Someone Like You

by Brittney Sahin

  A sneaky smile meets his lips. “Well, I have a friend who can get us into Club Y. He’s the bouncer, and we can bypass the line.”

  “Great. Sounds like fun,” I say while rolling my eyes, but I probably shouldn’t be a dick to him. Cam’s only trying to help me get back out there again.

  “But you can’t go like that.”

  “Like what?” I’m in jeans and a black tee.

  “This is New York.”

  As though that’s supposed to mean something to me.

  Cam holds up his hands. “Fine. Fine. But at least lose those dirty work boots.”

  I scratch at the stubble on my jaw, and my hand slides down to my throat, where I pinch at the skin there. I’m mentally preparing myself for what I’m about to do. Enter a club named one letter, and it has an honest-to-God red velvet rope. I thought that was for the movies.

  “We’re good to go in. Come on.” Cam motions for me to follow him, and we walk past the long line.

  I nod my thanks to the bouncer and follow Cam into the club. It’s not what I was expecting. A dark hallway, lit only by a strand of lights trailing along the sides as if I’m at the movie theater in search of my seats.

  Oh, and it gets better. Once we reach the end of the hall, there’s a door painted a variety of colors—swirls of red, pink, bright orange, and something close to green without looking like geese shit. And I have to wonder if we’re about to cross into Neverland or that place where Alice follows the rabbit down the hole. Okay, so maybe I’ve watched too many kids’ movies, but I’m just not ready for this scene. When we walk through the door, it’s like I’m tripping on acid, even though I’ve never done drugs aside from accidentally eating Cindy’s hash brownies back in my senior year.

  No, I’m not some schoolboy saint, and I don’t currently perform miracles, but I’m not a fan of altering my mental state.

  “What do you think?” Cam smiles at me and slaps his hands together.

  All I can do is squint as I try to gain visibility in the room. I need my night vision goggles for clubbing in New York.

  Is the place on fire, or do they purposely fill the room with so much smoke people can barely breathe? And what the hell is with the people dangling from the ceiling from what looks like hula hoops? And are they naked?

  I do a double-take at a pretty brunette, but the two guys on either side of her…well, seeing a guy’s junk on display isn’t exactly what I’d call a good Thursday night.

  “I can’t do this.” I turn away before Cam can rebut and make my way back out to the street, where I suck in a breath to clear my lungs.

  “Give it a chance. Come on, let’s go back in.”

  I face Cam and cringe at the idea of subjugating myself to that place again. Nope, it’s not going to happen. I tip my chin toward the bar across the street. “Let’s grab a drink over there. And then you head into Wonderland, and I’ll go to bed.”

  Cam laughs and slaps a hand to his chest, his fake Rolex glinting beneath the city lights. I hope one day Cam can make enough money to buy himself some stupidly expensive watch if that’s what will make him happy, but to be honest, if my cousin first learns to stop trying to impress other people and just live for himself, that would be a big improvement.

  Maybe that difference between us doesn’t have to do with age. When I was twenty-five, I was on a US destroyer—no need for pretending.

  My mind races to my broken marriage again. To a woman I’d thought I loved. Maybe love doesn’t exist. Well, at least not for me. Maybe Cindy’s right and, aside from loving my daughter, I can only ever love being a SEAL.

  Am I addicted to the fight?

  “Okay, so maybe this place has a few perks,” Cam says once we’re inside the bar across from Club Y.

  “Yeah, like being able to see,” I say before cracking a smile.

  “Whoa, wait a second.” Cam sticks his arm out in front of my chest. “Do you see that chick talking to the bartender?”

  I follow his gaze to a woman in a pair of white dress slacks and a red silk sleeveless blouse. Red and white. Like a Fourth of July gift. Her hair, the color of a dark golden honey, is swept up into a high ponytail, pulled so tight I wonder if it’s giving her a headache. I can’t see all of her face, only her profile, but she’s definitely hot. And entirely out of poor Cam’s league.

