by Ivy Carter
I tell myself I’d be a shitty bar owner if I didn’t try to serve my customers, and I go over to her. “Another?”
“I think I want a shot,” she declares.
“I see.” I fight back the smirk that threatens to erupt and say, “And what kind of shot are you looking for?”
“A blowjob.”
Hearing the word slide from her mouth makes my cock twitch again, and I imagine my dick pressing between her swollen lips, her on her knees in front of me, panting and licking and wet. I keep my breathing steady and pretend I’m not affected. “You got it.” I start to move away to make her shot.
“Do one with me,” she blurts out.
With this, I pause and turn back to her. “I don’t do blowjobs, sweetheart.”
“Oh, I’m sure you don’t give ‘em, but I bet you receive enough of them.” There’s a definite flirtiness in her tone, and she licks her lower lips. The angel is trying to tease the demon, is she? Get a response out of me?
I need to resist this, but I’m finding myself pulled to her. The fact is, last Friday was crazy, yet here she is again, pretending like it didn’t bother her. Maybe she’s trying to pick me up.
I can’t let it go that far—won’t let it. But I can’t resist flirting back. “Fine, but next we do a shot of my choice.”
She swallows a little, then nods. “Deal.”
I mix the blowjobs for us and hand her one. We clink the shot glasses on the counter, then raise them in the air. I give her a small nod, and we swig them back.
She gasps and rubs her chest. “Oh, that’s hot going down.”
“Pretty sure it’s suppose to be,” I lob right back.
She laughs, and her whole face lights up. The sudden shift in seeing her like this makes my pulse throb. Holy fuck, did I say earlier that she’s gorgeous? She’s ethereal when she’s smiling. “You make it good,” she says, and her compliment warms my chest in a way I find slightly disconcerting.
“What’s your name, sweetheart?” I find myself asking.
“Aubrey.” The word is a small breath, and she licks those sexy lips again.
“I’m Smith. Welcome to Rock Bridge.”
Her eyes widen in mock surprise. “That was actually polite, Smith. I hope you’re not losing your surly demeanor. I’ve so come to enjoy our encounters and I’d hate for you to change just for me.”
The half grin that had been working its way across my face grows bigger. Aubrey is…refreshing. She’s definitely flirting with me, that much is clear. But I like that she’s busting my balls too. Not afraid to throw it right back at me.
This one’s full of surprises, I decide.
“You ready for your next shot?” I lean toward her and stare into her eyes. Fuck, her gaze is so intense as she looks back at me with increasing sexual interest, like she has no filter at all. I can see everything on her face, every nuanced emotion. How the hell has she made it through life exuding this level of innocence, of naivety, and not been utterly broken yet?
I can almost smell her heat; the thought of how expressive she probably would be in bed makes me bite back a groan. I’m sliding into dangerous territory here—this girl is so not for me. I’d do well to remember that before I get caught up in her.
She nods. “What’s our drink of choice?”
“Jameson.”
“Whiskey.” Aubrey gives a nervous laugh. “I…really haven’t had a lot of that.”
“Seems like a good time to try something new,” I tell her, knowing my words are loaded and that I shouldn’t be saying it.
“Smith!” Maria bellows. “My new friend here wants to buy me a drink.” There’s a sharpness in her voice that I don’t quite care for. Clearly she wants me to feel jealous over some other guy trying to bang her.
I walk over to them, flinging a dishtowel over my shoulder. I keep my face expressionless; best to start cooling shit with Maria so she doesn’t think it’s ever going to be more than casual hook-ups. I give the guy a nod. “She likes rum and Coke, if you’re trying to get anywhere with her.”
Maria gives a little shocked gasp and blinks. She huffs and swivels to the guy, plastering a smile on her face. “That’s what I used to drink. Now I really like Jim Beam and ginger ale.”
I can’t help but laugh a little—it’s what the guy is drinking. Maria gets over shit fast, I’ll give her that. I mix one up for her and slide it to her, and the guy hands me a few bills. Then Sam is ready for a refill, so I pour him another beer.
