“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 my eyes over 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?
Though, something tells me he knows exactly how to make things fit. And style isn’t really an issue when no one’s wearing clothes.
I’m instantly 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 the time to fawn all over them. My career comes first and any man I hook up with has to understand that. 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 this guy…I subtly tip my head in his direction. “He’s just such a…”
“Perfect Badass?”
I wouldn’t have said it, but it’s the perfect description. “Yeah.” The word sounds uncharacteristically dreamy and edged with lust. I shake myself, realizing 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, unwilling to admit 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 weeks. I’d expected something…different, but 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 was still pulling out my vibrator to really 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 feels suddenly 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 that if it was?
The answer is 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 things 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—I need food. “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 was 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.
And I’m certainly going to turn the tables on her. 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 sure that I got the bill.”
I hesitate, not sure if I believe her. I decide that I don’t. “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.”
I watch her as she walks away. Then, 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. But, also, 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—
“I’m back, what did I miss?” Alex adjusts the strap of her tank top and sits down again.
“Nothing?” My voice sounds higher than I meant for it to sound.
“Nothing at all? Not even with your friend over there?” She sips her beer oh-so-casually.
Prompted, I look over at him again
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 this time, he gives a small wave. Another shower of tingles falls over my body, but I don’t wave back. “What did you do?”
Alex 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 with mild mortification.
“Oh, come on, it’s harmless.” She dismisses my argument, waving 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 do 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. That’s all it is. You just have to walk through it. What’s the worst thing that could happen if you go and talk to the guy?”
I raise an eyebrow. “You bought him a drink and said it was from me so I’d go and talk to him?”
She giggles. “For starters. And then I want you to ravage him! I want you to leave this place with a big, dirty fuck you’ll still remember when you’re eighty. I know there’s a secret naughty girl inside you screaming to come out and play. A lady doesn’t spread her legs that wide on stage in front of everyone and not have a nasty streak.”
I close my eyes and shake my head. “I eagerly await the day you run out of cello jokes.”
“And I eagerly await you getting it on with that scruffy delight. Just once in your life experience someone who cares more about your body than your bowing technique.”
“Hey, I’ve—”
“Nope. You never follow your baser instincts. For tonight only, be impulsive. Instead of comparing resumes and five-year plans, listen to your body and treat him like…like lust is a song you’re playing together. Not overplayed, over-practiced, lifeless notes you know by heart. Spontaneous like jazz.”
I blot my palms on my jeans. “You know how I feel about jazz. It breaks too many rules that are there for a reason.”
She stops what was going to be a longer rant with a hand on my forearm. “I’m trying to speak words you’ll relate to. Throw me a bone here.”
“Is this really that important to you?”
“It’s not important for me. It’s important for you.” Her expression grows serious. “Look. You’re getting the job you want, and that’s great. But you’re young. You’re supposed to be floundering around a bit before you settle down, screwing up and taking names. Taking names and screwing people. I’d hate to see you so focused on the end result that your life becomes a means to an end.”
I didn’t know she was so worried about my goal-oriented nature. I feel like her words should sting, but they resonate instead. “Thank you for caring so much.”
“Someone’s got to be the voice of chaos in your starchy life.” She grins. “Now are you going to go get him or not?”
“I’m not.” But I sound unsure. “He’s not even interested in me.”
“Oh, he’s interested. Snow White. With a tight ass. Remember?” She moves her hands like a conductor drawing the song to a close.
“Don’t make that my catch-phrase.”
“You should have business cards made.”
The thing about Alex is it’s impossible to get mad at her—even when you want to be. And it’s almost impossible to say no to her. This time when I sneak a glance, Tattooed Guy smiles at me, revealing even, white teeth and a dimple on his left cheek. God, he’s delicious.
“Careful, Rachel. He might think you’re going steady if you keep looking at him like that. Time to raise the stakes and flash him an ankle.”
“Excuse me, girls, sorry to interrupt,” the waiter interrupts my search for a witty retort.
“Yes?” Alex trills like she was expecting this all along.
He leans closer to me and gestures at the Tattooed Guy, who jerks his head up in a nod of recognition. “That gentleman has requested you join him.”
2
For three shaky inhalations I’m frozen by possibility, by temptation. By his naughty mouth.
But my new job…
I swallow hard. “Please thank the gentleman for his invitation, but tell him we’re on a girls’ night.”
“Rachel!” Alex looks like she wants to catapult me into his booth.
“Thank you,” I say more firmly to the waiter, dismissing him. “I can’t, Alex.”
“I know no such thing,” she pouts. “Do you care to explain?”
