by Andrea Joan
“Yeah, of course, why wouldn’t I be?” I say, trying to derail this line of questioning before it goes where I don’t want it to.
“You know why. That was pretty intense, and it looks like your skin just got five shades lighter.”
Why is he going there? I need to get out of here.
“I’m good. I think I just need a little air. The beer and the pills—”
“And all this testosterone,” Noah interrupts, giving me a wink and a smile.
I sigh with relief at this reprieve. Noah knows I don’t like to talk about the past, especially with so many strangers around. Anybody could be listening, and the next thing you know my words will be on TMZ or Perez or whatever new celeb bashing site happens to be all the rage. I should have remembered that he always knows when to stop talking. His thoughtfulness is what I love most about him.
“Exactly,” I say. “I’m going to go outside and get some air. Watch my drink for me?” I get up from the table. I’m really not interested in a roofie colada tonight.
“Sure thing. Need some company?”
“No, I’m good. Be back in a few minutes.” I give Noah a quick wave as I head to the back door I spotted when I got up. I definitely do not want to risk running into Douchebag Team Four who I assume are lurking outside in front of O’Connor’s.
I open the back door. A cool breeze touches my face and helps sober me up. Two street lights produce a faint yellow tint in the alleyway, just enough that I can make out my surroundings. A large trash bin sits in front of a chain link fence to my left, and to my right I see a small metal bench. That’s kind of odd, but I walk closer and see a round ashtray off to the side. Must be where the smokers go to get a breath of fresh air.
I walk over to the bench and sit down. The cold metal sends goosebumps up my bare legs and arms. I don’t feel cold, though, just awake. I run my fingers through my hair and lean back on the chain link fence behind me, and immediately all the tension from my body melts away.
“Didn’t anybody tell you that you shouldn’t hang out in dark alleys by yourself?” a deep voice scolds.
What the ever-loving hell? I sit up straight, my heart hammering in my chest, and see a figure leaning on the brick wall in front of me. How did I miss that?
Dammit, Skylar, way to not check your surroundings for rapists or murderers or zombies. Stupid. This is scary movie 101, the pretty girl alone always dies first.
The figure steps out of the shadows and immediately I recognize the face. Liam. All my senses light up like a match hitting dry leaves and a slight smile appears on my face. I bite my cheeks to try and hold back a full-blown goofy grin.
“I have heard that before, yes.”
“So you’ve no concern for your personal safety?” Liam asks with a hard yet curious stare as he walks closer to the bench.
My heart starts thumping quicker with each step he takes to close the distance between us. Crap, he is even more gorgeous up close and personal. He has the most perfect full lips I’ve ever seen and a stare that would make any woman swoon. But I don’t want to swoon. I have a zero tolerance rule for anyone or anything remotely swoon-worthy. This includes puppies and kittens and any other cute furry little animal. It’s why I don’t have a pet.
Liam now stands directly in front of me, and I notice a scar on the left side of his neck. It’s impossible not to notice as it’s at least six inches long from his ear to his clavicle. I wonder how he acquired it.
My eyes wander the length of him, and damn if he isn’t taller than I originally thought he was. Crap. I love tall men, and they’re so rare in my line of work. The leading men in Hollywood tend to be on the shorter side. You know how they say the camera adds ten pounds? Well, it also tends to add about five inches in the height department. Appearances can be very deceiving. Except in Liam’s case, clearly, because he has to be easily over six feet tall. Being only 5’5” myself, anyone over six feet seems gigantic.
“If you don’t attack me, I promise I won’t attack you. Besides, I hear personal safety is overrated,” I reply with a smile in a nervous attempt to flirt while I gulp those stupid words down my dry throat.
“Is that so? Well, I make no promises.” The wind picks up slightly bringing his scent with it: something woodsy with a hint of sweet that makes it more alluring.
“Well, I figured it was safer out here right now than in there.”