“Thanks, man,” he slurs. His mussed brown hair is flopped over his brow, and he squints at his watch, trying to read the time, moving it closer and further away.
“It’s ten thirty-five,” I tell him. Sam hasn’t told me much of his story—unlike most drunks, he doesn’t treat the bar like a personal confessional. But I can tell he’s avoiding going home. Of course I wonder why, but I’ll never pry. The man has a right to his privacy; in fact, most of our “clientele” frequent Outlaws because no one gives a fuck what you’re doing. We all just mind our own here.
Sam nods, and I sidle back to Aubrey. She’s quietly watching me, taking in everything going on.
“So.” She clears her throat, and the pink on her cheeks deepen. “Um, we’re doing a shot of Jameson?” She digs in her purse.
“This one’s on me,” I say, waving her off. With deft, practiced moves, I pour the shots and give her one.
Her thankful smile makes something in my chest tighten. How is it she can look so fucking appreciative over someone buying her a shot? The more I’m around her, the less I think she’s a princess. No, she doesn’t have that air of easy money about her. That demeanor that says she naturally expects to get things handed to her. This girl is different than that sort of bullshit.
“What should we toast to?” she asks me in that sweet tone that simultaneously makes me want to grab the back of her head and kiss her, but also run the fuck away.
This girl feels dangerous to me in all the worst ways.
“Let’s toast to more blowjobs,” I say in a distancing tone, then down the shot without looking at her. I hear her clink the glass on the counter, and I take it and walk off, rinsing them out and putting them back.
My brother Jax slides behind me and slugs me in the shoulder. “Hey, you almost look fucking happy for once in your life. What gives?”
“Shut up and go pour something,” I tell him.
He pauses and eyes Aubrey. “Oh, she’s back. Mmmm, she’s looking mighty nice tonight.”
I shoot him a glare. “No. Just no.”
Jax quirks a brow at me and says in an overly innocent tone, “I’m merely being friendly with the customers. And you left her without a drink. Tsk-tsk. That’s lost money, isn’t that what you’re always telling me?” Jax smirks; he knows how to push my buttons better than anyone else. “I’m going to go help her, because she looks like a little lost lamb in a den of wolves.”
“More like an angel in a den of demons,” I mutter. Maybe it’s better if Jax serves her though. I’m finding her too charming anyway.
Jax goes over to her, and within two minutes, she’s giving that sparkling laugh again, the one that lights up everything around her. And I kind of hate that Jax is the one making her laugh this time. Because a stupid part of me wants it aimed all at me.
My gaze is drawn over to the pool table, where I see a couple of guys standing in front of each other, posturing with each other, trying to be overly macho. I give a heavy sigh and head over there to talk them down before shit explodes.
The joys of co-owning a bar—guys get drunk and fucking stupid, and they start having dick-measuring contests. Jax, my middle brother, and Asher, our youngest brother, leave most of the business operations to me, so I have to admit, the bar feels more like “mine” than “ours.”
I walk up to the two men. “Is there a problem? If so, take it the fuck outside.” I don’t care if people are rowdy in here. I just don’t want them breaking my shit. It costs money to replace tables and g
lasses, and we’re not quite flush with cash.
One of the guys, a regular at Outlaws named Shep, huffs. “No problem, except that this guy is a total pussy.”
“Your mom didn’t think I was a pussy last night when I was banging the fuck out of her,” the guy tosses back.
Shep lunges toward him, and I hold him back and roll my eyes. “Grow up and stop being idiots. Come on.” I grip their shoulders and make them look at me. “Chill the fuck out and have a beer.”
They both give reluctant nods and separate, Shep with his tall and skinny girlfriend, the other guy by himself. Good. I don’t have time to deal with this horseshit. Too much on my mind.
