Yours Tonight

by Joya Ryan

  I licked my lips, an action he seemed to zero in on, and tried again. “I’m not great with words, I tend to blurt things out. Quantifying things is easier than qualifying them.”

  “You must work with numbers?”

  I nodded. “I just got my degree in statistics.”

  “Impressive.” He scooted a little closer, and I didn’t shy away. Instead, straightening my shoulders, I allowed the advance. I was even excited about how it made me feel. “I’ve found that playing to your strengths allows for practice of your weaknesses.”

  It was my turn to frown. “Now you’re losing me.”

  “Let’s keep it simple with words and quantify. That’s what you’re more comfortable with, correct?”

  I nodded.

  “You say I make you nervous?” He ran a finger along my folded hands. A shiver raced at the contact. “On a scale of one to ten, how nervous does this make you feel?”

  “Five,” I breathed. Probably pathetic, since it was a mere touch of hands. But my hands were in my lap, which meant his hands were near my lap. My skin zinged with anticipation, not only from the proximity of this man, but by the fact that I hadn’t been touched in a lot longer than I’d care to admit.

  “And is it a hot or cold nervous?”

  That made me pause. I’d never thought of it that way. The nervousness I felt most of the time when I was out of my comfort zone, much like I’d been feeling sitting alone, waiting for Brock to zero in on me made me cold. Very cold. But when Jack sat down, the first thing I felt was…

  “Hot.”

  His eyes bored into mine and he removed his hand. “So that was a Five: Hot.”

  I smiled and nodded. “Sounds like the makings of a flow chart.”

  “That would require more data.”

  Suddenly, I was very interested in what kind of data we would collect.

  “I brought you a fresh bourbon,” the bartender said, interrupting to set a glass in front of Jack.

  “Thank you, Angel,” he said. The extremely beautiful female bartender stood, giving Jack a little smile.

  I swallowed hard, realizing right then that she was the kind of woman he must date. And I was nowhere near the five-ten, painfully pretty, rail thin goddess who was slinging drinks and, from the looks of it, warding off wandering hands regularly.

  Plus, he called her angel. It was a sign of familiarity.

  I’d learned a long time ago that endearments usually came with strings. They were said when someone was prepping to brush you off, or needed something. My father called me “Pumpkin” every once in a while, but he was the head of a financial service company and didn’t need much from me.

  Brock, however, was my father’s pride and joy and backed him up accordingly. While it wasn’t technically an endearment, my father called Brock “son.” Even when I was a kid and told my father what happened, Brock had denied everything, and my dad chose to believe him instead of me. I pretended that maybe it was because he couldn’t handle the truth, and believing Brock was easier and less painful information to deal with. But, deep down, I feared he was really trying to avoid a scandal.

  I shook my head. Tonight was not the night to think of this. No night was, actually. The past several years had been spent with me burying such thoughts. Jack was my focus…what I kept my eyes on to drown out the rest of the world around me.

  But he must have a history with the bartender. They may even be seeing each other now. And if a mere hand touch made me a Five: Hot, I was obviously way out of my league when it came to the likes of Jack, or his tastes and what it would take to make him hot.

  Not that I was considering that.

  “Could you also bring us another water and,” he glanced at me, “a pineapple vodka and soda?”

  The bartender looked at me with annoyance. “Sure.” She hustled away and Jack readjusted so that his gaze was solely back on me. Funny how I craved it already. Like his attention was some kind of rare, priceless charm. Of course, such a rarity would also be considered unlikely to obtain. A fact I should keep in mind.

  “Pineapple and soda?” I asked.

  “I figured you’d have your water, and if you wanted something else, it was available.”

  “Thank you.” A drink did sound good.

  The bartender was surprisingly quick returning with the drinks. She set them in front of me, her cleavage pressing into Jack’s space was obvious. But he never glanced at her. Just said a simple thank you and she walked away with a bit of a stomp.

  I looked between Jack and the distant-growing bartender and took a sip of my drink. Forget the water, I needed something stronger. Maybe some liquid courage.

  “Something you wish to say?” he asked, taking a drink of his own.

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because you’re glaring at Angel.”

  My eyes widened. “Wait, her name is Angel?”

  Jack nodded.

  “Oh.” A smile of relief came out, but I tried to disguise it with another long swallow of my fruity drink. “I thought you were calling her an endearment. Like you two had a history or dated or maybe are dating now. Not that it’s any of my business.”

  Crap. Babbling again. Stupid words. I shut them down by finishing my drink. The alcohol hummed through me just enough to slow my brain and calm my nerves.

  “The idea seems to make you,” he looked at me over the rim of his glass, swallowing down his drink, then gave a sly smile, “nervous.”

  “More like annoyed,” I muttered, then clamped my mouth shut and embarrassment flooded.

  “Really? My possible history or present interactions with Angel annoy you?”

  “I’m sorry. This is inappropriate of me. I don’t even know you and have no right to feel—”

  “You have every right to feel however you want, whenever you want,” he cut me off quickly with seriousness in his tone. “I just wish you’d follow through on those feelings.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “If you feel something, want something, want to know something, then follow your gut or ask. Don’t simper.”

  My mouth hung open. He was direct, I’d give him that. And whether it was the alcohol or how he’d gone from protector to challenger, a fire sparked inside me, rising to the challenge.

  “Alright,” I said and raised my chin. “It’s obvious the bartender has a thing for you. It annoyed me because it was a blatant display.”

  “That’s it? So you prefer to play coy?”