  “Dude, I have to talk to that woman. She’s got that hot secretary look.” Cam rolls his shoulders back and pushes his chest forward a little, trying to gain another inch. He tucks his hands into his gray slacks, his eyes still zoned in on the woman at the bar.

  “Why does she have to be a secretary? Maybe she’s the boss.”

  Cam looks over his shoulder at me with an “are you kidding me” look. “When did you become so goddamn progressive? And if she’s a boss, I’d be happy to bend her over her desk.”

  “Yeah, I really didn’t need that visual image.”

  “Wish me luck.” Cam pats me on the back and moves toward the woman.

  I stand off to the side of the bar, near a high-top table, and observe with amusement, waiting for what I assume to be lightning-quick rejection.

  The woman is facing him dead-on now, and it gives me the chance to look her over and see how little of a chance Cam has. Not that Cam’s a bad-looking guy, but his youth and inexperience, coupled with his crass behavior, won’t go far with a woman like her. Tall, firm body, her shoulders squared back with an edge of obvious confidence. She has curves in all the right places.

  I start for the bar, unable to stop myself.

  Her eyes drift away from Cam and meet mine as I come up next to him. Her eyes are a light blue-gray. Like the color of slate.

  “You okay?” I’m not even sure who I’m asking. The words just fall from my lips and hit the counter with a heavy thud.

  “You were just leaving, right?” she asks Cam and raises a perfectly arched brow before turning from the both of us and facing the bar again. She reaches for the stem of her martini glass and looks at the TV screen on the wall, above the rows of liquor bottles.

  Cam nods toward a few women who have come to the bar at the other end and starts their way.

  I should follow, but I don’t. “Sorry about him. I hope he didn’t say anything offensive.”

  “Nothing I haven’t heard before,” she says while glancing over her shoulder at me for a fleeting moment.

  “Right. Well, can I buy you a drink to make up for it?” I have no clue why I’m still standing here, but damned if I can get myself to move.

  “Ohhh, I get it.” She slips her hand free from her glass and faces me. “Is this some party trick of yours? One of you approaches and acts like an ass and the other guy steps in for the rescue? It’s kind of a tired routine, don’t you think?”

  Her pale eyes draw me in before my attention dips down to her lips. No lipstick or gloss. Just full, natural lips. Lips I suddenly want to pull between my teeth to see if she tastes as good as she smells.

  This is new for me. This feeling of being drawn to another woman. Even after almost a year of separation, I can’t help but notice the tinge of guilt coiling inside me over being attracted to another woman. Sure, I had those random rebound hookups, but those were out of anger.

  “No, it’s not a routine,” I say.

  “Well, you’re not my type.” Her eyes wander to my hand, which is pressed to the counter at my side.

  “And what’s your type?” I look at her. “Some guy in Armani with a money clip packed with more bills than I have in my bank account?”

  Shit. Cindy’s in my head and this woman is fast becoming my target, someone I suddenly want to hate.

  Although Miss Fourth of July looks nothing like my ex, she certainly reeks of money. Her clothes probably cost more than my rent at the docks. Not that I’m paying that much thanks to a friend.

  But the huge Prada bag on the bar stool next to her could buy my meals for a month. And the bag is another reminder of Cindy, because the only reason why I know it’s Pra
da is because Cindy’s mom bought her a similar purse on our ten-year anniversary—as if that wasn’t enough to make me feel like shit. Yes, thank you, mother-in-law, for outdoing me about ten times over on my goddamn anniversary.

  The woman stares at me with parted lips, not saying anything, and I get the feeling that isn’t the norm for her. There’s a slight bit of red pulling at her cheeks when she finds my eyes again.

  “Well, I hate to break it to you, lady, but you’re not exactly my type either.” Okay, so I don’t even know what my type is anymore, but I’m not in the right state of mind to find out.

  “Ah. You really are clever, aren’t you?” The woman’s smiling now. Her white teeth tease between her lips, but it’s the sexy way her eyes and nose smile too that has me swallowing.

