the courage to say, “You don’t seem like the kind of guy who has difficulty making women come.”
I certainly hope not, at least.
Hot Guy lets out a shocked laugh, and his eyes darken with something that looks a lot like lust. His hands find their way to the small of my back and he gives me a gentle tug, pulling me closer to him and away from the crowd.
“I’m not,” he replies, his scruff rasping against my skin as his lips brush the shell of my ear. “I can show you if you’d like.” His voice is low and rumbly; it gives me goosebumps all over.
I’d like that. Very much. I nod as my hand slips across his chest, over the solid, defined muscle underneath his soft cotton shirt.
“What’s your name?”
“Hunter,” he replies.
I turn my head and inhale, memorizing his scent as he pulls me closer. Even though I don’t feel threatened at all, there’s a comforting kind of safety in his arms that I hadn’t anticipated. The moment is perfect; I pretty much forget that we aren’t the only two people in the room.
Then Hunter’s muscles tighten beneath my hands, and his entire body tenses.
A spike of fear rushes through me, making my heart tap frantically against my breastbone, spreading a tingling rush out to my fingertips.
“Hayley,” he says soothingly.
But there’s nothing soothing about it, because I’m positive I didn’t tell him my name.
“I need you to trust me, okay?” Hunter’s eyes meet mine for one intense, drawn-out moment before his gaze flits back to the crowd. “Do as I say.”
Gunshots ring out before I have a chance to answer.
Hunter has me on the floor in the blink of an eye, my stomach pressed against the cold, unforgiving concrete as pieces of drywall rain down around me. He covers me like a blanket, cradling me against his chest, using his body to keep me safe. His hand shields my face from the falling debris, and the only thing that keeps me from screaming is his steady voice in my ear.
“I’ve got you,” he tells me. “It’s gonna be okay.”
I’m not sure why I believe him.
The gunshots stop abruptly and a couple of guns clatter to the floor. The sickening thump of fists striking skin fills the air as Hunter picks me up and ushers me out of the room, his body curled around mine, protecting me from any remaining danger.
In the chaos, I manage to catch a glimpse of Alexa. Her guy is curled around her much like mine is around me.
I’m about to thank Hunter when he pulls me behind a curtain, between some A/V equipment and the club’s service entrance.
“C’mon.” He tugs my hand. “We don’t have a lot of time.”
I can’t help but scoff in spite of my gratitude. “I appreciate you saving my life back there, so don’t get me wrong, but why on earth would I go anywhere with you when someone was just shooting at you?”
Hunter’s face softens, all the urgency gone as he reaches up and cups my cheek.
“Hayley,” he says urgently. “They weren’t shooting at me. They were shooting at you.”
Coming in January 2017!
A year ago, if someone had told me that I would be spending a Friday night in an airport trying to pick up a guy, I would’ve laughed in their face.
A year ago I was still with Ethan.
Back then I would’ve thought tha
t I would be getting married this weekend, not traveling across the country to my best friend Gabby’s wedding. But Ethan had other plans, like fucking some random chick he met at happy hour on my 1,000 thread-count Egyptian cotton sheets. He thought I was working late. I came home early.
Surprise!
Ethan is the reason I don’t work late anymore. He’s also the reason I promised myself that I wouldn’t fall in love again. I’d be crazy to open myself up to that kind of heartbreak again, right?
Staying out of the dating game is easy, but I would be lying if I said that I don’t miss the scratch of Ethan’s stubble on my face when he kissed me, or that I don’t long for the feeling of his weight on top of me when we were in bed. I suppose that’s why I’m at a bar in the middle of Dallas/Fort Worth International Airport, sipping on a cocktail and sitting next to the most gorgeous man I’ve ever seen.
We’ve been talking for half an hour, both of us waiting out a line of storms that have delayed every outbound plane in the area. I’ve booked a seat on a flight leaving first thing in the morning, and there’s a room waiting for me in the hotel that’s attached to the terminal. I should go up there and get some sleep, or finish one of the many projects that I have going on right now. But there’s something about this man that makes me want to stay right where I am. Of course, it doesn’t hurt that he’s incredibly nice to look at.
I don’t even know his name, but I like the velvety look of his close-cropped light brown hair and the sexy ruggedness of the couple of days’ worth of stubble on his face. I like the cool depths of his bright blue eyes and the infectiousness of his smile. I want him, there’s no doubt about it. I want to see him naked at some point this evening, but I’m completely unpracticed in the art of the one-night stand. I have no idea how to be even remotely sexy, but I’m flirting with him shamelessly. And he’s flirting back.
“What happened here?” I ask, tracing the long, jagged scar that stretches out a few inches below his thumb. His skin feels electric beneath my fingers and when I touch him, he looks at me like he never wants me to stop. Unless my raging hormones are making me imagine that, which is entirely possible.
“This?” he asks, leaning in closer as he twists his wrist. “I was rappelling down the side of a cliff and my harness slipped. I reached out for leverage and cut myself.”
“Rappelling?”
He grins. “Yeah, it’s when you descend from a rock face using ropes and-”
“I know what rappelling is,” I say, laughing. “I just thought that you were trying to impress me.” I want to rappel him. Start at his head and work my way down, down, down.
“I am trying to impress you, but that’s actually what happened.” He looks down at what’s left of the beer in his glass, and then he slides to his right a little, until his arm is touching mine. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Any impressive scars?” He smiles again, and its imperfection is endearing. His bottom lip is a little fuller than the top, and one of his front teeth is just the tiniest bit out of alignment with the rest. I’m pretty sure he knows how charming that smile is and the effect that it has on women. He’s using it to his advantage tonight.
“Nothing really impressive, but I do have this,” I tell him, pointing at my chin.