His face goes dark for a second and I think maybe I said the wrong thing. It was just a joke, a lame attempt at humor, but maybe this complete stranger who knows nothing about me doesn’t recognize my sense of humor. Shocking. But the darkness lifts and I see a boyish smile work its way across his perfect face, even reaching to his eyes, dimples peeking out from his cheeks.
“Yeah, sorry about that. Hope I didn’t ruin your party.”
“You don’t need to apologize. They were the ones being scum bums.”
I did not just say scum bums. But judging by the loud laughter coming from Liam, I’m thinking I must have.
“I’m sorry, but did you just say the word scum bum? What the fuck is a scum bum?” he asks through his laughter.
Okay, rub it in, why don’t you?
But my embarrassment quickly morphs into lust because the way he laughs, the deepness of it, how the muscles in his back contract as he does, makes Liam even sexier.
“I really did.” I say, giggling. I do not giggle. “I should explain. One of my co-workers has a six-year-old girl who I’ve been hanging around with for the past few months, and she just loves calling people scum bums. I guess it kind of caught on because apparently you can’t swear around a six-year-old, and after two months on the wagon I ended up adapting a more appropriate vocabulary. Plus, I’ve been told a lady never curses in front of a man.”
Jesus what is wrong with me? Who says shit like that other than the cast of Downton Abbey?
I need to stop talking. My head falls down into my hands as I die a little inside.
“I see. Damn. Adorable,” he says quietly, shaking his head slightly in what seems to be disappointment while looking at the ground as if he’s speaking to it instead of me.
What does that even mean? Is my co-worker’s daughter adorable? Is he talking about me being adorable? That can’t be right since I’m not adorable.
“Do you mind?” he asks, pointing to the bench, interrupting my inner monologue. “My name is Liam by the way.” He places his hand in front of me in a proper introduction.
“No, please sit.” I scoot down the bench a few inches to make room for him while grabbing his hand to shake it. It’s rough against my skin and a bit calloused, and I hold on a little too long to savor his touch for a few more guilty seconds as he sits. “I’m Skylar.” I’m careful not to scoot down far because the little hussy in me wants to be close to him. “Was um…was that your dad talking you down in there?” I ask, wanting to keep the conversation going. Maybe if I’m lucky I can see that smile again.
“Yes. His name is Sean. How’d you know?”
“You two look alike. Have the same eyes. He must be the owner of the bar, I take it?”
God, he smells good.
I intimately become aware of how close he is actually sitting now. The heat radiating from his body is actually warming my chilled skin. I can even feel vibrations in my chest when he speaks with that deep growl; almost like a lion purring.
“That he is,” he says simply with a sideways contemplative look in my direction, as if he is studying me.
“So that makes your full name Liam O’Connor.” Fucking duh, Skylar.
He flashes that smile and I melt.
“It does. Anyone ever tell you how perceptive you are?” Liam winks at me, I assume jokingly, and I’m immediately caught off-guard because for some reason he doesn’t catch me as the joking type. More the broody sexy loner type. But I like it, and if me constantly embarrassing myself by babbling like a love-struck teenager who just took a major hit off the crush pipe gets me that Liam, then I’ll think of a hundred new w
ays to do it. Although I’m sure I won’t have to think very hard; it seems to come easily in his presence. “I know your full name, so I guess it’s only fair you know mine,” he says.
This is the first time he alludes to knowing who I am. This brief conversation has been going so easily that I almost forgot who I am. That I’m someone anyone who hasn’t been living under a rock would know. But even though he knows my name, I still feel like a normal girl sitting here next to him. And despite the fact he knows of me, he isn’t pretending to actually know me like most people do.
“So you, your dad, and your sister all work together?”
“We do.” He rests his arms on his legs, his hands clasped together.
“That must be nice. What about your mom?” I ask, leaning back on the chain-link fence.
“Housewife. She stays at home, takes care of us.”
“Wow. So perfect family then.” A pang of sadness clamps around my heart. No, not sadness because I’m truly happy he has that, maybe just envy.
“I guess it seems that way, but there’s no such thing as a perfect family, Sky.” He leans back on the fence so that he’s now mirroring my pose.
“You just called me Sky.”
