by Anthology
He held up both his hands like he was surrendering. “The thought never even crossed my mind.” His eyes never left mine and he looked sincere.
“Liar.” I laughed.
“Okay, honestly? You’ve crossed my mind a lot in the last twenty-four hours, but I’m not interested in a one-night stand. It just so happens that my favorite beer is back at my place, and I’d love to share it with you.”
I held his gaze for a moment, believing his words even though my heart was throwing up caution flags. “Lead the way,” I finally said, waving my hand to the back of the bar where the Skee-Ball was located. He grabbed his beer and walked toward the game, reaching in his pocket and pulling out a few quarters. There was only one lane, so we’d have to take turns. He held out his hand to me, dropping two quarters into my palm when I opened it for him. “Ladies first,” he said with another wink. Damn him.
I deposited the two quarters and then smiled when I heard the familiar rumbling of the balls rolling down the track. That sound brought back a million memories. Most of them hazy. I reached for a ball, rolling it around in my hand. “I swear I’ve put $500 worth of quarters in this machine.”
“But you mainly played when you were drunk, right?”
I shot him a halfhearted glare. “I wasn’t always drunk.”
He laughed. “I’m just saying, maybe we should get a few more drinks in you to make it fair.”
I narrowed my eyes at him, but then turned and concentrated on my game. I let out an exhale, lined my right shoulder up with the track, stepped forward with my right foot, then my left, and then sent the wooden ball soaring down the lane toward the backboard. It rolled up the track and landed directly in the fifty-point bucket at the top. I resisted the urge to turn back to Camden and stick my tongue out at him.
“Nice shot,” he said.
“Thanks,” I said as I turned my head back to look at him, catching him staring directly at my ass. “No wonder you wanted me to go first.” I laughed, shaking my head.
“Can you blame me?”
I didn’t even bother answering him, I just lined up my next shot. Each ball got progressively harder, if only because I could feel his hot gaze on me. I wished I hadn’t turned to look at him because after that first shot, I was completely distracted. I managed a decent score of 540 points. Not my best, but not too shabby by any means. “You’re up,” I said with a smile. I picked my beer up off the floor next to the game and walked to stand next to him. I took a long drink, trying not to stare as he removed his suit jacket and laid it gently over the back of a nearby chair. Next, he unbuttoned his cuffs and rolled his shirtsleeves up to his elbows. The muscle in his forearms bulged and twisted with his movements and my eyes were completely glued to them. I’d even given up my ruse of drinking my beer. All eyes were on that man.
“Like what you see?” My eyes snapped up to meet his, which were gleaming with amusement at having caught me ogling him.
I shrugged, feigning indifference. I knew I’d been busted, but I didn’t need to feed his ego any more. Although, egotistical wasn’t the right word to describe him. He knew he was sexy as hell, and he knew I was into him, but he wasn’t all bravado. It was more like he enjoyed the fact that I was attracted to him and wanted to use it to his advantage. I got the impression he wasn’t that forward with all women. He laughed at my brush-off, but then he reached up and loosened his tie and I couldn’t watch any longer, for self-preservation’s sake.
“Just so we’re clear, when I win, you come home with me for a drink.”
“A deal’s a deal,” I said with a smile. How good at Skee-Ball could he possibly be? Blazer game, here I come.
He lined his shots up in the same manner I did, concentration high, one knee bent slightly, but when he lobbed the ball down the lane, it went left wildly, ricocheted off the side and careened to the right exactly at the perfect moment to leap at the lip and land directly in the one-hundred-point bucket in the top corner.
That son of a bitch.
“You’re a Skee-Ball shark! I can’t believe you!” My words were a mixture of laughter, rage, and disbelief. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
He turned, a new gleam in his eye, one of pride and amusement. “I had a Skee-Ball game in my basement as a kid. I’m very good at it.”
“You’re a cheater,” I accused.
