by Melody Grace
“We’ll get two Ruebens, potato salad, slaw, fries too.” I order for us both. Sophie’s mouth drops open in surprise. “Trust me,” I tell her, as the waitress bustles away. “You haven’t lived until you’ve tried it.”
Sophie assesses me. “What if I was a vegetarian?” she asks, a smile creeping to the edge of her lips.
“Are you?”
“No,” she admits with a laugh. “I love bacon too much for that.”
“My kind of woman,” I grin, leaning back in the booth. I let out a satisfied sigh. Things are turning around. A half hour ago I was stranded, bored, and alone, and now I’m in the company of a beautiful, intriguing woman, with a heap of pastrami on the way.
Life is good once more.
5.
Sophie
The food is amazing, and I can’t get over the restaurant: clustered with real New Yorkers chatting over their bottomless coffees and overflowing plates. Austin jokes through dinner, telling me stories about his other travel nightmares: getting stranded in an airport in Guatemala with a group of nuns for two days, or the time some boy band was flying out of the same terminal and he got caught up in a teen-girl riot.
It’s easy and fun, and almost enough to distract me from the knot of rejection, still heavy in my gut.
Almost.
Finally, Austin pushes his empty plate back with a satisfied sigh. “Meat good. Man full,” he says in a low, caveman voice.
I laugh. “How did you get through that? I’ve barely made a dent!” I look mournfully at my full plate. Even having barely eaten all day, I still have half a sandwich left.
“But that’s the best part of Canter’s,” Austin grins. “Midnight leftovers.”
He winks, and I feel a shiver of something I can’t quite recognize. Anticipation maybe. Excitement. Nerves.
I didn’t think this through.
I was too angry and hurt at Matt to think about anything other than getting out of that hotel room. I wasn’t going to sit around moping over our break-up when New York City was waiting for me—and Austin had made it clear, he had time to kill.
But sitting across from him now, the fluorescent strip lighting bathing his gorgeous face in a golden glow, I realize, I’m way out of my depth.
Before Matt, I never dated much. A couple of hook-ups and short relationships in college, but I was too focused on my studies to pay anyone real attention. And when I did, they were always the cute but geeky guys I paired up with for study partners. Matt was like that too: awkward and sincere; we met through friends at a summer BBQ. He said it took him a week to work up the courage to call me. That’s when I knew I was safe with him.
Austin is anything but safe. He’s sexy, charming, adventurous…
Way out of your league.
“You OK?” he asks, watching me. “Or did you overdo it on the pastrami? I warned you…” he adds, teasing.
“I’m fine!” I blurt, then I pause. “Actually, there is one thing I need.”
Austin quirks his eyebrow. “Anything, sweetheart. Ask, and it shall be yours.”
I don’t know what’s going to happen next, but I do know, I can’t deal with that heart-stopping smile and those piercing blue eyes in my current state. I need to take the edge off, and forget the whispers of guilt and insecurities rising in the back of my mind whenever I think about how things ended with Matt.
What if he was right? What if you couldn’t have made it work—and it’s all your fault?
I shake off the fear, and look Austin straight in the eye.
“I’m going to need a drink.”
I still have the hopeful list of places I was planning to go with Matt programmed into my phone, and when I check, one of the bars is right nearby.
“You didn’t have to treat me to dinner,” I scold Austin, wrapping up against the night winds. It’s cold and clear, the kind of bone-chilling breeze we never get in California.
“Hush, you.” He falls into step beside me, out on the sidewalk. “I was raised right. My momma would have a fit if I ever let a lady pay.”
I giggle. “Well, thank you.”
“My pleasure.”
He casually places his hand on my back, carefully supporting me as I pick my way through the slush on the ground. My pumps may be cute, but they’re not made for icy sidewalks, and I nearly go slipping on my ass for the second time today.
Austin catches my arm before I can fall, yanking me up against him. “Easy, tiger.”
“Sorry,” I murmur, flushing. “I’m not usually this clumsy. Shoes,” I explain.
