Knocking Boots (Sexy Standalone)

by Willow Winters

  “Hey!” Diane says, snapping her fingers in front of my face. I wrinkle my nose at her, and she smiles. “Quit moping and drink already!”

  Soon, not one, but two shots are put in front of me.

  “What are these?” I ask, eyeing them. The shots are purplish and sticky-looking.

  “Don’t worry about it!” Diane says. “Just shoot it!”

  Everyone throws the shots back, one and then the other. I do the same, willing the alcohol to drown out all the overthinking I’m doing. To my surprise, it actually tastes good, like a piece of grape-flavored candy.

  “Mmm,” I hum appreciatively. I sip my beer and sigh. This isn’t exactly torture.

  A night out and some alcohol definitely can’t hurt.

  An hour later, we collectively heave ourselves out the front door and into Claire’s car. I drank way too much. I knew it too, but each one made the anxiety in my chest feel lighter and lighter. There are six women packed in Claire’s little Nissan Altima, but we’re not going far. Mac's is right around the corner from here, and they’ve got a DJ spinning tonight.

  We get to Mac's in one piece, thanks to Claire being the designated driver. It’s dark inside, with a couple of spotlights casting their glow on the bodies packing the dance floor.

  “Whoa,” I say as I push through the crowd toward the bar. It’s not usually this packed. But then again, I come during the weekdays mostly.

  Charlie’s working the far end of the bar, serving drinks to what looks like a whole sorority’s worth of girls. I purse my lips and follow Diane to the other end of the bar, where a young guy is making drinks.

  I try to think what his name is, but it escapes me. I realize that I must be tipsy, so I try to rein myself in while I stand at the bar, although my eyes keep darting to Charlie, waiting for him to see me. There’s not enough alcohol to make the bundle of nerves in my stomach knock it the fuck off.

  It takes a couple of minutes for me to get a drink. When I’m finally at the front of the line at the bar, I catch Charlie’s eye. He looks at me, then at my work friends, and sort of shakes his head. He’s smiling, though. I bite down on my lip, feeling the smile stretch across my face as I rock on my heels.

  But before I can even say hi, his attention is diverted back to the coeds, and he says something that makes them all titter. I can literally see one of them trying to pull Charlie in for a kiss. He dodges the kiss at the last minute, but I’ve had my fill of watching.

  It’s just fun. But this isn’t fun to me.

  I turn away, grabbing my drink, cheeks heating and my throat feeling tight. If Charlie can flirt with every woman who looks his way, there’s nothing saying that I can’t have fun with whoever I want. I dance my way over to Diane, trying not to let my hurt show.

  It’s not like you even have anything with Charlie, I remind myself. If he doesn’t care about me, I shouldn’t care what Charlie thinks.

  I put my hands up in the air and dance. Diane and the girls join in, and I try to just relax and have fun. I refuse to look over at Charlie, instead plastering my gaze on the back wall where the TVs are playing some music video.

  It doesn’t take long for my exuberance on the dance floor to begin to draw men in. They crowd around me and the girls, smiling and grooving. I pick a tall guy and dance in his direction, and he soon realizes I've singled him out.

  He moves closer and puts a hand on my hip. I let him, feeling dangerous. My hips sway and I know I wouldn’t do this if Charlie wasn’t here, but I don’t care. I sneak a look up at the man who’s got his hands on me, and think that he’s not terrible looking. I could have chosen worse for a dance partner, not that I’m going to hook up with him or anything.

  It’s just fun. The snide thought makes me turn in the man’s arms, throwing my hands up around his neck and getting a little closer. But I turn around quickly, stopping that before it gets too heavy.

  The song changes, turning into a slow grind. He moves closer, and I let him pull me into his arms. I grin as we grind, feeling like I’m breaking so many taboos.

  He turns me around so that my back is to him, and I keep dancing, letting the heat from our bodies rise higher and higher. The dancers around me show off some serious moves. Some of them straight up look like they could be having sex.