“No, I very clearly stated I was a Skee-Ball master. You asked for a competition.”
I narrowed my eyes at him. “You realize this makes you look like a jackass, right?”
“Are you a sore loser?” He reached down and grabbed another wooden ball, forearms rippling, causing my breath to catch.
“No,” I snapped, still watching his arms move, his hand palming the ball. It was suddenly very hot in the bar. “I just don’t like being taken advantage of, or lied to.”
Keeping the ball in his hand, he walked over to me, stopping with barely inches between us. I had no choice but to look up at him, my eyelids nearly fluttering when the forefinger of his free hand came to pull my chin up a little, forcing our eyes to meet. He still wore a slight grin, which was annoyingly cute, but he looked mostly contrite.
“I’m sorry. I’ve never met a woman who gets as excited over Skee-Ball as I do. I couldn’t help myself. Forgive me?” His thumb took a gentle swipe under my bottom lip and I held in a whimper. Without permission, my hands came to rest on his hips and my fingers gripped him just tight enough to tell him I didn’t want him backing away.
“I suppose,” I whispered, my eyes locking on to his lips.
“I’m still going to try and win,” he whispered.
“I’d do the same.”
He leaned forward and his lips met my forehead. I exhaled while he kissed me, both excited for the contact, but irritated he was neglecting my lips. Then he stepped away, my hands fell back to my sides, and I watched as he played a perfect game. A whopping 900 points to the man in the three-piece-suit, which showed off his fantastic ass, as he lobbed each ball into the hundred-point bucket in the top right-hand corner.
“The game will never be the same again,” I joked.
“Indeed,” he said, rolling his sleeves down again, much to my dismay. “Do you want another drink here, or shall we head back to my place?”
“Might as well get the inevitable over with.” I shrugged, trying to appear as if the idea of being alone with him in his home didn’t excite me.
He smiled, then said, “Don’t pretend like you aren’t dying to try my beer.”
“I’m abuzz with anticipation.” He gave me a beautiful smile, then headed toward the bar and settled the tab with George.
“Don’t be a stranger, Riley,” George called out as we walked toward the door.
“I won’t be. Tell Annalise I said hi. And congrats on the baby. That’s awesome.” He waved and I waved back before walking out onto the sidewalk. The sun was beginning to set, the sky turning a pinkish-orange color. “I love it when the sky is any color besides blue,” I mused.
“Even gray?” His question sounded completely serious, as if we were discussing our opinions on politics or religion, yet we were only speaking of the sunset.
“Especially gray. Storms are the best.”
“What’s so great about storms?”
“I dunno. Something about the unpredictability and the electricity in the air. The thunder. The lightning. It’s exciting.”
“Hmmm,” he responded, not giving away his own opinion on storms.
“What? You don’t like a good storm?”
“I like you, and you remind me of a little storm.” His compliment caught me off guard, which only made my cheeks pink faster. “Oh, look,” he said, gently gripping my elbow and effectively turning me toward him. “Your cheeks match the sky.”
I had no words, so I didn’t even try to speak.
“My car’s just over there,” he said, pointing over my shoulder. I turned and watched as a sleek sports car’s lights flashed and the horn beeped. I’d never re
ally been a car girl—sports cars didn’t do it for me, per se. But, good Lord, watching Camden walk up to the passenger side of the tiny black car and open the door was more than I could take. I couldn’t help but giggle as I approached him.
“What’s so funny?”
“I can’t figure you out. I can’t tell if you’re the rich lawyer guy who wears amazing suits and drinks impressive beer, or if you’re the guy who likes to go to basketball games and play Skee-Ball.”
“Perhaps you shouldn’t try to fit me in a box, Riley.” He said the words with a smile, but his tone was serious. “Maybe I’m all of that.”
Maybe he’s everything.
