Casual Affair (Timid Souls Book 2)

by Melanie Munton

  I turned for the stairs to go up to my bedroom, but Felicity’s gaze caught my attention. “What?” I asked her, noting the odd expression on her little pixie face.

  She hesitated for only a second and then asked, “Goin’ out?”

  I nodded once, eager to remove myself from her scrutiny. “Just to go meet up with a couple of friends.”

  I knew it didn’t escape her attention that I didn’t mention who those friends were or the fact that I hadn’t invited her, which I would normally do unless I was meeting a guy. She knew all of this, but she must have sensed something on my face because she didn’t address it.

  She just nodded and smiled softly at me. “Okay. Have fun.”

  Call it sister’s intuition but I had a feeling she wasn’t going to let that go for long.

  Ten minutes later I was headed out the door and over to the bar. I was usually a pretty confident person when it came to my looks. I had decided long ago that there wasn’t much I could do about the parts that God had given me aside from plastic surgery, which was never going to happen. But I couldn’t deny that I had taken extra care in my appearance tonight. I found myself questioning my outfit choice, wondering whether or not Zane would like me in what I’d picked out.

  It was hot out so I ended up choosing a romper with a triangle cut-out in the back and gladiator sandals. It showed off my legs and a little of my back but it wasn’t too dressy. I left my hair hanging straight down my back, and the only jewelry I had were my watch and small studs in my ears. I didn’t know what kind of bar it was and I didn’t want to look like I was trying too hard. My makeup, though, was on point and I was proud of that.

  But these were never things I normally worried about. Not to this extent.

  My body felt all jittery and I had a sneaking suspicion it was because I was going to meet this guy. Someone I’d only spent one night with and someone I barely even knew. I wasn’t used to being excited over the prospect of seeing a guy. Not anymore, at least.

  Not since Evan.

  I didn’t want to admit to the fact that I restricted myself to having casual affairs with men because of one guy in my past, but I’d be lying if I said he had nothing to do with it.

  Felicity and I had grown up with our parents in Alabama and moved to D.C. when I was twelve and Felicity was eleven. Daddy had been a congressmen and came from a long line of politicians, so we had grown up with money. We lived in one of the more affluent neighborhoods of D.C. and our family was certainly well-known in the community, both in the political and social worlds. Because of this, our daddy kept a fairly tight leash on us during our teen years, always being a little too over-protective and scaring a lot of the boys off that came sniffing around.

  Then, Evan came along. His father was some successful businessman and was in the upper crust of D.C. society, running in the same circles as my father. I had been a sophomore in high school and he was a junior when he first came around and started charming me. He was the captain of the lacrosse team and I’d been completely infatuated, that whole first love thing. Because Daddy knew him and his father so well, he hadn’t worried as much about the attractive young man who was asking his daughter out and had allowed our relationship.

  We ended up dating for about a year and a half. I’d thought I loved him and was beyond devastated when I found out the truth. I had overheard him one night at a party telling his guy friends that he was only dating me so he could get in my father’s good graces. He had political aspirations of his own and his father had encouraged him to put himself on Daddy’s radar by dating me, convincing him that it would bode well for his future. The second I heard that, I dumped his ass and cried myself to sleep for a week straight.

  The worst part?

  I’d allowed him to punch my V card.

  Oh yeah. I actually let that little asshat take my virginity.

  So ever since then, I haven’t had a lot of interest in investing my heart in a man. The whole experience taught me that you can’t trust everyone and that I had to guard my emotions. I had suddenly become very aware of my family’s position in the community after that and that people almost always had an ulterior motive. In fact, I think one of the main reasons that I had decided to stay in D.C. when my parents moved back to Alabama after we graduated high school was to get some distance from my father’s name. I loved my parents, of course, but it was nice to just be Bea Paxton, interior designer, and not Beatrice Paxton, daughter of Congressman Alan Paxton.

  I knew that not all guys were like Evan, but this whole only making it about sex thing I’d been doing since college had been working for me. I hadn’t felt compelled to really pursue anything with any of the men I’d slept with, anyway. So, this arrangement was perfectly fine and I didn’t have to worry about heartache.

  I made my way into the bar—my heart suddenly beating a mile a minute despite my demands that it chill the hell out—and searched the sea of tables and patrons for Zane the Sexy Brit. It didn’t take me long to spot him at a table by the wall, sitting with some guy with a beard. That must have been the “mate.”

  I made my way over, finding my smile growing bigger the closer I got to him. The fact that the smile was not in any way forced was slightly disturbing. And I knew things were just getting ridiculous when I almost tripped over my own feet as Zane all of a sudden looked away from the television and met my eyes, his face immediately lighting up and showing me those perfect teeth of his.

  “Hey, you made it!” he greeted me excitedly. He stood up and almost looked like he wanted to lean in and kiss me on the cheek but he stopped himself.

  “Yeah, I decided that I had to show you Brits how we have fun in America.”

  His mouth spread into that amazingly sexy smirk and my body once again took notice.

  “Are you saying my people are dull?” he asked, a mischievous glint in his eyes which I loved. It was no secret that I was serious as little as I had to be in life.