He slides his fingers along the underside of my jaw and tilts my head up so he can get a better look. The pad of his thumb grazes my scar, and I shiver. I hope he doesn’t notice the way my breath catches when he touches me. I don’t want to come off as desperate for him as I actually am.
“What’s the story?”
“It’s not even remotely cool as rappelling,” I say. He looks at me expectantly. “I was at Girl Scout camp when I was, I don’t know…seven maybe? It was my troop’s turn to clean up the mess hall, and we were all running around and acting stupid. One of the girls started chasing me and I tripped, fell, and hit the edge of a bench.”
He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth as he grimaces.
“Ouch. I guess you’re not good in situations where fleeing is required?”
“I generally avoid situations where fleeing is required, actually. I’m small, so I guess I could always hope that someone would take pity on me and pick me up to expedite the fleeing process and limit the amount of damage I could do to myself while running.” I’m talking way too much, but I just can’t seem to help myself.
“I’d pick you up, but it wouldn’t be out of pity.” There’s a mischievous look in his eyes that makes me want to wrap my body around his, and I’m beginning to get a sense that the two of us might have the same endgame in mind.
“So,” he says, rubbing the palms of his hands on his jeans. “Are you going to tell me your name?”
For a split second I consider making one up, but even though he’s a complete stranger, it feels wrong to want to lie to him.
“Callie. My name is Callie.”
“Short for…” He draws out the ‘r’ as he searches for a name to guess. “Calliope?” He seems really proud of himself for thinking of another name, and it’s disarmingly cute.
“Good guess,” I tell him. “It’s Callista. And your name is?”
“Nate.”
“Short for…Michael?” It’s an idiotic thing to say, but he laughs anyway.
“It’s nice to meet you, Callie.” My name sounds like heaven when he says it, and he takes my hand in his. His palm is a little rough, and I imagine what it would feel like sliding across the small of my back.
“It’s nice to meet you, too,” I say. For a very brief moment, I think about asking him where he’s headed, but I decide against it. One-night stands aren’t supposed to get invested, and I don’t even want to know the slightest bit about his personal life, including where he’s from or where he’s going. I wish there was a way for me to turn off my mind and think with my vagina. Sex should be easy, but my brain has a way of complicating things.
“I was pissed when my flight got canceled, but now…” Nate says, looking down at our fingers which are loosely entwined. Somewhere in the back of my head I know that he’s playing me, but I don’t care. I just really don’t care.
When he looks up, I catch his gaze, and we look at each other for a very long time. Butterflies circle my stomach, flapping their wings against my insides, and I feel like it might kill me to look away from him. It’s been forever since someone has made me feel this way, and I want to keep feeling it. I’m trying to figure out a way to ask him upstairs to my room without sounding like I’m asking him upstairs to my room. I’m such a failure at casual sex.
Thankfully the bartender interrupts my frenzied thoughts when he walks over and asks if we’d like another round.
“No,” I reply softly, still looking at Nate. His face falls with disappointment for just a split second before understanding lights his eyes.
He holds up has hand and shakes his head. The bartender walks away.
“Callie, I never do this, but-”
“I have a room,” I say, interrupting him to keep him from finishing that sentence. Because ‘I never do this’ is the kind of thing that people who typically do this a lot tend to say. And I’m okay with that, really. But I don’t want to hear it.
“Okay.” Nate flashes a smile as he stands up and takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. Then, he slings his duffel bag over his shoulder and leads me out of the bar.
We make our way through the crowded terminal to the hotel, looking at each other every few steps and grinning like a couple of fools.
The elevator can’t come quickly enough.
I fumble with the key card in the lock, a mixture of nerves and excitement making my hands shake. As if Nate wants to see just how much of an effect he has on me, he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me against him until I can feel every inch of his chest against my back. It takes me three tries to even get the damn card in the slot, and the longer it takes me, the more my hands shake.
“If you don’t get
this door unlocked, I’m going to break it down,” he says, his voice a low rumble despite his teasing words. I take a deep breath to smooth over my jitters. “Let me help you,” he says, gentle now as his lips brush across the shell of my ear. He doesn’t seem to be nearly as nervous as I am, if he’s even nervous at all. He unlocks the door with a sure, steady hand.
Once we’re in the room, Nate tosses his bag to the side and pushes the door shut with his heel. Then he takes my face in his hands and kisses me like he can’t get enough, like he’s been waiting to do this his whole life. Our mouths melt together in long, slow kisses and then urgent, faster, needier ones. He brings my arms up and over his shoulders, clasping my hands together behind his neck.
“Hold onto me,” he says. And I do.
Nate kisses me again, and all I can think about is the way he tastes, the way he feels. He slides his hands down the small of my back, down the backs of my thighs, and he lifts me up. I wrap my legs around his waist, anchoring myself to him, not caring about what’s going to happen next as long as he keeps kissing me like he’s never going to stop. He gently lowers me onto the bed, then pulls off my shoes, grinning at me as he playfully tosses them across the room. I help him by unbuttoning my jeans, then he tugs on the cuffs, sliding the denim down my thighs as I take off my shirt.
I lie back and enjoy the view as Nate pulls his shirt over his head and then unzips his pants. They fall to the floor, revealing a pair of boxers with yellow smiley faces all over them. I can’t help but grin when I see them, and I trace the hem that hangs over his right thigh with my big toe.
“Are these your sexy shorts?” I ask.
He seems confused for a second, then catches on to what I’m asking after he looks down at what he’s wearing.
“Hey,” he replies, pretending to be offended. “I’ve gotten lots of compliments on these.”
I don’t even want to think about just how many compliments he’s gotten on these boxers, so luckily he distracts me by sliding them down his hips. And my eyes are glued to him. His body is insane. Sturdy. Muscular. Perfect.