I swallowed, trying to tamp down all the emotions rising inside of me, and brushed past him to climb into his tiny car. The inside was just as impressive as the outside, and I spent a few seconds simply marveling at all the buttons and screens the manufacturer managed to fit in the small space. I also purposefully didn’t look over at Camden until he was seated. I knew watching him settle in the car would be a great show, but I was done torturing myself for the evening.
“This is just a car, right? It can’t, like, fly or anything, can it?”
He chuckled. “Welcome to the Batmobile.”
“You’re not joking,” I agreed. “It’s pretty impressive, but how long did it take you to remember what all the buttons did?”
“I’m still not sure and I’ve had it a year,” he said, giving me an honest smile. “As long as I can turn it on, listen to the radio, and drive it, that’s all I care about.”
“Then why did you buy it?” I laughed. “You could have paid a fifth of what this car probably cost and gotten a perfectly capable vehicle.”
“Because, Riley, it’s sexy as fuck.” The car rumbled loudly as he pressed down on the accelerator. His gaze was on me and I felt it everywhere. My heart thumped wildly, my breath was uneven, and my thighs squeezed together, trying desperately to relieve the ache growing between them.
The list of sexy things about Camden Rogers was growing rapidly: kisses, thighs, mouth, three-piece suits, Skee-Ball skills, and now his driving abilities. Hot men handling hot cars was, apparently, something I was into. Huh. Who’d have thought?
“You lure a lot of women into your Batmobile?” I was trying with everything I had not to react to him the way my body wanted to. I didn’t lean toward him, I didn’t try and catch his scent, and I definitely tried not to look at him driving around Portland in his tiny black sex machine.
“I don’t date that often.”
“Sophia was an anomaly?”
“Sophia was a disaster.”
I couldn’t help but laugh; he was totally right.
He drove smoothly through the streets of Portland, taking me to the west side, and I knew instantly I would be impressed with his place, and also that it would be just as fancy as his car and his suit. Minute by minute I was feeling more and more out of place. The night before, sitting next to him at the Blazer game, we’d seemed so similar—or at least comparable.
We continued to talk about our jobs and other inconsequential drivel until he slowed, pulling into the underground parking lot beneath a tall building right on the Willamette river. He pulled into a numbered spot and shut off the ignition. He gave me his brilliant smile, then turned and climbed out of the car. I tried to look away, but I couldn’t. I saw his ass as he climbed out and it’ll go down in the history of me as one of the best moments of my life. He shut his door and I took in a deep breath, trying to steel myself for what I knew was coming; more confirmation that we were worlds apart.
I reminded myself that after the next hour I could go back to my own little apartment, the one I loved that was over a tiny thrift store, and Camden could go back to his high-rise life. The thought saddened me more than I hoped it would, and that surprised me, but like everything else, I pushed those feelings down. I’d drink a beer, I’d joke around with him, appreciate his impressive body in that deadly suit, his beautiful eyes, and his fantastic sense of humor, but then I’d go back to real life.
Chapter Four
Camden
The small heels of her shoes echoed through the parking garage as we made our way toward the elevator. I was having high school flashbacks as I contemplated holding her hand, but I was nervous she’d shake me off, find a reason to shrug away from me, and I didn’t think I could handle the rejection just yet.
The last hour I’d spent with Riley was more fun than any date I’d ever been on. She was hilarious, laid-back, witty, and her sarcasm was on point. And she was gorgeous. A spitfire little thing, and a large part of me wanted to feel exactly how small she was by holding her against me, by wrapping my arms around her, but her signals were less than clear. I could literally see the moments where she seemed really into me and then suddenly pulled herself back, almost as if she were talking herself out of it.
She followed me to the elevator and I punched in my security code. The doors opened and I motioned for her to enter first. It was a glass elevator, and after I’d pushed the button for the ninth floor, she watched the skyline as we rose.
“When my brother was little he used to call it Ice Mountain,” she said with a sweet smile.
“What?” I asked, confused but still staring at her, taking in her beauty with the city behind her.