His eyes slide down my legs to the red heels. “Hot.”
He’s still holding me, crushed against his chest. I catch my breath. His body is solid and firm. I can feel the dense muscles even through our layers of winter clothing.
Matt was rangy, tall and thin. I used to joke that my hips were wider than his when I wrapped by legs around him at night, but Austin…?
Austin would pin me to the mattress without breaking a sweat.
I pull away, certain my cheeks are burning bright red. “Thanks,” I mumble again, and look around. I hope we’re close; another couple of blocks falling into Austin’s arms every time I lose my footing, and I won’t need a drink to be light-headed and dizzy.
“There it is!” I announce, spotting the big old sign. “Just ahead.”
“Marie’s Crisis…” Austin reads, looking puzzled. “What kind of name is that for a bar?”
“No idea.” I walk hurriedly to the stairs that lead below street level to the front door. “Let’s go find out.”
As soon as I push open the front door, I’m hit by heat and raucous singing. I step inside to find a small, dimly-lit room, barely twenty feet square. There’s a bar along the back wall, a piano to my right, and forty guys enthusiastically singing along to “Hey, Dolly!” by Barbara Streisand.
I love it.
Austin enters behind me and stops dead at the scene. “Sophie…?” he says, placing his hands on my waist and leaning in to murmur in my ear. His breath is hot against my cheek, but his tone is amused. “Did you bring me to a gay bar? Because trust me, honey, that ain’t my thing.”
As if to prove his point, he tugs me back, so I’m pressed flush against the front of his body.
All his body.
“No!” I yelp, spinning around. “I didn’t think… I mean, I know you’re not…” I stop, embarrassed. “I just read about it, it sounded like fun. Something different.”
“Well, you certainly got that part right.” Austin’s mouth creases in amusement as he surveys the scene. “C’mon, sugar. I’m feeling like I’ll need a drink myself.”
He takes my hand and leads me around the crowd to the bar. “Whiskey, neat,” he tells the bartender, then turns to me.
“Malibu and coke, please.”
He groans. “What are you, fifteen? Order a real drink, sweetheart.”
“I’ll have a Malibu and coke,” I tell the bartender firmly, before turning back to Austin. “I like what I like,” I tell him with a smile. “You won’t change my mind.”
“Weak-ass drinks, show tunes…” Austin shakes his head, but his eyes are full of laughter. “It’s a good thing you’re so beautiful, otherwise I’d be running for the hills right about now.”
He thinks I’m beautiful?
My heart skips, but I play it cool. “There aren’t any hills in New York,” I point out.
“The river, then.” Austin grins. “But I’m telling you this now, it’ll be a cold day in hell before you catch me singing one of these songs.”
He nods to where an elegantly-dressed man in a purple suit has taken up position behind the piano to sing, “Don’t Cry for Me Argentina.”
I giggle, trying to imagine Austin in his place. “Come on,” I urge him. “It’s fun, right? You can’t say you’ve ever been somewhere like this before.”
“No, I can’t say I have.” Austin slides a twenty across the bar before I can even reach for my purse. “Here,” he s
ays, nudging my drink towards me. “Do your worst.”
I lift it to my lips and take a long sip. “Mmm,” I smile sweetly. “Delicious.”
I lick a stray drop from my lips, and suddenly, Austin’s smile isn’t amused anymore. His eyes blaze into me, suddenly hot. Hungry.
My stomach turns a slow flip.
Oh.
But just as quickly, he looks away, and nods to a table that’s just opened up in the corner. A couple of boys are heading over, looking barely out of drama school. “Quick, before I have to duel for it.”
“True. You look like you’d be a sore loser,” I quip, before darting through the crowd.
His laughter carries after me.
Two drinks in, and I’m feeling good. So good, in fact, that Matt is just a distant dream. A weak, conflict-avoiding, no-good excuse for a boyfriend.
