“It appears so,” he says with a nod.
The DJ switches songs and within the first few notes, I recognize it. “Ahh! This is my song!” I shout to him. My arms go up in the air as I let out a whoop, my excitement getting the better of me. My friends follow suit, and without a word, we all start moving to the rhythm and having a great time. I avoid eye contact with them to keep from being subjected to their questioning glances or knowing smirks. When the lyrics talk about windows and walls and sweat dripping down balls, we belt out the lines as loud as we can.
“Sweat drip down your what?” I hear his voice say in my ear. It sends a chill up my spine. I didn’t realize he was so close to me.
Turning around to face him, I look around before meeting his gaze again. “My balls?” My eyes squint as my head tilts to the side, trying to hold in my smile, but my efforts are futile.
His mouth pulls up slowly at the corners before he flashes me the whitest smile I’ve ever seen, which is followed by a deep laugh. “That’s what I thought you said.”
“Oh, come on, you know you love this song.”
“Not as much as I love watching you sing it,” he says with a little laugh.
I roll my eyes, but before I can fire back with a sassy reply, he grabs my hand and drags me to the dance floor. I should put more effort into resisting, but I don’t. All of the normal fight in my body to thwart off men has evaporated.
Once he’s found us a nice spot, his hand goes to my lower back and he pulls me in close to him. I do my best to stifle the nerves floating at the surface. It’s been forever since I’ve danced like this with a man. Even when I was with that piece of shit Seth, I didn’t dance like this; he hated dancing. I try to focus on the music and not how my body feels right now, but it’s impossible. He’s pressed against every inch of me with one leg between mine as we dance to the beat.
As soon as I look up, I know it’s a big mistake. His eyes pierce through mine as he stares down at me intently. I’ve never felt like a person was looking into my soul, but that’s how it feels in this moment, and I’m powerless to look away. Everyone else around us fades to a dull murmur. Neither of us looks away and the only thing that exists is Marcus and me as this crazy connection builds with each second that goes by.
I should probably focus more on how my body is moving as we dance, but I can’t stop staring up at him like some love-sick fool. I think I’m pulling it off, but I can’t be sure with the slight buzz I currently have. It makes me care less about how I look when I should care more.
Here’s the thing about dancing. I can, I just don’t. Not sober anyway. But once I get a little alcohol in me, all inhibition flies out the window.
As does my coordination.
“I can’t follow you,” he shouts into my ear, breaking the connection. At first, I’m not sure what he said, but then it dawns on me. Holy shit. I’m worse than I thought. I just smile, grab his hand and lead him back to the bar. I know I’ll be embarrassed tomorrow when I reflect on this with a clear mind. Then again, I’ll never see this guy again, so maybe I’ll be able to brush it off.
Feeling suddenly shy, I tuck my hair behind my ear and avert my gaze. His finger goes to my chin and lifts up, forcing me to look at him. He searches my face for a moment before his eyes hone in on my lips. When he grabs my left hand, I swallow hard and stop breathing. I’m desperate to have his lips on mine, but I know I can’t go there. Despite my heart screaming at me to get the hell away, my natural instinct is to get closer. Being torn by my internal war, I can’t move. I don’t know what it is about this guy. I know nothing about him but feel this pull. Sure, it’s based purely on physical attraction, but I’m drawn to him, nonetheless.
His intense stare darkens and travels down my body and back up before he releases his grip on my chin and my hand. He turns away from me abruptly and rests his elbows on the bar top. I’m perplexed by the sudden mood change.
“Is everything okay?” Now I feel stupid. I mean, what’s his deal? His only response is to nod while refusing to look at me. “Want another?” I ask.
“Nah, I’m good.” His tone is clipped and I know for a fact something is off. My mind spins trying to figure out what I might have said or done to piss him off. I shouldn’t care and I can’t for the life of me figure out why I do. “How long have you been married?” Slowly, his head turns to the side to look at me.