  “Oh yeah? How so?” I place a hand on my chest, forgetting Cindy for the moment. Hell, the way this woman is looking at me right now, I can barely remember my own name.

  “You’re trying to make me want what I can’t have. You, in this case.”

  I didn’t expect that. Women don’t talk like this where I grew up, but I guess New York is a whole other ball game.

  “Oh really?” I’m keeping up this charade longer than I have any business to. “So you have everything you want in life, huh?”

  She wets her lips briefly. “I do, in fact.” Her eyes drift away from mine, an attempt to hide a lie.

  I step closer and bend my neck a little so our eyes meet again. “You sure about that?”

  She sucks in a noticeable breath, and when I realize I have her roped in—right the hell where any man would want a woman—I back up and turn away. Because I know a woman like her can be dangerous, and right now, I have one person I need to focus on. That’s Lily.

  Cam’s drinking a beer alone when I move toward him.

  “You struck out too? Didn’t you flex your biceps or something? Or at least tell her you’re a SEAL? Works like a charm for me. Women drop their panties when I mention that.”

  “Oh, and when did you become military?” I can’t imagine my pretty boy cousin ever even breaking a sweat, let alone shooting a gun in the desert.

  “We’re in New York, baby. I can be whoever I want to be on a night like this.”

  “Yeah, call me baby one more time.”

  He laughs and drinks more of his beer.

  “And just a tip, most SEALs don’t go around telling people who they are.”

  We live in the shadows like spooks in the CIA. Long hair, beards, it doesn’t matter. We’re designed to blend in. We’re not the typical soldier, and our wives can’t talk about what we do, not that they’re allowed to know much.

  Well, I was living that life.

  Past fucking tense.

  “Anyways, I’m out of practice with this whole dating thing,” I say and steal a quick glance at the woman at the bar.

  She rubs the tip of her heel against the back of her slacks, which pulls the material up a little, the ankle strap of her heel briefly on display.

  “Nah, it’s just the type of women who hang out in this place. Rich and—”

  “Classy,” I finish for him as two women walk by. I’m not in the mood to defend Cam if a woman has the urge to knock him in the face with her three-carat diamond ring.

  “Yeah, sure,” he grumbles. “Can we please go back to Club Y?” Cam bumps his fist to my shoulder.

  “You can go. I’m going to bed.”

  “It’s eleven.”

  “Exactly. It’s late.”

  I still get up at 5:00 a.m. to do drills. I run ten miles and work out before the sun even rises. I can’t shake the routine, and I don’t really feel like letting go. I’m not sure if I’m prepared to face the reality that I’m no longer military.

  A civilian.

  The word doesn’t sound right. I roll it around in my mouth and taste the word almost every day, trying to absorb it into my system.

  I’m still not there yet. I’m still a SEAL in my head. In my blood.

  I start for the door, not wanting Cam to try to talk me into going to Club Yo-Yo, which should be the name, but I can’t stop myself from getting one last glimpse of Miss Fourth of July.

  A guy is approaching her, and I have some strange desire to go play interference, but when he kisses her cheek and motions toward a table, I realize they know each other. Of course a woman like that is taken. And the guy’s probably wearing Armani.

  But as she walks over to a table with him, she peers my way and our eyes connect. There’s something between us—something I don’t remember feeling for a long damn time.

  But it doesn’t matter. We’re from two different worlds, and I’ll never see her again.

  2

  Grace

  “I don’t want to hear that. Get the job done or I’ll find someone else!” I kick off my heels beneath the desk and wait for my contractor to respond.

  “But the materials we ordered can’t come in for two more weeks, ma’am, so—”

  “That won’t work. Sorry, Craig. I’ll send you a check for the little work you’ve done, but you’re fired.” I end the call and lean back in my leather chair.

  “Oh, thank God! The bitch is back.” Rachel’s walking toward me, carrying two cups. She sets my usual latte in front of me and slips into the seat on the other side of my desk. “I’ve missed you. The real you. You’ve been acting all crazy—you know, nice—for the last month or so since you came back from that trip. But it’s you again. It’s really you,” she says with her typical exaggerated flair. “The Queen Bee.”