“Sorry. Do you hate that or something?” he asks, his voice surprisingly laced with an apologetic tone, his eyes gazing at me with concern. “Honestly, I didn’t even realize I did it. It seems like such a natural transition from Skylar. Hasn’t anybody ever called you Sky before?”
“No. I mean, no I don’t hate it at all. My mom used to call me Sky, but oddly enough, no one has called me that since her.”
Shut up, Skylar. I need to stop talking.
I don’t even know this guy, so I need to stop running my mouth, which is only happening because I’m so damn distracted by my inability to stop lusting after him. If I was smart I’d shut this entire conversation down now and walk away. I have secrets to protect. Skeletons in my walk-in closet that if released, could devastate me so much I would break down and evaporate in their wake. But right now, I don’t want to be smart, because smart will end this time with Liam, and I’m not ready for that. So instead I’ll do what I do best; evade, distract, change the damn subject. Now.
“Interesting tattoos.” My fingers find their way to his left forearm, lightly tracing the outline of a tattoo and over a scar that it covers before I quickly pull my hand away, but not before I notice a slight shiver run through his arm. I’m invading his personal space, and I know if a stranger did this to me I would freak, but my fingers have a mind of their own and they want to touch his skin. If I could reach far enough to the black and white boxing gloves tattooed on his right forearm I would have probably inappropriately touched those too. “What does this one mean?”
The silence is palpable, and a blank look crosses his face. I think maybe I’ve just made a huge mistake asking this question.
“Um…it’s the O’Connor coat of arms.”
The tattoo is as gorgeous and intricate and as dark as the man who wears it. Colors of gray and black and green make up the coat of arms. The badge of the coat has a beautiful green tree that grows from strong roots and blossoms into an almost shamrock-like leafy top. A knight’s helmet sits atop the badge and the knight’s arm holds a sword wrapped with an emerald green snake. Green and gray ribbons explode from behind the badge. The whole tattoo is phenomenal. But the one thing that catches my eye are the three names listed in their own individual ribbon: Ali, Isabelle, and Trevor.
“It’s really amazing, Liam.” I look up at him, trying to find his eyes, but they remain on the tattoo. “Who are they?” I ask, grazing my index finger above the names protected in ribbon.
As soon as the question is out of my mouth, he freezes and a look passes over his eyes that are now focused on me, a look I am all too familiar with. One that’s rife with guilt and sadness. I can’t explain it, but I want to protect him from the hurt that will come with his answer. So I decide to evade his demons for him.
“I like boxing!” I blurt out.
Smooth. Way to go, Skylar. You know shit about boxing. Apparently mortification is still on the menu for tonight.
“Excuse me?” He laughs again, and it’s worth every bit of awkwardness.
“Boxing. I like it. You know, because you have boxing gloves on your arm, and I just thought, well, I just thought maybe you liked it too. I watch matches on pay-per-view or in person when I’m in Vegas sometimes.” My skin heats with nervous energy as I continue to ramble on.
“Yeah, I like boxing too,” he grins, lightly nudging his shoulder against mine. “I used to box professionally, actually. You’re cute when you blush, anyone ever tell you that?”
Men have commented on many things about me over the years; my body, my face, my breasts. But never have I been complimented on something as simple and pure as a blush. He reaches up and pulls my finger from my lips and encases my hand in his, sending a quiver of hormones skyrocketing through me. I should hate this. I hate being touched, but I’m sitting here confident, and I would be perfectly content staying in this alley being touched by Liam O’Connor forever.
My newfound life path is short-lived, however, as he lifts himself off the bench and stands in front of me looking ready to leave.
“We should probably get you inside. It’s cold out here and you have no coat on. Seriously, were you raised by wolves? Wandering around alone in the dark with no coat at night. Talking to strange men. I think you might need a chaperone, Sky. Let’s go, I’ll buy you a drink.” He winks as he takes my hand, lifting me off the bench and almost right into his arms.
Cocky bastard.