“Mt. Hood,” she said as she gestured out of the elevator to the mountain in the east.
“Older or younger?”
“He’s three years younger than me.” She turned back to me and her smile was different, more loving, warmer. It looked as though she had a lot of affection for her younger brother.
“Does he live near here?”
“He’s still in school down in Eugene.” A flash of sadness moved over her face, but she looked happy again in an instant. “He’s working on his master’s degree. Wants to be a music teacher.”
“That’s a gamble in today’s society.”
She shrugged and held up her hands. “I tried to warn him. People are far more concerned with their next event than the musical education of our nation’s youth. Which is why my career choice is much better.”
I laughed as the elevator came to a stop on my floor. I led her down the hallway to my door and for some reason I was nervous. I unlocked the door, stepped in, flipped on the lights, and then watched as she took in my space. A weird new part of me wanted her to like my apartment, wanted her to feel at home there. This thought had never occurred to me when I’d brought other women home. I’d never given a thought as to whether the woman I was entertaining would approve of my home, but for some reason, with Riley, I did.
I wondered if the dark colors and bare walls made me appear cold, or if the sharp lines and leather furniture made me seem hard. For a strange and unfamiliar reason, I needed her to see me as approachable, likeable, touchable even. But I was afraid my home wasn’t a good representation of that.
She walked slowly through the entryway and went straight for the large window in the living area. It had the same view as from the elevator, just a wider window. The river was a stone’s throw away, the bridges, the eastern skyline, the trees, the mountain. It didn’t include Portland’s impressive skyscrapers, but those weren’t what made Portland famous anyway. It was the way the strange big little town was nestled between nearly every kind of nature you could imagine. Beaches, mountains, deserts, rivers, lakes—they were all within a few hours’ drive.
“Ice Mountain looks gorgeous from your living room,” she said, tossing a sexy smile over her shoulder at me.
“There are a few things that look gorgeous from my point of view,” I said, surprised at my own level of cheese. I could almost hear her rolling her eyes at me and I couldn’t blame her. It sounded like a line, but it wasn’t. I was so stupidly nervous to have her in my house, the words were coming out of my mouth without passing through the filter I normally employed.
When she finally turned back around, her eyes were friendly and she was still smiling. “So, where’s
this fancy beer you’ve promised me.”
I walked back toward the kitchen, saying, “I never said it was fancy.”
“No?”
“No. I simply said it was dark and it was my favorite.” I reached into the refrigerator and pulled out two cans of Guinness.
“Guinness is your favorite beer?” she asked, eyebrows high in surprise.
“All others pale in comparison, quite literally.”
“My first legal St. Patrick’s Day, I got totally smashed on Irish car bombs. Guinness and I do not get along.”
“A deal’s a deal,” I said, holding a can out for her. She took it with a huff, placed it on the counter, snapped it open, and then held it out toward me. “Here’s to getting your ass handed to you by a Skee-Ball shark.”
I opened my own can and tapped it against hers, my smile pulling on my cheeks. “Cheers.” We both took our drinks, but hers ended in a pinched face along with a groan.
“Nope. I can’t,” she said, placing the can on the counter again. I couldn’t help but laugh at the sour face she was making. She gave me a wry look, but then surprised me by hopping up onto my kitchen counter, making herself at home, and folding her hands in her lap. “So, you’re the mayor’s son, you’re an entertainment lawyer, you kick ass at Skee-Ball, you live in a palace in the sky, and you drive the Batmobile. What else do I need to know about you, Camden Rogers?”
I didn’t like the implication of her question, the idea that I was more, or in some sort of league that was above her. I could practically feel her building a wall between us. I stood across from her, leaning back against the island in the kitchen, and brought my beer to my lips, taking a long pull while keeping my eyes on her. “How about we ask each other questions. You first, then me. Totally honest answers, no matter the question.”
“Like truth or dare without the dare aspect? Where’s the fun in that?”
