Copyright 2015 Rae Lynn Blaise
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and events are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events or people, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
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I’m not all about the bass, but this song is pretty catchy.
Alexandria—Alex—sets my white zin in front of me before sliding onto her bar stool and clinking her glass against mine.
I sip the crisp, cool wine. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.”
I listen to the chorus playing overhead. “What song is this?”
“Oh, Rachel.” Her blonde curls bounce with her vigorous headshake. “You need to toss the Tchaikovsky and take in the Trainor.”
I smile. Last girl’s night two weeks ago, she told me to “set down the Stravinsky and snatch up the Sia.” Alex is all about alliteration.
“I’m not against pop. Just, when I’m not playing the classics at school, I’m practicing them at home.” There’s not room for any more sound.
“You unwind with silence, not the radio. I know.”
I grin. “I’m beginning to think we’ve had this conversation before.”
She wrinkles her nose. “Once or twice, usually when I’m trying to recommend a band.”
Now I feel bad about brushing off her recommendations because I was too busy or uninterested. “How about you make me a playlist? and I promise to listen to every song all the way through at least once.”
Instead of smiling, sadness clouds her pert features. “I’m going to miss your highbrow music tastes. Promise to call and talk snobby to me at least once a week. Or better yet, skype.”
“I will.” I drown the lump in my throat with more wine and look around.
Alex suggested the bar, a small, subterranean place with rave reviews but not much exposure. White-painted brick walls, tasteful beige and black décor, and recessed lighting provide ample ambiance, but the crowd’s thankfully thin for a Thursday. Tonight’s our last day before I hop a plane Monday morning to start my new life, the final girl’s night with Alex for who knows how long and I want to make it count.
“I won’t be too far away,” I remind us both. “It’s Massachusetts not Mongolia.”
“True. And if nothing else, I managed to wrench that huge instrument from between your legs one last time.”
“Alex!” I hiss, looking around at the nearby tables. Fortunately, our few neighbors are more focused on their intoxication than our conversation. A guy sitting at a faraway booth by himself catches my eye. His head hangs low so all I see is shaggy dark hair and a tight t-shirt showing off the tattoos all over his massive biceps.
He’s not my type, but I still look at him. Can’t stop staring at him. He’s much stronger than the men I spend time with—delicate-handed artists who don’t lift anything heavier than their bow. This guy could easily lift me. Could hoist me over his shoulder, if he wanted.
I’m not sure why I find that so exciting.
“You deserve a little embarrassment for abandoning me for Bean Town.”
I force my gaze back to Alex and her cherry red pout.
I toy with the stem of my glass. “For work, not a vacation.” I glance back at Tattooed Guy, hoping to see his face, but the waiter delivering drinks to a nearby table blocks my view.
Alex sighs. “That makes it worse because you won’t be coming back in a week. The windy city is going to blow without you.”
“Something tells me you’ll survive just fine,” I joke, but the words have a morose edge. Most of the things I’ve done off campus—and outside my apartment—are directly because of her nagging me to get out more. I thought there’d be more time after graduation to bond and explore the city, but here I am getting ready to leave it. I don’t regret my dedication to my craft. Landing a spot with the Boston Symphony is a dream come true, but I can’t help feeling like there’s something missing in my life. Something I should have done that I didn’t. If there’d been more time…
The waiter finishes his delivery, but now a tall guy with a backwards cap leans over the side of Tattooed Guy’s booth to give him a high five.
“This is all your dad’s fault.” Alex sounds bitter.
“Hmm?” I look away from the bad boy and drain half my glass as Alex repeats her statement. “He just wants what’s best for me.”
It’s true, but only half the story. The whole story is that he’s mortified about my career choice and he’ll stay mortified unless I can prove to him I’m a good enough cello player to make a name for myself.
I draw swirls in the condensation of my glass with a fingertip, my stomach knotting as I’m reminded of my father’s constant criticism. “I should have taken out student loans instead of letting him pay my tuition. Maybe that would have earned his respect.”
“Probably not.”
I take an extra big gulp of zin. “Now you see why it’s a good thing I got this job in the Boston Symphony.” I bet Tattooed Guy doesn’t have to answer to an overbearing parent. I bet he doesn’t answer to anyone. I bet he’s the one in control of the people around him.
If he was the one bossing me around, I wouldn’t be so opposed. What it would be like to be a woman who let him do that?
I prop my head on my fist and sigh.
“You okay?”
My cheeks heat as though she can read my mind. “Yeah. Just, you know. All of this. It’s a big change. But at least I’ll be playing.”
Alex squeezes more lime into her beer. “Yeah, but at what price?” The directness of her stare unnerves me.
“I prefer to think of it as mapping out my future. Not leaving things to fate.” Things like my career, or love. It’s a smarter course of action than, say, hooking up with a stranger in a bar. Especially a strong, inked, in-control-of-his-own-life hottie like the one at the back of the bar.
I sneak another peek and bingo! I finally see his face.
God, his face…
Now that I see it, I’m not sure I can ever look away. It’s striking. Stunning. Strangely beautiful.