  I shrugged, unable to stop my own playful grin from forming. “I guess you’ll have to prove to me that you’re not.”

  Zane chuckled and waved down to the man sitting at the table, watching us with both amusement and inquisitiveness in his eyes. “Allow me to introduce you to my flatmate, Mike. Mike, this is Bea. Mike is living in D.C. while doing his doctoral research, and he allowed me to stay at his flat while I’m over here managing the U.S. branches.”

  “Nice to meet you,” I said, shaking his hand.

  “Likewise, luv. So, how do you know our Zane here?” He watched us with interest as he took a drink from his beer.

  “I picked him up in a bar.” I looked over at Zane to see his eyes widen and his cheeks turn a light shade of pink, which I found adorable and Mike seemed to find funny because he burst out in laughter.

  What can I say, I wasn’t going to lie about my actions and I certainly wouldn’t be shy about them. I am the way I am and I own that. So, if people didn’t like me, they could at least respect the fact that I was straight with them and that I didn’t hide who I was.

  “Is that right?” Mike asked once he composed himself.

  I smiled. “He was bein’ particularly dull,” I emphasized, flashing Zane a quick glance before looking back down at Mike, “and I showed him how to have a good time.”

  Zane’s face was now red with that implication and Mike laughed even harder. “I’m sure you did.”

  Finally, Zane spoke up. “I don’t know if dull is the right word. I hadn’t been there that long and was scoping out the scene when I saw you.”

  I raised an eyebrow at him. “And not dancin’ or interactin’ with anyone else.”

  “It got you to come over to me, didn’t it?”

  He raised an eyebrow back at me, challenging me, which dammit…I kind of loved. I admired a man who could give as well as he could receive. Not that I hadn’t already known that. Our night together three weeks ago was enough evidence of it.

  “Touché,” I conceded, smiling at him. I looked at both of the
ir mugs and asked, “So, what are we drinkin’ tonight?”

  “Just Yuengling,” Zane replied. “I’ve found it to be one of my favorite American beers.”

  “You know that it’s the oldest brewery in the country, right?” I asked.

  Zane looked at me with a curious expression, like he was equal parts impressed and fascinated with me. That look made me gulp, actually gulp, with the emotion it had behind it.

  “No. I didn’t know that,” he responded quietly.

  Needing to wipe that too-serious look off his face, I changed the subject. “Care to make things a little interesting, boys?”

  “Oh, I love a good wager,” was Mike’s response as he sat forward in his chair, putting his elbows on the table.

  “I bet that I can chug one of those mugs down faster than either one of you. If I win, both of you have to take a shot of my choosin’. If I lose, I’ll do a shot that you choose.”

  They both looked at each other with perplexed expressions and then exploded into laughter. I rolled my eyes, used to this, expecting it even.

  “You think you can beat both of us in a chugging contest?” Mike asked through his laughter.

  I just smiled and nodded. “Yes.”

  “Both of us?” This from Zane. “I’m sorry, luv, but I don’t even want to take you up on that.”

  I looked over at him and put my hands on my hips. Sassy Bea is coming out to play. “And why not?”

  Zane’s smile disappeared fast and instead formed a worried grin. He looked almost scared that I was going to go all dramatic on him, accuse him of being a sexist, and throw his mug of beer in his face. I think he even angled the arm holding it a few inches away from me. I wanted to laugh at the whole thing because to think that I could actually intimidate a man like Zane gave me great pleasure.

  “I just…” Zane faltered with his words. “Look at you,” he said, gesturing down to my body. “Where would you put it all?”

  “I have talents that you aren’t aware of,” I replied, lowering my voice suggestively. I could tell the innuendo had an effect on him when he swallowed slowly and his pupils dilated slightly. “You big, strong men aren’t afraid of losin’ to a little girl like me are you?”

  Again, they both looked at each other, but this time with nervous expressions. “No,” they said in unison.

  I nodded, satisfied. “Then, I’ll get the beers.”

  Yeah, I won.

  When they both realized they were going to lose, they had actually stopped drinking their beers just to watch my last few gulps with wide open mouths. I laughed at their stunned faces, waiting for their questions.

  “How in the bloody hell did that just happen?” Zane asked.

  He apparently felt it necessary to give my body another once over, I guess to make sure that I didn’t have a tube of beer running out of me somewhere. Whatever the reason for his perusal, I could feel everywhere his eyes touched my body, sending shivers down my spine.

  I shrugged. “Fast metabolism and a lot of house parties in college.”

  I left them still sitting there speechless and went to retrieve the shots I decided on from the bar. When I put them down in front of them, Mike asked in a wary voice, “What is it?”

  “Oh, you probably don’t want to know until after.”

  Zane shook his head and blew out a breath, preparing himself. “A deal is a deal.” He held out his shot glass to Mike, clinking them together. “To God and country.”

  They tipped their heads back and swallowed down the disgusting liquid. I shuddered just thinking about what they were drinking because I very well knew what was in that. Their coughing fits lasted a good two minutes, their throats and stomachs rejecting the substance. I knew it probably wasn’t nice to laugh but I couldn’t help it.