If she knew the conditions I’d agreed to in order to secure my position on the symphony, she’d drop the whole thing and for half a second I consider telling her.
But I’m not supposed to say anything about it. And, honestly, I don’t want her to know. Also, there’s a chance that if she did know, she’d encourage a one-night fling even more.
So I give her other equally good reasons that I can’t hook-up tonight. “Let’s say I go over and talk to him and he’s not a complete jerk. Maybe he’s even interested in me.” And we go to his place and have amazing sex that blows my mind and changes me.
No, no. Don’t go there.
I shake my head. “Then what?”
Alex snaps her fingers and waggles her head. “Then you leave here with a spring in your step and a twinkle in your eye.”
“No. Because it sets me up for disappointment. It kills the fantasy. Right now I can pretend he knows female anatomy and has a dick wider than my pinkie. What’s the point of finding out I’m wrong?”
“You are not wrong. That boy is hung, I promise you. You can tell by that cocky glint…” She trails off and I follow her stare to his table where a woman is sliding into the place next to him with a giant smile. Her tank top is dangerously low cut, jeans painted on, but she looks completely in her element, breezy smile on her glossy lips. He doesn’t object to her presence.
“Right. And I’m supposed to be his type?” Obviously, Tattooed Guy isn’t that sad about my refusal, because he nods and smiles at the woman, letting her hand wander up his shoulder.
“She took your open door.” Alex is more disappointed than it’s worth.
“She can have it. I’m moving and don’t have time for dalliances.”
“The fact you just called booty calls ‘dalliances’ only further argues my case.”
“Whatever. I’m going to the bathroom.” I take my clutch with me, planning to refresh my lip-gloss while I’m in there. Because it’s wiped away on my wine glass, not because of him.
Okay, also because of him.
Unfortunately, the hallway to the Ladies room is right next to Tattooed Guy’s booth. I feel like a high school girl trying to slip past my crush after my friend went and sent him a ‘check yes or no’ note on my behalf. Keeping a casual pace—I don’t want it to look like I’m sprinting to the bathroom—I manage to get to his table without him noticing me. Then again, it isn’t that hard seeing how distracted he is by his visitor, now practically draped across his lap.
He’s even more attractive up close, his chiselled features less perfect but more stunning in their flaws. His shirt hugs his chest and arms hinting at spectacular muscles hidden underneath.
And that mouth. That sinful, seductive mouth.
I memorize every part of him I can in the few seconds it takes to pass him. Like I said to Alex—he’s perfect fantasy material. I want to remember as much of him as I can when I recreate him in my head alone in the dark later tonight. The scene is already starting to form in my mind—he unbuttons his jeans, that sassy smirk on his lips as he lowers them and his boxers just enough to spring o
ut, hard and stone and definitely bigger than my pinkie.
Moisture pools beneath my legs and I pick up my step.
I duck into the bathroom and firmly slide the lock into place, breathing in the cooler air in the stall. I never think about strangers’ packages. Especially not so vividly. It’s got to be the wine, or the move. Or the situation with my job. All of it. I know I’m making the right decision—it’s the only decision I can make. But tonight for some reason, I feel certainty swirling away from me.
No pun intended, I chuckle, and flush with my foot before exiting the stall, glad the bathroom’s empty.
A few tendrils of hair have escaped my ponytail, and once I’ve washed my hands, I smooth them down, noting my flushed cheeks. Snow White indeed. I waffle about the lip-gloss, deciding to reapply in the end. Because I feel confident wearing it and I need that right now.
Even with the ego-boosting shine on my lips, I hesitate with my hand against the door. Okay, I’ll just walk out and not even look at him on the way past, no big deal. He’s just a random guy.
The bar’s filled a little more, gotten a little warmer and louder. I sidestep a woman heading to the bathroom and get nudged closer to Tattooed Guy’s table in the process. My accidental arm flail when attempting to right myself seems to catch his attention and I’m pinned with his eyes—gorgeous stormy teal eyes so shocking I’m almost knocked off balance again.
“Hey.” He grins and I melt at the sound of his voice, rough and raw and scratchy like a needle on an old record.
And now I have to respond. Pretending I don’t know he’s talking to me would be rude, and I’m already half-turning toward him like a flower to the sun. “Hey,” I manage in return.
There. We exchanged greetings as I passed. It’s all good. Now keep walking on.
Except, he says more. “Thank you.”
“For?” He’s alone again, I realize, his overfriendly visitor gone.“For?”
He holds up his bottle. “You bought me a drink. And then refused my invitation.” His head tilts to the side. “That’s kind of contradictory, isn’t it?”
Long Ball: A Secret Baby Sports Romance Page 14