His eyes are inset, his jaw and nose strong. And his mouth—perfect, his lips full but not girly. They’re sin and sex, yet, as he smirks at something on his phone, also quite boyish. It’s the kind of mouth I could stare at for hours, watching the way it shapes words and slides into smiles. The kind of mouth that feels good to kiss and better to suck and my, oh, my, I bet he sucks down there so right I wouldn’t need to grab a vibrator after.
Where the hell did that come from? I’m not a prude, but having dirty thoughts about men in bars is really not my style.
It’s a sign of stress, that’s all. In my mind, Beautiful Tattooed Boy is the personification of chance encounters and not having a plan. It’s the other road—the road I didn’t take. Correction—wouldn’t take. He’s nice to look at, but other than that, we’d probably clash. Big time. I’m only attracted to him because, although I’m happy with my choices and my plans, I can’t help being curious about what else might have been.
Yeah. That’s totally it.
But what if I’m more than curious?
I take another large sip of wine and ask the question no one can answer. “Do you think I’m making a mistake?”
Alex hesitates. “I think you know what you want. You’re the most driven person I’ve ever met.”
“But…?”
She looks around as though the words are floating somewhere to the left of my face. “But it feels so final. I hope it really is what you want and not just what your father wants.”
“It is.” And if
it isn’t, I’m not sure what is.
“Then you’re definitely not making a mistake.” It’s impossible for her to know that as confidently as she’s said it, but I cling to her reassurance. “But you need to at least have a good fuck before you leave.”
I’m glad I’m not drinking or I’d have spit my wine. “You are so inappropriate. Why do I take you out in public?”
“Hey, you’re the one who practices fingering. For hours at a time, I might add.”
“For music.” I laugh, warmer from the wine than embarrassment. “And I don’t need anything. Besides, even if I did want a hookup, there’s no one I’m attracted to.”
Except for him.
My gaze flits back to the tattooed stranger sitting in the dark booth. His large hand engulfs the bottle in his grip as he brings it slowly to his mouth and swallows deeply. Would his palm be strong, his wrist firm as he ran his touch over my—
“Why don’t you go talk to him?”
“To whom?” Damn those observant blue eyes of hers.
“Tall, dark, and delicious over there. Don’t pretend you don’t know what I mean. You’ve been checking him out since we got here. And I approve! He’s alone… you’re alone…”
The thought of talking to him causes a strange flutter low in my belly that I don’t like. Or I do like. I’m not quite sure yet. “Funny, I thought I was sitting with my friend Alexandria, getting some quality girl time in before I move.” I uncross and re-cross my legs, feeling restless and needy.
“You need to get it in before you move. One last hurrah before being a real, responsible adult for the rest of your days.”
I couldn’t.
Could I?
I scan the topic of our discussion and notice a leather jacket slung over the booth beside him and the tight cling of his jeans to the leg viewable under the table. He’s so at odds with my conservative style. How could we ever fit together?
Something tells me he knows exactly how to make things fit. And style isn’t really an issue when no one’s wearing clothes.
Shocked at my thoughts, I shake my head, hoping to clear away the unwanted dirty idea. “No hurrahs. Anyway, he’s not my type.”
“What’s that? Uptight?”
“Studious.”
She rolls her eyes. “Passionless.”
“He is not a nice guy. And I like nice guys.” Guys my father would approve of.
“Are you trying to convince me or you?”
“I’m not trying to convince anyone. I’m stating a fact. I need a man who appreciates that I practice music for hours a day and don’t have time to fawn all over them. My career comes first. He also has to be respectable and responsible.”
“And uptight,” she repeats with a smirk.
“Compatible.”
“Boring. We’re going for Mr. Right Now, not Mr. Right, Rachel. One night with someone who doesn’t meet your fantasy pansy list isn’t going to deter you from your dreams.”
She’s got a point. As always. But a man like him… I subtly tip my head in his direction. “He’s just such a…”
“Perfect Badass?”
The perfect description.
“Yeah.” The word sounds uncharacteristically dreamy and edged with lust. I shake myself. This whole discussion is too ridiculous. And too tempting. And too bad of an idea. “No. I couldn’t.”
She tilts her head. “TMI time. How long’s it been since you had sex?”
I twirl the end of my ponytail and pull it over my collarbone. It’s been almost two years. “Maybe I’m saving myself for marriage.”
Alex snorts. “You have to be a virgin to do that, and I know you’ve fucked at least two guys.”
“I’ve had two boyfriends, yes, who I slept with after an appropriate amount of courting, but we didn’t fuck. That’s gauche.” And way too exciting of a description for the things we did in the bedroom once or twice every couple of weeks. When my second boyfriend’s performance was on par with the first, I realized I needed to lower my expectations. Regular sex or not, I still had to pull out my vibrator to take care of things myself. I mean, the act of intercourse was fine, nice for bonding with someone, I guess, but I never saw what the big fuss is about.
“It’s gauche if you’re doing it right.” Alex’s eyes twinkle.
I adjust my infinity scarf and look at the hot guy again. My pulse speeds up when I accidentally make eye contact. I need to look away—I want to—but I can’t, frozen from the intensity of his gaze as it sends a sizzling spark all the way to my core. It’s entirely too intimate, too penetrating. Too badass.