  That makes me a little uncomfortable, my body tingling and the effects of the alcohol really starting to hit me. The next thing I know, my dance partner surprises me by kissing my ear, which makes me freeze.

  What the hell? I think, trying to free myself from his grip on both of my arms.

  I try again, but he’s holding me a little too close, a little too tight.

  Suddenly I'm physically ripped apart from my dance partner. My forearm is burning from being pulled so hard. I blink up at Charlie, who's glaring daggers at the guy who was dancing with me.

  “You should go,” Charlie rumbles, his moss green eyes glinting. His chest is heaving, and he looks downright dangerous. He’s holding me, almost cradling me against his chest. My breathing comes in frantic as my body tenses.

  “Uhh…” the other guy says, looking to me. “I didn’t mean to get in the middle of anything, I swear.”

  The guy slinks off toward the front door, occasionally looking back at us and Charlie watches him the entire way. It’s not lost on me that the bar is quiet. The people are hushed, and the dancing has paused. I push at Charlie’s chest, feeling the burn of eyes on us, but he hauls me off the dance floor, towing me toward the back of the bar, my feet nearly stumbling over one another.

  He pulls me into the area that's for employees only, a part of the bar I’ve never been in before. He lets me go, and I run my hands down my dress, not looking him in the eye.

  “What the hell?” Charlie demands.

  “I should be the one saying that,” I snap, feeling my throat go tight as I cross my arms.

  “I just saved you,” he says, cocking his head and folding his arms across his chest.

  “From what, exactly?”

  “From getting felt up!”

  I grind my teeth. “Maybe I wanted that.”

  “You… what?” For a moment, Charlie is actually speechless. “You did not.”

  “Maybe I did. Maybe I had designs on… you know, that guy.” My arm flies out and I point to the door, feeling the anger rise up in my chest. All I can see is him kissing that girl.

  “You had designs on him, but you don’t know his name?” he shoots back.

  I flush. “Maybe.”

  “If you carry on like this in public, my family’ll find out about it.”

  Now I’m honestly offended. My eyes narrow, and all I see is red.

  “You only care what I do because your family might find out?” I growl. “I have to go.”

  I turn and start toward the rear exit, my body trembling.

  “Wait, Grace… that came out wrong.”

  He catches me by the arm, which just pisses me off more. I don’t like being pulled and pushed around. He’s done that enough already.

  “Fuck you, Charlie,” I hiss on my way. “I’m out of here.”

  I leave him there, standing in the hallway, looking lost. My breath comes in heavier and heavier.

  He probably just wants to get in my pants. I get that. It’s very tempting, but it doesn’t fulfill my need to start a family.

  Still, I wonder how wrong it would be to just let him have his way with me. I could scratch an itch and get a chance to have Charlie’s kid at the same time. He doesn’t even have to know about the kid...

  I head outside to the back parking lot. I don’t look back as I walk around to hail a cab, preoccupied. It’s the outskirts of the city. Just as I’m thinking I may have to wait a while and maybe I should go back in, I see one coming.

  I’m still mad at Charlie as I open the door to the cab without looking back.

  I get in and sink down in the seat, closing my eyes. “Just take me home. Seven-zero-seven Sycamore Drive, Oakhurst.”

  “Sure
thing.”

  I lean my head against the cool glass of the window and try not to think of any of it... of him… anymore tonight.

  Chapter 14

  Charlie

  My alarm clock goes off, but I’m already up. I slap my hand down and the incessant beeping stops. I couldn’t sleep for shit. The whole night, all I kept thinking was that I’m an asshole for trying to claim Grace without giving her a commitment. Worse, feeling like she’s done with me.

  And I don’t want to be done with her.

  I sink back into the bed, staring at the thin opening between the dark curtains and watch the stream of light pouring into the bedroom. My only hope is that she said she’d go to the wedding. I don’t know why I’m holding onto her as hard as I am. We haven’t even kissed. She’s not tied to me in the least.