  “Not your cup of tea?” I mocked in my best British accent.

  Zane let out a “bollocks!” as he tried to catch his breath at the same time that Mike shouted out a “bloody Christ!” before chasing the shot with the rest of his beer.

  “By God, woman. What was that?” Zane asked before he chugged down half the glass of water that was sitting on the table.

  “Gorilla Puke.”

  Their heads whipped around to me. It was Mike who asked, “Do we even want to know what that is?”

  I tried for a sweet smile but it probably came out looking more evil than anything else. “Bacardi rum and Wild Turkey bourbon whiskey. Stuff is lethal. But you both took it like champs.”

  “Oh, this isn’t over,” Zane said in that deep, grating voice. My lady bits were responding in kind to hearing that sound. “This means war.”

  ##

  Chapter Five

  Bea

  A week had passed since the night at the bar with Zane. He and Mike had challenged me to a game of darts and then shuffleboard after the chugging incident, my guess was to avenge their wounded male pride.

  And I kicked their asses.

  It was a good thing my competitive nature didn’t allow me to lose often because otherwise I would have been calling Uber to get home. It was also a good thing that Zane had stopped drinking so he could drive Mike and himself home because his roommate had been well past the hammered phase. I laughed my head off when Mike started doing his impressions of us “Yanks.” His American accent was the worst thing I’d ever heard.

  But the craziest part of all?

  I had an amazingly fun time.

  I hadn’t realized how much I missed just being able to casually hang out with a guy. Especially a guy that I had to admit I was kind of in to. I was normally so preoccupied with trying to be sexy and seductive around men so I could get them into bed.

  But that night at the bar had been comfortable and easy. No pressure, no expectations because let’s face it, Zane and I had already had sex so we knew there wouldn’t be any surprises in that area. And I was even more taken aback that he hadn’t made a single move toward me. I mean, there was some heavy flirting and majorly hot eye contact. But he hadn’t asked me to come home with him and hadn’t kissed me goodnight or anything. Not that I had expected him to or even wanted him to.

  Did I?

  It made me question whether or not Zane would even consider sleeping with me again. But when he’d told me at the end of the night while trying to wrestle Mike into his car that he would “talk to me soon,” I had to think that he at least wanted to see me again.

  And I had to decide whether that was something I wanted, too.

  I was at our office, getting ready to leave for the day, as I mulled over these thoughts. Our office served as part office and part show room where we showcased a small sample of our work for potential clients. I had been hauling and rearranging furniture for most of the day, changing some of the displays in the show room for our last rotation before the fall season began.

  Felicity had been handling client meetings today while I covered the office. We employed two full-time associates, but one had to take off because her son had surgery today and the other one was out of town for a funeral. So, I got stuck doing most of the heavy lifting by myself, and although my body was exhausted, I was also strangely energized. I preferred that type of physical exercise, the kind that I could feel in every muscle of my body. It made me feel like I was getting the most effective workout.

  I was starting to lock up the building when my cell phone rang. Of course, my idiotic heart leapt in my chest with the thought—hope?—that it might be Zane.

  Not quite.

  The person’s name on the screen still brought a smile to my face, though. “Hi, Daddy.”

  “Hey, Sweet Bea,” his raspy voice said over the line. The nickname he’d had for me since I was about six, his own take on “sweet pea,” always put me in a good mood. “How you doin’?”

  If people thought my accent was thick, my father had thirty more years of deep southern exposure going for him, so every word out of his mouth oozed with that heavy twang. It was the most comforting sound in the world to me.


  “I’m good. How are you? How’s Mama?” I propped the phone on my shoulder while I locked the front office door and headed for my car that was parked in the small parking lot behind the building.

  “She’s doin’ just fine. You know her, always got some charity somethin’ or other to run, so she’s stayin’ busy.” I could picture him sitting in the wingback chair of his office, kicking back after a long day and getting ready to fire up his trusty cigar.

  I missed him.

  It was a well-known fact in our family that I was a daddy’s girl and Felicity had been born a mama’s girl. They both loved us equally, of course, but I was exactly like Daddy and Felicity had most of Mama’s qualities. I had always been the more athletic daughter, wanting to play any and every sport the schools could throw at me—volleyball, basketball, softball, soccer, tennis, track. You name it, I’ve done it. And Felicity had been devoted solely to gymnastics and beauty pageants, exactly like Mama. She was their little blonde puffball of a girly-girl and I had been their tomboy. I became more girly over time, but I was still a tomboy at heart.

  Once upon a time, I had almost been resentful of the close relationship that Felicity had with our mother, but I’d gotten over that in about two seconds. The whole dynamic worked for our family and I deeply cherished the bond I had with my father. He had done all of the things with me that I think he would have liked to have done with a son if he’d ever had one, and I learned a great deal from him.

  “Been able to play much golf lately?”

  “I’m hopin’ to get to play some this weekend if your mama will let me. She’s threatenin’ to hide my clubs from me if I don’t get my cholesterol down,” he grumbled.

  I was opening my car door when he said that and paused. “How high has it been?”