I force my focus to the tabletop in front of me. What is it about him? I’m mesmerized.
“He’s totally checking you out too.”
My throat grows dry. I notice my empty glass and wave at the server for another round of the same. “He caught me staring, is all. He thinks I’m a weirdo. Guys like that don’t go for girls like me.”
Alex leans closer. “Guys like him love girls like you. Look at yourself. Minimal makeup, long chestnut hair in a simple ponytail. Skinny jeans showing off your hips, but you’ve got a long sleeved V-neck and a scarf hiding any cleavage. You’re a good girl. Big brown, doe eyes. Face it, Rachel, you’re Snow White with an amazing ass. You’re the pretty, uptight girl every man wants to corrupt.”
Again, that unfamiliar rush of excitement trills through me. “If that were true, someone would have tried before now. Not that I’d have accepted.”
“Your mind’s so occupied by music you haven’t noticed all the men who have tried. Come on, Rachel. When a straight guy says, ‘Nice scarf,’ he’s only using it as an excuse to stare at your tits. He doesn’t give a crap about your accessories.”
Is she right? How much have I really given up for the pursuit of my career? Is it too much? And is it too late to fix it?
Yes, it is too late. I have other commitments now. Specifically, one very big commitment. “It doesn’t matter. The past is past.”
“But you could make up for a whole lot of past with just one night with that badass.”
The space between my thighs throbs as though my libido thinks it has a say in this discussion.
It doesn’t. I press my legs together. “I don’t have any more time for him than I did for any other guy. I’m leaving in a few days and have way too much to do.”
Strange, the sadness that accompanies that statement. I shouldn’t be so disappointed about the termination of a non-existent one-night-stand. My blood sugar must be low or something. I was too busy packing to eat lunch today. That’s totally what it is. “Should we grab a slice of pizza after this?”
Alex gives a lackadaisical half-shrug. “Let’s see how the night plays out.”
The server arrives with our next round, preventing me from asking what she means by that. I hope she’s not planning on dragging me to one of those after-hours places again. The sampled strings over the crashing beats were too painful to listen to let alone want to dance to.
When he sets her beer in front of her, Alex pulls the waiter close, whispering something in his ear.
Ah, now I get it. She’s making plans of her own tonight. No wonder she’s been trying to pawn me off on a stranger. The server’s cute enough, maybe a bit skinnier than the guys she typically goes for, but definitely not outside her wheelhouse of interest. While it’s our last time to hang out, I’m fine with her hooking up with someone later. Even if I’m the tiniest bit jealous.
I wait for the server to leave before waggling my eyebrows. “You little minx.”
She stops grinning and tears her gaze from the server’s retreating ass to look at me. “What?”
“What was that about?”
Her brow furrows. “What was what about?”
“Hitting on our waiter? Are you trying to give me a real world example of how it’s done?”
“That your mind went directly to that tells me how desperately you need to get banged. I wasn’t hitting on him. I was telling him to make sur
e I got the bill.”
I hesitate, not sure if I believe her. “I may spend way too much time alone with a stringed instrument, but that didn’t look like ‘I’ll get the tab’ to me.”
She stands and stretches. “I plead the fifth. I’ve got to hit the ladies room. Watch my purse?”
“Sure.”
She walks away, and I can’t help myself. I look back at Tattooed Guy. He winks at me.
Shit! He’s seen me staring!
I look away as quickly as I can, not wanting to give him the wrong idea, although I kind of do want to give him the wrong idea. Or, at least I want him to keep doing this—keep sharing gazes across the distance, winking and grinning and sending delicious bolts of electricity through my nervous system. It feels better than it should to just flirt. I can’t begin to imagine what it would feel like if we ever touched. Or kissed. Or fu—
“What did I miss?” Alex adjusts the strap of her tank top and sits down again.
“Nothing?” My voice sounds higher than I intended.
“Nothing at all? Not even with your friend over there?” She sips her beer oh-so-casually.
Prompted, I look over at him as the waiter sets a full beer on the table. Tattooed Guy raises it in a private cheers and winks again.
A shiver runs down my spine.
Alex cackles.
Which makes me suddenly suspicious. “What’s going on?”
“Seems like the perfect badass is trying to get your attention.”
Sure enough, when I look over, he gives a small wave. Another shower of tingles falls over my body, but I don’t wave back. “What did you do?”
She holds her hands up, feigning innocence. “You bought him a drink. Go over there and take credit.”
“Alex! Why would you do that?” I fiddle with my scarf, suddenly too warm.
“Oh, come on, it’s harmless.” She waves her hand like it’s no big deal.
“He thinks I like him!”
“Don’t you?”
I can’t like someone I don’t even know, even if he does amazing things to my body without even touching me. “I… That’s not the point.”
She sighs, suddenly serious. “Rachel, I knew you’d never open the door yourself, so I created an opportunity for you. You just have to walk through it. What’s the worst thing that could happen if you talk to the guy?”
Badass in My Bed (Badass #1) Page 1