Besides, who needs a guy like that when I have a prime cut of man right in front of me. Ripped, and gorgeous, with a smile to die for…
“Did you know you have dimples?” I ask Austin, gazing intently at his face. “Cute little dimples, right…here.” I reach across the table and prod my finger into the dip.
He chuckles. “I stand corrected. If you were drinking whiskey, you’d be flat on the floor by now.”
“Are you calling me a drunk?” I gasp, mock-outraged.
“Not a drunk, just drunk.” Austin grins, leaning back in his seat. “But don’t think I’m not enjoying the show.”
“It is fun, isn’t it?” I say happily, turning to the piano. All night long, people have taken their turns singing up in front of everyone, and by the first chorus, usually the whole crowd has joined in. It’s warm and friendly, nothing like the cooler-than-thou bars back in LA, all full of stick-thin models and guys who think they’re hot stuff.
Matt’s probably out at a bar like that right now, introducing himself and saying he’s a doctor, and having some girl fall at his feet
I snap out of it. Maybe I am a little tipsy.
“I’m going to sing,” I decide, then blink. Where did that come from?
Austin shakes his head, still grinning. “This I’ve got to see.”
“You don’t think I can do it?” I challenge.
“Oh, I believe in you, sweetheart. Anything you set your mind to.”
“That’s right.” I get up, relieved to find I’m not on the stumbling side of drunk just yet. The room barely sways as I straighten my dress and take a deep breath. “Just watch.”
Before I can think it through, I approach the front, just as the last guy finished his number. The older piano player smiles, picking out a melody on the keys. “What can I do you for, red?”
My mind races. I’ve never sung in public—embarrassing karaoke sessions aside. At least, not since I played Rizzo in our high school production of Grease…
I tell him the number, and take a deep breath as he finds the sheet music. He plays a couple of bars. “Whenever you’re ready.”
Oh God.
I look around. Even in the dim light, I can see all the faces staring back at me. Waiting.
What the hell am I doing?
Living. A small voice answers. That was the point of this trip, wasn’t it? To do all the things you’ve been daydreaming about, the things you never had the time or nerve to do.
Well, here I am, wearing my best slinky dress and heels, in front of a room full of strangers who I’ll never see again in my life.
I catch Austin’s eye, over in the corner.
What’s the worst that can happen?
I close my eyes, open my mouth, and sing.
6.
Austin
Goddamn.
I watch, stunned, as Sophie transforms before my eyes. One minute, she’s giggling and adorable, sipping at her ridiculous drink. The next, she’s up there at the front of the room, batting her eyelashes with a sensuous smile.
Forget classic movie star, this girl has gone full femme fatale.
“There are worse things I could do…” she sings, swaying those hips in a sensuous rhythm. She leans against the piano, her voice low and pure. She’s not a professional like some of the Broadway guys here tonight, but what she lacks in polish, she makes up for in oozing sensuality, smoldering so hard I swear she could set the room on fire.
I shift in my seat. Holy shit, this girl is dangerous. From kitten to wildcat in ten seconds flat.
And what else is hiding behind those innocent eyes?
The song continues, and I can tell, Sophie relaxes into it. She walks out from beside the piano, throwing winks and flirty looks to the guys around her. It’s a commanding performance, and I’m having so much fun watching, I don’t realize the effect she’s having on me until she locks eyes with me and pauses for breath, her curves rising and falling in that illegal dress.
She begins the final verse, but now she’s singing only to me. She sashays towards me, trailing a hand across my shoulders as she leans in close.
I clench my hands into fists at my sides. I’ve had a couple of lap-dances in my day, but dammit, if this doesn’t put them all to shame. Every sway of those hips makes my blood rush south, every tilt of her body reveals a glimpse of her delicious cleavage. She’s barely touching me, still totally into her performance, but I’m so turned on, I won’t be able to get up for days.
I’m so busy staring, I don’t even realize that the song is over and the room has burst into applause. Sophie’s sultry expression slips, and she looks around in amazement.