Like how my body keeps wanting to turn back toward Aubrey and see what she’s doing. To see those sexy-as-hell legs crossed, with a good portion of her thigh exposed…
Without giving in to the urge, I head down the dim hallway and go out back. The air is thick and muggy tonight, and my skin is instantly slicked with sweat. My hand reaches for my back jeans pocket before I remember my cigarettes aren’t in there. Brilliant idea I had, giving up smoking a couple of months ago.
But Aunt Roselyn wouldn’t stop hounding me about it until I caved just to shut her up.
I rub the nicotine patch on my upper arm, wishing I could roll it up and smoke it, when the door creaks open and Aubrey walks through. She pauses, startled.
“Oh, sorry,” she says shyly. “Is this area employees only?”
Fuck. I sigh. “No, you’re fine. I’m going back inside.”
Aubrey takes a few tentative steps up to me. There’s a softness in her eyes, the haze of alcohol, and I can smell its delicate flavor on her breath. “Um, did I do something to offend you? I mean, at first it seemed like you hated me, and then like you didn’t, and now it feels like it again—”
“I don’t hate you. I don’t even know you.” I keep my voice flat, willing myself to not respond to her body language, her tone. The way she’s leaning toward me, her lips parted, her eyes wide, her breath coming in small pants…she wants me.
And fuck if my body doesn’t instantly respond. My cock jumps to attention, slamming against my zipper. My pulse is a throb in my limbs, and I suck in a deep breath.
“I just…” Her lips thin and she glances at the ground. “It’s… I don’t know how to feel around you. I think you like me and then you act weird. It’s throwing me off.”
Her honesty startles me, silences me. I’ve never met someone as open and blunt as she is. The girl holds nothing back. And it’s magnetic. I can tell where I stand with her, how she feels about me—it’s all over her face, in her body language, pouring through her tone.
She’s attracted to me and struggling over it.
Before I realize what’s happening, I cup the back of her head and tug her to me. The moment my lips press against her, I release a sigh that feels like it’s been in my chest for years, and then I part her lips with my tongue.
She opens to me, eager, pliant, submissive. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I yank her against me, our bodies flush, and she gives herself to me as I plunder her mouth, taste her. She gives a small whimper, her chest heaving, breasts pushing against me.
I’m drawn to her, wrapping my hands around her small waist, aching like fuck to feel her naked skin against mine. My fingers slide of their own volition to her waistband and pull her tiny tank top out from inside her skirt, and then I touch her bare flesh and I moan in her mouth. My dick aches so badly I can barely take it.
“Oh my fucking God,” I mutter. Her skin is like silk, soft and ready for me. I’ve never felt skin so soft. I want to touch her everywhere.
Aubrey whimpers and her body grinds against me in what seems more like an unconscious motion. “Yes,” she breathes against my mouth.
I push my hand under her shirt and grip her upper back, squeeze my fingers to dig into her skin. She grunts and sucks in a deep breath, arching against me. God, yes—
What the fuck am I doing? Making out with a customer in the back of the bar? I draw all my strength and remove my hands from her body, then step back.
Aubrey’s standing there, lips swollen, breath panting, eyes heavily lidded. She’s so innocent but so fucking primed for me. I could probably take her upstairs to my apartment and spread her wide and plunge deep inside her.
But I can’t do that. Because she deserves better than to be one of my random booty calls. I can’t ruin her. The kind of life I lead—it’s not for a girl like her.
Aubrey’s too good for me, and if she doesn’t realize it—I’ll have to help her figure it out.
The thought sobers me, and my cock deflates a little. “This can’t happen,” I make myself say. I see a riot of emotions flash across her face, but I continue. “Go home, sweetheart.” I make myself use the generic endearment instead of her name. I don’t want her to feel like something could happen with us. Because there’s no fucking way it can. “You’re drunk. Sleep it off.”
Aubrey just stares at me for a moment, her chest rising and falling. Her eyes are filled with things I can’t quite interpret. But I see the moment the shutters fall, and I feel the instantaneous pangs of disappointment, despite it being my fault, my intent. She gives a curt nod and without saying a word, spins on her heel and vanishes back into the bar.
I should be relieved.
I should feel like I did something good, something noble and selfless.