For half a second I’m confused by his question, but then I remember the fake ring I have on my finger to keep situations like this from happening. He must have felt it when he was holding my hand. I could tell him the truth. It’s silly enough and not a big deal, but before I can process my choices, my mouth opens and I say, “A little over a year.”
He nods his head several times. “Don’t you think you should’ve mentioned that before?” His tone is ice cold and my alcohol induced mind is feeling the effects and losing my buzz.
“You never asked, and I never made you any promises, Marcus.” But that’s a lie. I might not have verbally said anything, but my body was sending all the signals.
He stands up to his full height, making me look up and faces me once more. “You’re right, Lydia.” He holds out his hand just like he did when we first met. “It was nice meeting you. Your husband is a lucky man.” Leaning in, he gives me a chaste kiss on the cheek before disappearing in the crowd.
I’m rooted to my spot unable to move. What the hell just happened?
This is what you want, my mind reminds me.
Maybe if I say it enough, I’ll start to believe it again.
Marcus
“HELLOOO? EARTH TO Marcus,” Sean, my brother, says over the phone.
“Sorry, man. What were you saying?” I put my car in drive and pull out of the parking lot.
“I was talking about the game this weekend. Dude, where has your head been at lately?”
“Nowhere. I’m about to start my shift, so I’m just thinking about work.” Lies. She’s all I’ve been thinking about which is odd for me. How can a person leave such an impression in such a short amount of time that they consume every thought?
Because you don’t believe her, that’s why. I can’t put my finger on it, but there was something about the way she looked at me when I mentioned the ring on her finger. It was as if she was battling with herself, but I don’t know what that battle was. She was either having a hard time telling me the truth that she is, in fact, married, or fighting to spit out the lie. My need to know keeps all thoughts locked on her, and I can’t shake it. “Bullshit. It’s that girl still, isn’t it?”
“Pssh, no,” I say defensively.
“It’s been a month since you’ve seen her. Plus, she’s married, remember?”
That’s my only hang up with her. She’s taken, and I would never go after another man’s girl, but damn if I don’t want to try. “I know. It’s not her, so get off my back about it.”
“Sure, it’s not,” he replies. “I totally struck out with her friend Paige. I don’t know what happened.” He actually seems shocked and maybe even a little offended.
“What? You finally met a girl who didn’t fall for your charming ways?” I joke.
“Real funny. At least I wasn’t hitting on a married woman.”
He’s got a point there. “Look, I gotta go. I’ll talk to you later.” I hang up and set my phone in the seat next to me.
It’s the end of the month which means the city needs to up its revenues. So here I am, on my way to a good hiding spot to write some tickets. It’s not the best part of being a cop, and I could definitely do without everyone’s shitty attitudes when I pull them over, but I’m low man on the totem pole. With just three years on the force, I’m lucky I’m not on the midnight shift anymore.
I’ve been out here for a little over an hour, and so far no one is going fast enough to warrant a stop. Five miles here. Seven miles there. That’s pushing it, but I let it slide. Maybe I park here too often and the locals are on to me.
As the thought to
move crosses my head, a black car comes flying up over the hill. Looking at my radar gun, I clock them going eighty-one in a sixty-five.
Got one.
Flipping on my lights and sirens, I wait for another car to pass before pulling into traffic and accelerating to catch the driver. I pull up close behind the vehicle and follow until it veers off to the side of the road.
Running the plates, I see it’s registered to a Robert Kelley, but nothing suspicious pops up. I approach the black car with my hand near my side arm. You never know who you’re walking up on and I’ve seen regular traffic stops turn ugly real fucking quick. You always have to be ready for the unexpected.
“Good afternoon. Do you know why—” My words die off when I get a look into her window.
Lydia.
I can’t see her eyes behind her sunglasses, but if the way her eyebrows shoot up her forehead is any indication, I’d say she’s just as surprised to see me as I am her.
My arms cross over my chest, and I can’t stop the grin that pulls at my lips. “What a coincidence,” I say. “How have you been?”