“Yeah, yeah. Anyone ever tell you you’re cute when you’re being judgmental?” I’m now inches away from him, looking into his eyes, and I feel a surge of carnal energy pulse through the air between us.
After a brief pause he shakes his head at me, mumbling something under his breath, and turns to walk me to the back door, his hand still holding mine. There’s something sensual about his touch on my skin, his hand grabbing mine so possessively, each one of his fingers threading through the spaces. I feel safe, and this is definitely not a feeling I am acquainted with.
But the new sensation comes crashing down unexpectedly as I hear male voices drifting toward us. The voices are all too familiar. They’re the same assholes from before, and they’re walking straight toward us.
“Shit,” Liam curses as he pushes his free hand through his hair and turns his now fierce gaze toward me. “Whatever you do, stay behind me, okay? Don’t move. You got me?” I nod and stare past Liam toward the approaching threat. “Speak, Skylar. You got me?” Liam’s eyes burn through mine, his grip on my hand tightening as he waits for me to answer.
“Y-Yeah. I got you,” I stutter, because now I’m just a little freaked the hell out.
There are only three of them now and I wonder if maybe asshole Mason and his douchebag friends Pac-Manned the fourth member to recharge their douche points. A half empty bottle of Jack Daniels dangles loosely in Mason’s grasp and I know this can mean nothing good. I suddenly wish I was back in the bar. Maybe if we move for the door now we can make it inside before…well…before anything bad happens.
Liam must be thinking the same thing because he quickly starts to make his way to the door, pulling me behind him. But before we make it, one of the guys, the shortest of the three, jumps in front of us and leans his body against the door, effectively blocking the way.
“Well, well, well, what do we have here, Bryce?” As soon as the words leave Mason’s mouth, I can smell the alcohol on his breath. I assume Bryce must be the guy leaning on the door. “Is O’Connor getting some strange pussy in the alley? And here I thought you might be batting for the other team.”
The other two douchebags chuckle. Liam steps defensively in front of me as Mason stalks toward us and I can feel him tense as his hand clamps even tighter around mine, almost to the point of pain. Heat radiates from his body, causing my heart to start thumping in
my chest as Mason and his friend move closer.
“Mase, that ain’t strange pussy, that’s Skylar Barrett,” Bryce says, still leaning on the door.
“That it is! You should get her picture. It’ll probably be worth something to those tabloids,” the stocky asshole behind Mason so kindly points out, finally opening his mouth. Until this moment I just assumed he was incapable of speech.
“Is that right?” Mason takes his cell phone out of his pocket and attempts to aim it at me.
No, no, no. This cannot be happening. Instinctively, I hide myself even further behind Liam; selfishly using his body to shield me from having my picture taken. He reaches behind and pulls me closer into his back.
“You know what I think, Derek? I think I could get more money with a picture of her sucking my dick. What do you think, Liam?” A smarmy sneer creeps over Mason’s face and my mouth goes completely dry.
This is not good. Three against two. Well, technically one because the only thing I can do is run and I’m not very fast, so the outcome of this situation is looking pretty damn miserable at the moment.
Liam takes a small step forward and my free hand reaches up to gently grab the back of his shirt. “I think you should put the fucking phone back in your pocket before I shove it so far up your goddamn ass I break your fucking neck. Now back the fuck up and apologize to her before I knock you out, motherfucker.”
That was an awful lot of fucks. My spine tingles with a tremor that makes its way up to my chattering teeth. Liam isn’t yelling, but there’s something frightening in the way he speaks, something primal that both scares me and turns me on simultaneously, and I’m left contemplating if he could actually break someone’s neck that way. Nothing about his threat seems idle, and I don’t want to see anyone get into trouble because of me, especially Liam. I most definitely do not want to see anything shoved up anyone’s ass either.
I pull his arm slightly toward my body like his sister had done before. “Hey. It’s okay, Liam,” I reassure him as his head turns slightly at the sound of my voice. “Besides, I have been asked to do a lot worse by much better men than him. Come on, let’s just go through the front entrance. Anyway, he’d have to have a dick for me to suck.”