Instead, I feel like I cheated myself out of something amazing.
I spend another twenty minutes outside, cooling down, convincing myself that I’m doing the right thing. Clearly she and I would not be good together. She doesn’t seem like the hook-up kind of girl, which is all I’m looking for right now. I can’t give anything else, and I don’t want to. So why make things harder for both of us?
When I go inside, she’s gone, and I spend the rest of the night telling myself I’m not feeling like I lost someone special. Not at all.
Aubrey
My head won’t stop pounding.
I smother a groan, squinting my eyes open, and try to avoid staring at the light pouring in through my bedroom window. My head is a fog, my brain sluggish. At first I can’t quite remember what happened last night.
But the blissful naivety passes all too soon, and then I remember. My stomach sinks with mortification. Fuck.
I groan and tug the covers over my face. Maybe I can just lay here and die, and then I don’t have to face how fucking embarrassing last night was.
How I had the hottest damn kiss of my life…and then he basically pushed me away and told me he didn’t want me, in so many words.
I am the world’s biggest moron. And now I want to jump off a bridge. How did this happen? Smith is a jerk. A jerk and smarmy and rude and so ridiculously hot— Okay, I know how it happened. Because I was so turned on by him that when the moment presented itself, and he grabbed me to kiss me, I practically threw my desperate body on him. Wanting him beyond reason.
I was so turned on last night, I would have done anything he asked me to do.
And then he asked me to go.
And I did. Because I was so embarrassed I wanted to die on the spot.
So much for feeling sexy. I dressed to kill last night, wearing my cutest outfit, ready to show him I was worth paying attention to. And he did, all right. Until he apparently came to his senses and decided I wasn’t what he wanted.
Was I that bad a kisser? I’ve never had complaints before…
And he did seem into it, at first anyway.
I groan again. My life officially sucks.
My cell phone rings. Despite the slight heave in my stomach, I reach my hand out of the blanket and grab it, then check the caller ID. It’s Michaela. The one person who could possibly pull me out of this funk.
Michaela knows me well. Knows everything—the bad and the good about my life and what I’ve been through. I can trust her, and that’s about as rare as it gets in my world right now.
A wave of sheer missing her almost overwhelms
me as I answer. “Oh my God, how did you know I needed you right now?” I ask.
“Because I’m psychic, you crazy bitch,” she declares. “How are you doing? You were supposed to call me last night and I didn’t hear from you. I thought you were dead in a ditch or you fell in a well.”
“I only wish that had happened.” Fuck, I hadn’t necessarily meant to say that, but some stupid part of me must want to purge this off my chest. Damn my big mouth.
“Don’t talk like that.”
“It’s not actually that bad,” I admit. “Just vaguely humiliating.”
Michaela’s curiosity is piqued, and once she gets on a scent, there’s no detracting her. “Go on. Tell mama everything.”
Reluctantly, I spill the beans. I talk about meeting Smith my first night, the creeper who hit on me, how Smith punched him, and then our kiss and his rejection. I end with, “And now I’m hung over and feeling like a total moron.”
“Wow.” I can hear the awe in her voice. “When you start over, you really start over.”
“Come on now.”
“No, seriously. I’m so fucking proud of you I could puke. I was afraid that Roger had scared you into never trying again, but here you are, going out there and meeting new people. Do you realize how amazing you are?”
My eyes burn, and I blink back tears. “Oh, shush.”
“You shush, bitch.” But I hear the love in her voice, and I know she’s happy for me. “I’m sure you’re embarrassed, because I know you, but you shouldn’t be. You went out and had a little fun—don’t make it into such a big thing.”
I want to do as she says, but the burn of rejection I feel so strongly still aches my chest. “He told me to go home and sleep it off.”
She laughs “Sounds kind of funny. Were you that drunk?”
“I guess. I don’t know.” I sigh, confused about whether I’ve read too much into the entire thing. It was a flirty, drunken hookup and he was smart enough to admit as much. He probably kisses women like that on a daily basis.