“I was doing fine until about a minute ago,” she deadpans.
“What’s the rush? I got you going sixteen over the speed limit.”
“Would you believe me if I said I had to pee really bad?” She bites her lip and waits for my reply, but I can’t take my eyes off her mouth.
Realizing we’re on the side of the road with traffic zipping by, I snap out of my trance. “Uh, no.”
“Heard that one before, huh?”
“Maybe a time or two,” I reply.
The corner of her mouth twitches like she’s trying to hold back a smile. It reminds me of the night I met her. She was so fun and outgoing and . . . sexy.
A bucket of ice water is dumped on those memories as I remember the way that circular piece of metal felt when I touched it as I was holding her hand. It scorched my skin, letting me know she was off limits no matter how damn bad I wanted her.
With that thought, my eyes move over toward her hands that are gripping the steering wheel. My eyebrows rise up my forehead as I stare at her naked ring finger. Lydia follows my line of sight and nearly jumps when she realizes her mistake. She quickly conceals her hands by crossing her arms over her chest.
“Let me take you out for a cup of coffee.” I blurt the words out before I can talk myself out of it. I mean, friends get coffee, right?
Yeah, keep telling yourself that, buddy.
“You know I’m married,” she says quietly.
“Where’s your ring then?”
“I, uh—it’s um—at the, uh, jeweler’s getting fixed.”
I have a pretty good bullshit meter, and her excuse is off the damn charts. “The jeweler’s . . . right,” I say with a nod. “That wouldn’t be some lame story to shut me down, would it?”
“What?” Her voice rises in shock that I would question the validity of her relationship status. “No! I really am married and my ring really is getting worked on.”
“Okay, I just need your license, registration, and proof of insurance, please.” After a few seconds, she hands over everything. Lydia Kelley is the name on her ID. Robert must be her husband. An unwelcomed wave of disappointment hits me. Maybe she is telling the truth. I’m not sure why I feel this way. I only met the girl one night, and she’s clearly trying to get rid of me, but I can’t get her out of my damn head. “Alright, well hang tight for just a second and I’ll get you out of here.” I tap the roof of her car with the palm of my hand a couple times before walking back to my cruiser.
After a couple of minutes, I return to Lydia. “Well, since I can’t take you out, I guess this is the next best thing.” I hand over her printed copy as well as all her documents she gave me a minute ago.
She’s quiet, but I’m sure that won’t last long. Her mouth drops open before she says, “You’re giving me a ticket?!”
“Yep.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me right now! Is this because I won’t go out with you?” She throws her ticket onto the passenger seat.
“Nope. You were getting the ticket either way.”
“You’re an asshole,” she mutters to herself, but I heard it loud and clear.
“And you were speeding, so it’s a date. I’ll see you on the twenty-fourth.”
“Date? You’re delusional, and I’ll just pay the ticket,” she says with an attitude.
“By North Carolina law, fifteen miles per hour or higher over the speed limit is an automatic court day. You can’t pay your way out of it. So, like I said, I’ll see you on the twenty-fourth, Lydia.” I smile before leaving her again. I can hear her complaining and cussing, and I don’t know why, but it makes me chuckle.
She probably thinks I’m a dick, but what are the odds I’d run into her again? This isn’t exactly a small city, so this was the only way I could ensure I’d see her again.
I should back off. I know that. Call it a hunch, but something about the whole situation feels off. Her explanation was a little too convenient, and it took her way too long to spit it out. Either way, I’m going to pursue this until I get to the bottom of this, and if she really is married, then maybe I can move on and forget about her.
Lydia
I GRAB A wine glass from the cabinet before slamming it shut. “Can you believe that asshole gave me a ticket?” I hold up the wine bottle to Charlotte to see if she wants some. She nods so I pour us both a glass of Cabernet.
“It’s a little funny when you think about it,” she says.
“How is this funny? I have to take off work for court, and who knows how much all of this is going to cost me?” With glasses in hand, I walk toward the couch she’s sitting on and have a seat next to her.