  “You’re so fired.”

  I chuckle as Rachel holds up three fingers. This is the third time I’ve fired her as my personal assistant this month.

  “You’re lucky we’re friends.” I shake my head.

  “And my friend is finally back. I hope this is goodbye to Miss Nice Girl.” She sips her drink and winks at me.

  I perk a brow. “How many other names do you have for me?”

  She smiles. “Wouldn’t you like to know. Now…who pissed you off?”

  “The company I hired to redesign my loft.” I reach for my coffee, needing the energy boost.

  “Really? And I recommended them. Damn.”

  “I need someone to fix my place up soon. It’s a mess. Jessica got her home remodeled a few months ago, and it looks phenomenal. I should have gone with the company she suggested.”

  “Jessica Scott?”

  “Yeah, why?”

  I met Jessica when her security company became our number one defense against cyber-attacks three years ago. She’s a tech genius. Her brother is the muscle of the company, doing the more physical-type of protection for people who need that kind of service. I kind of wish I’d had him with me in Greece…

  “Well, when you see her, please find out when her delicious brother, Luke, will be back in town. Maybe you can arrange for a little bump in between the two of us.”

  “And you know he’s not the kind of guy to settle down.”

  She waves and is already back on her feet. “Did I say anything about settling down? Hell, a good roll in the hay with him would be just fine.”

  “A roll in the hay?” I chuckle.

  “Luke’s from Nashville—that accent just gives me the chills.” She shakes her body a little as if shivers are darting through her.

  “Anyways…”

  Rachel pushes her red-rimmed glasses higher on her nose. “But what about you? How was your date last night? Patrick, right?”

  I try not to smile as I think about my night.

  “Oh. That good? I didn’t think you’d enjoy a date your father forced you to go on.” Her eyes widen as she presses her palms on my desk and leans forward. “Well? Details.”

  God, if only it was Patrick I was thinking about and not the hot guy in the black tee who’d rendered me nearly speechless last night.

  For some inexplicable reason, I can’t get the man from the bar out of my head. The rich baritone of his voice, his incredible roy
al blue eyes, and his strong forearms—the veins slightly prominent. So much strength emanated from him, and some part of me wanted him to pull me into his arms and have his way with me last night.

  He did in my head. Once in bed, then again in the shower this morning.

  I must be losing my mind. Working way too much. Men don’t make me self-combust from a few words and a couple of hot looks. They have to earn my desire, and it usually takes a long time. It’s been so long I wonder if anything other than my vibrator will ever produce an orgasm again.

  “Did you and Patrick sleep together?” Rachel pushes away from the desk and clasps her hands together. “I didn’t see that coming.”

  I recoil in disgust, remembering Patrick in his Armani suit, and the words of my mystery man pop into my head. God, the sexy guy had me all wrong and yet right at the same time. “No. God no.”

  “Since you’ve been acting so strange lately, I wasn’t sure.”

  I touch my stomach when I remember my trip last month to Athens. My eyes flash shut, my body growing tense as I sink back into my chair.

  “Well, who’re you thinking about that has your cheeks all red?”

  I let go of my thoughts, pushing them away as I do every time they creep up to strangle me. I open my eyes and release an exaggerated sigh while arching my shoulders back. “A stranger.”

  I can’t help but wonder if Bar Guy is military. The way he stood with authority, the pensive look in his eyes—a look of a man who has witnessed a world of pain. I’ve never been with a soldier before, but there’s something about the uniform and combat boots that’s such a turn-on.

  Of course, Dad would have a heart attack if I showed up to dinner with anyone in something other than a suit.

  “No one dates Grace Parker-King without being worthy,” my father likes to say, and by “worthy,” he means uber rich.

  And yes, my name is hyphenated. My parents joined their last names together on our birth certificates. It’s obnoxious, I know. I should do what my brothers Cade and Corbin did and drop the Parker part of the name.

  “Earth to Grace?” Rachel’s at my side now, snapping her fingers in my face.