“Oh my god,” she exclaims, skipping back over and throwing herself down in her seat. “I can’t believe I just did that!”
I can’t either. But the lust pumping through my body is like nothing in the world, and suddenly, the only thing I care about is feeling those lush curves pressed up against me; that dangerous mouth easing open to my touch.
I grab our coats and pull her to her feet. “Hey!” she protests, spilling her drink, but I’m already hustling her towards the exit and upstairs to the street. The cold hits me, but I don’t care, I’m burning so hot, I barely feel it.
“Where are we going? I was having fun!” Sophie catches her breath, shivering. “If you didn’t like my singing, you could just say—”
“I liked it plenty,” I tell her, sliding my hands around her waist and pushing her gently back against the wall. “But would you want me doing this in front of everyone?”
I lower my head and claim her sweet lips in a heated kiss.
Damn.
She sways against me, her mouth falling open in surprise. I take the chance to slide my tongue deep and taste her, taste that sweetness, the hint of coconut from her drink still lingering, making me think of warm sandy beaches, and a tropical breeze whispering on our naked skin…
Sophie moans, arching up against me, wrapping her arms up around my neck and pulling me even closer.
The kiss gets hotter. Stronger. Deeper. Fuck, I could drown in this, the sensual pleasure of her eager mouth, the blazing heat that pumps through my veins.
There’s a sharp whistle, and then laughter nearby. “Atta boy!” someone yells. “Show her how it’s done.”
I pull away. Sophie is staring at me, wide-eyed. Her hair is rumpled, her lips flushed red from the kiss.
She’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.
She blinks, coming back into focus again. “I didn’t…what did…?”
“It’s called kissing, sweetheart,” I murmur, smiling. I reach out and gently smooth her hair back into place. “And if you don’t like it, you better tell me now, because I’m planning on doing a lot more of it.”
Sophie gulps for air. “The jury’s still out,” she manages at last.
I laugh. She’s still trying to play it cool, but I know from the way she melted in my arms that she felt that just as much as I did.
“Sure, you keep telling yourself that,” I tell her, “but those lips don’t lie.”
I help her into her coat, then offer her my arm. She takes it with a sm
ile. I steer us across the empty street, and we start strolling back to the hotel through the darkness, under the bright glow of the streetlamps.
“It snowed!” she exclaims suddenly, looking around. Sure enough, there’s a dusting of white coating the streets and parked cars we pass. “I can’t believe I missed it.”
“That’s OK, you had other things on your mind.” I shoot her a suggestive grin.
She giggles. “You know, you’re awfully sure of yourself,” Sophie comments, walking beside me. “Some people would even say you’re bordering on a narcissistic personality disorder.”
“What now?” I blink.
She catches my expression and laughs. “Psych grad student,” she explains. “I’ve always been fascinated by the way people think.”
“So what does your whole Christmas thing say about you?” I ask, only part teasing. “I mean, it’s just a big racket to make people spend money and try to pretend like they’re happy. I haven’t had a single holiday where my mom doesn’t start stressing over dinner, and my dad picks a fight with my uncle, and Grandpa George sits bitching by the TV all day.” I chuckle at the memories, but when I look over, Sophie has a wistful expression on her face.
“You have a big family?” she asks.
“Big enough.” I reply, steering us down another street. “There’s just my baby sister and me, but my parents have eight siblings between them, so things can get pretty out of control.”
I think again how lucky I am to be far away from the madness this year—with a gorgeous woman on my arm, and her kisses still hot on my lips.
“I’m an only child,” Sophie says quietly. “And my parents divorced when I was young. Christmas was always fight between them,” she sighs. “Another way to score points. They would split it up,” she explains. “Christmas Eve with my mom, Christmas Day with dad. But they always found a way to interrupt, so I would feel guilty for going, or worse for staying home.”
There’s a flash of sadness in her eyes. I find her hand and squeeze it.
“I always dreamed about the day I could make Christmas into the holiday I wanted. Start my own traditions, and leave the past behind,” she says.