“I’m just saying it’s kind of genius on his part.” After a slow blink, I stare at her unamused. “You shot him down, so he ensured you had to see him again. Don’t you see the romance in that?”
“You read too many of those books or something. Giving me a speeding ticket is not my idea of romantic.”
She nudges me with her hand for making fun of her reading preferences. “Seriously, Lydia, what are the odds you’d run into him again? It’s like it’s meant to be.”
I roll my eyes since I know that crap doesn’t exist. There was a time I believed in happily ever afters and being destined for someone. The fairy tale was destroyed for me a year ago when reality showed its ugly head. Everything I thought I knew about love fell to the ground and was carried away like a dead leaf on a fall day.
“What kind of guy asks out a married woman?” I ask, trying to divert her train of thought.
“But you’re not married.”
“He thinks I am.”
“Did you bring up this fake husband of yours when he pulled you over?”
“Yep. See? He’s a dog with no respect for boundaries.”
“What was his response?”
My chipper tone from proving my point moments ago is gone. “He noticed I wasn’t wearing my ring,” I reply, explaining the whole exchange for her.
Honestly, I’ve thought about him a little since we met at the bar. Okay, a lot. Looks aside, his personality drew me in. It’s in his ability to make me laugh. With my walls constantly up when it comes to the opposite sex, this never happens. It was almost cathartic, like his corny jokes were somehow repairing the damaged parts of me.
“I don’t know why you don’t go out and have fun. No one says you have to marry the guy, just let him take you out. Maybe he can dust the cobwebs off your vag for you too.”
I start choking on the sip of wine I was swallowing, which causes her to laugh as she pats me on the back. When I’m confident I’m not dying anymore, I start to laugh. I can’t help it. Charlotte’s funny.
“Let’s get to the important stuff,” she says. I look at her expectantly when she doesn’t continue. “How’d he look in his uniform?” Her eyebrows move up and down suggestively, causing me to roll my eyes.
“I couldn
’t tell you because I wasn’t paying attention.” Taking another gulp from my glass, I hope she can’t see the lie written all over my face. I didn’t only notice how he filled out his pants or how the cuff of his sleeves squeezed his biceps, I have the image burned into my mind. When I close my eyes, it’s him imprinted on the back of my eyelids.
“Liar. Your face is turning red, so I’d say you more than noticed.”
I let out a huff, hating that I’m so damn transparent right now. “Fine, he looked good. Are you happy?”
“No, I want details. What did his butt look like?” With wide eyes, she’s about to hang on to every word I say, every little detail I give her. I can’t help but laugh.
“You’ve got your own man at home. Go ogle his ass.”
Her entire posture deflates at the mention of her husband. “You know he’s never home.”
The thing about Charlotte is she thinks she’s good at masking her feelings. So while her features are relaxed, her eyes give off a different story. Her husband, Nate, works all the time, leaving her at home alone. I know his lack of attention and affection bothers her no matter how hard she tries to hide it.
“Have you talked to him about taking some time off?” I ask her.
She shakes her head. “I know he wouldn’t do it. He’s working toward his big promotion, so he has no time for anything else.” She shrugs as if it’s no big deal, but it’s got to be hard to come second to your husband’s career all the time. “So, when’s your court date?”
Taking the shift in topic as a hint, I let her off the hook and don’t press the issue any more. “The twenty-fourth,” I grumble.
“That’s next week!”
“Trust me, I know.” Draining the last bit of red liquid from my glass, I set it down on the coffee table in front of us.
Here I am thinking about Charlotte’s inability to be honest with herself, but I’m in the same boat. Because if I was being honest with myself, I’d admit that the thought of seeing him again sends butterflies to my stomach. My heart sank when he walked up to my window. At first, I thought I was imagining it. That my mind was playing tricks on me since he’s all I’ve been able to think about. But once the shock wore off, I realized he was real and that the universe hates me.
Calculated Risk Page 2