  The bed groans as I slowly slip off the edge and stretch my arms high above my head. I crack my neck as my bare feet pad on the wooden floors. They’re cold, and I’m pretty sure the furnace went out last night. Every hair on my arms stands on end, and goosebumps travel up my back to the base of my neck.

  Damn, I hadn’t even noticed. I grab my phone off the nightstand on my way out of the bedroom. I gotta call her or text her. Something; I can’t leave her thinking of me like I’m just some prick.

  That’s how she looked at me last night. My heart thuds hard in my chest as I climb down the stairs, not bothering to grip onto the iron railing.

  This house is old, built in the '30s and in need of a little more TLC. I bought it just before I bought the bar from Mac. I round the stairs in the foyer and take in the progress I’ve made. The slate flooring at the entry is fucking freezing against my bare feet. The furnace definitely went out.

  I got more work done on the house before I started spending all my time at the bar. The first floor is completely remodeled, with new everything and fresh paint. Gray tones and dark blues are the theme throughout the open floor plan, including the black granite and steel backsplash in the kitchen. I spent all the money I had to make this place into the modern bachelor pad I wanted it to be.

  But now when I look at it, it’s just cold. Empty. Devoid of life. The lines are too straight, and the furniture practically looks brand new. 'Cause it’s barely been touched.

  The door to the basement opens up with a creak and I switch on the light, a single bulb at the bottom of the rickety stairs. I never did get around to making the downstairs what I wanted it to be. A half-built bar is in the very back. Drywall's been put up and screwed into place, but I didn’t even spackle it.

  I don’t even want it anymore; I think I just wanted to believe I was loving the bachelor life.

  The truth hits me hard, like a bullet to the chest. I keep moving, heading toward the furnace to mess with the electrical box. I know the right cords that need to be wiggled and tightened to get it to kick back on. I should get Joseph to come down here and fix this shit.

  As I’m messing with the cords in the box, I think back to how pissed off I was when I bought this house.

  It was the first one on my list. The realtor showed it to me, and I bought it right then and there. All the money that I had saved up for the wedding became a down payment instead.

  The furnace clicks on with a loud swoosh and clink.

  I stand back, shutting the thin metal door to the box and stare at it as the fire burns high and the sound of air running through the house kicks in.

  I didn’t give a damn about anything other than getting as far away as I could without being so far that I’d lose my family.

  And now here I am, all these years later, in a cold house, alone.

  And pushing away the cute little sweetheart who made me happy for the first time in God knows how long.

  It wasn’t right grabbing her up like that. But she had to know dancing with that prick would drive me insane. I huff a humorless laugh, climbing the stairs and thinking about how she left the bar.

  She did it on purpose.

  I kick the basement door shut and head to the island to have a seat and call her, but before my ass even sits, the phone goes off in my hand.

  And it’s her.

  My breath stills for a moment, the only thought being that she’s telling me she’s not going to the wedding. I’ll figure it out one way or the other, but she’s coming. I’ll make last night up to her… but she’s coming to that damn wedding, and I’m finally going to get a taste of my sweetheart.

  I hit the button and answer the call.

  “Hello,” I say easily as if I’m not tense and waiting for her to try to back out of this. As if I’m not trying to figure out what exactly I need to say. I’m not letting her go. I’ve fucked up so much in the last few years, but letting her walk away from me before I’ve had a chance to make a move on her isn’t going to be my next mistake.

  “Charlie,” her soft voice pours through the phone, and the tone catches me off guard. It’s apologetic. I hear her breathe into the phone. “Look, before you say anything, I just want to say, I’m very sorry. I shouldn’t have told you off-”

  “Sweetheart, you can stop right there.” I can practically hear her sharp intake and see her sucking at her teeth. I’ve seen her do it before, when she’s worried about something. The picture in my head of her doing it makes me smile and I relax against the island, the granite cool on my forearms. “I’m sorry. It’s my fault. You were-”

  “Drunk,” she finishes for me. “I was drunk, and I was… I was a little upset.”

  My back stiffens and I readjust in my seat, waiting for more. But she doesn’t give it to me. “Why?”

  “It’s stupid, you were just doing your job. But those girls were all over you… and-” she starts to ramble, and I cut her off.

  “Those girls don’t mean a thing.” I say the words like it’s the only truth I know. “I don’t want them, Grace…” I feel the words on the tip of my tongue. I just want you. But I hesitate, and she continues.

  “Thank you, Charlie. I really am sorry.” She sounds so apologetic, and I just let it go. I let out a heavy sigh and feel disappointed with myself.

  “I’m sorry, too.” I rub my forearm, staring at the floor as I talk to her. The small smile comes back as I tell her, “You’re cute when you’re feisty. Drunk and feisty.”

  Her small laugh fills the phone. I can imagine her blushing.

  “Well, thank you… I’ll see you soon?” she says, like it’s a question.

  “I better,” I tell her.

  “Alright then, bye Charlie.” I realize as she says the words that I don’t like her telling me bye.

  “Bye, sweetheart.” I don’t like telling her bye either. The phone clicks dead and I drop the phone.

  I shake my head. This is bad. It’s real bad. I already like her too much. I already want to keep her. But we have different life plans.

  I stare at my kitchen, trying to remember the last time I used it. The biggest problem though, is that I don’t have a plan. Not one that makes me happy.

  Chapter 15

  Grace

  I dress myself to go to the Piedmont Park Arts Festival in a strappy linen-colored cotton sundress. It’s my favorite. I twist around in front of the mirror in my bedroom, my mind on the upcoming event and a smile on my face.

  The festival will be mostly outdoors in the park, with lots of individual artists’ booths set up in a sprawling array. It’s something that I would attend anyway, but this time I have a real reason to go.

  I chew my lip as I try to decide on a jacket, as it’ll be cool outside this early in the morning. A smile curves my lips up as I pick a light denim jacket, pairing it with a pair of light brown leather ankle boots.

  I look in the mirror, and my expression twists. A pale redhead peers back at me, her blue eyes anxious.

  Do I really look like that?

  I need emotional support today, someone to lean on. I pick up my phone and scroll through the contacts. I almost call Diane, the first number in my recent calls, but I stop myself.
Why the hell would I call her? A heavy sigh leaves me as I close my eyes and remember how she reacted when I showed her my art before. Fuck that. I am not calling Diane. I can almost hear her picking apart all the artists now.

  Ugh, can you believe these people make art? she’d say. It’s unbelievable.

  I can see the faces she’d make; she isn’t capable of being the kind of support I need today. I shake my head, then thumb upward to Charlie’s number.

  I hesitate, but hit dial before I can overthink it. It’s just a phone call. I hold my breath for a second, wondering if he’ll even pick up. He’s probably steering clear of me now. I would be, if I were in his shoes.

  Except he does pick up, on the third ring.

  “Hello?” he says. His voice sounds scratchy, like I woke him up.

  “Hey! Am I calling you too early?” I lean against the doorframe of my closet, staring at my comforter and waiting to hear what he’s going to say.

  “Nah. I was just getting going. What’s up?”

  My lips twist again, but this time it’s a smile.

  “I’m going to this… this outdoor festival,” I say. “I was wondering, if you aren’t too busy… if you’d like to go.”

  “A festival?”

  “Yeah. Piedmont Park Arts Festival. It’s kind of an apology, for being so wretched the other night.”

  “You already apologized, and I forgave you.”

  “Okay. Well… still.”

  “I’m assuming this is happening now?” he asks.

  “It’s all day today, but I was planning on going early.”

  He’s quiet for a second, ruminating. “Will there be coffee?”

  I laugh, and it eases something inside of me. “I can bring coffee... if you want.” I sag against the door, turning my back to it as my tense muscles relax.

  “I’m game, then. I can meet you at the entrance to the park in… I don’t know, forty minutes? An hour, if you want me to shower.”