  “No, I don’t play anything. I just…”

  Sit there.

  Waiting to be stood up. Waiting for my dad to save the day. Just…waiting.

  But that wasn’t what I wanted to get into. Because it reminded me that the reality was, I wasn’t the bartender, or tattoo girl. I was in a damp sundress staring down a man that fascinated me and made my blood heat. A welcome notion after being bored, lonely, and cold for far too long.

  I was tired of waiting.

  “You’re avoiding again, Lana,” he said, his tone a little rough. “Perhaps my conversational skills are lacking?”

  “Nothing about you is lacking.” That time I slapped a palm over my mouth.

  He grinned. “I like your honesty. You should say what’s on your mind more often.”

  “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

  “I disagree,” he said calmly and set his drink down. “You may not intend to play anything,” he said, using my exact words from earlier, “but you do.” He leaned in a little and whispered in my ear. “So, let’s play.”

  I swallowed hard. “W-what’s the game?”

  “Honesty. Let’s start simple. I’ll ask something, you answer. Quickly and honestly. No thinking.” I opened my mouth to protest, but he cut me off with his first question. “Am I still making you nervous?”

  “Not like before.” Quick and honest. Easy enough.

  The look on his face made me think I’d just answered wrong.

  “That’s a shame.” Taking one
fingertip, he ran it along the condensation of my drink, then slowly slid it up my knee.

  I jolted a little.

  “Give me a number, Lana.”

  “S-six,” I said with a small stutter.

  “Hot or cold?”

  “Hot.” It was instant, no thought needed, because my body was the one talking. His finger may be cold, but the way it grazed my skin left a heated trail.

  “Good. The number I can work with. The cold I can’t.”

  His words hit a spot deep in my chest. Like he cared. Understood me in a weird way that allowed me to feel in control and calm, while on fire at the same time. The number was a way to keep track of my limits. But the cold? He couldn’t work with that? It spoke to the kind of man he was: one that wasn’t interested in scaring a woman.

  Pushing limits maybe, but not scaring.

  I knew this deep down. Though he was still an unknown rogue type of hero out of nowhere, he wasn’t cruel. Cruel men I could sense. Not Jack. He was hard and intense and dark, but not in a way that frightened me. Instead, he had a way about him that rose my curiosity and my blood pressure.

  “You said there was a man here, someone from your past you didn’t care to see. Is he still here?”

  I peered around again. Though I couldn’t see Brock, I had a feeling he was still here. Lurking.

  A violent tremor rushed through me, and I went for another drink of my vodka, only to find it was empty.

  “I’m not certain.” Without thinking beyond the desire for another dose of liquid courage, I took Jack’s bourbon and finished it.

  “Careful,” he said.

  I winced because it burned, but somehow dulled the ache in my chest that had become a permanent fixture. Just as vital as my heart and lungs, so was the emptiness. The hole that fed on insecurity and grew slowly every day. It was also why I didn’t date much.

  To be honest, I’d had one college boyfriend, and I didn’t think my attempts at sex with Andy counted, since I always started panicking every time he tried. Brock had ruined me, and a few less than stellar moments of “intimacy” attempts with Andy later, I decided it wasn’t worth it.

  I looked at Jack.

  Not worth it?

  Then why was my body screaming? Why was I responding to him in a way I never had with anyone else? It was as if someone had come and flicked a light switch, turning everything I never knew existed, like lust, on. Was this how the tattoo girl felt? How a normal woman felt?

  I wanted to explore that, but had no idea what to do. How to feel. How to act. It took one encounter and a matter of moments to feel comfortable around Jack. Something that never happened when I met new people. Hell, it never happened after years of knowing someone.

  “I’m going to get another,” I said, my voice a bit shaky. I reached for my wallet, but Jack laid his hand on top of mine.

  “I’ll get you another one.”

  All he did was glance toward the bar, lift his chin, and magically, drinks were being brought over to us in record time. When Angel sat down another pineapple vodka and bourbon, she deliberately looked at Jack and said, “I get off work at two.” Then winked as she strutted away. A quick surge of jealousy shot through me.

  “Sounds like a good offer,” I said, taking a sip of my fresh drink.

  “I must have missed it, because I heard no offer.”

  I laughed. “I know you’re not that dense. She was just—”

  “I’m aware of what she was doing.” He shifted so his knee barely parted mine. The feel of obviously expensive denim scratched my skin in a way that sent a surge of need straight to my core. “But I’m busy at the moment.” A small smile tugged his way-too-perfect lips. “I seem to find myself engaged in a game I’m not ready to quit.”

  I took a deep breath, trying to hold on to any kind of boldness I had. “All games end eventually.”

  “True.”

  “And there’s always a winner and loser.”

  He nodded.

  Trying to hone in on his energy, and thanking God the alcohol was helping, it was my turn to lean in just an inch…that spark in me flickering a bit stronger.

  “Statistically speaking, smart money would be placed on a sure thing,” I said and glanced at Angel behind the bar, then back to Jack. “Because I’m not interested in being on the losing end of anyone’s game.”

  Respect, accompanied with dark expression, flashed over his face.

  “Here I thought I was the one losing myself.”

  His tone was deep and soft and packed a punch straight to the stomach that had me thinking this man was interested in me. Beyond interested. And I was beyond ready to take him up on it. But there was too much unsaid, too much unknown to make that possible.

  “What do I make you?” When he frowned, I clarified. “We’ve established that you make me nervous. What do I make you?”

  “Captivated.”

  Air caught in my throat. His response was quick. If this was the game I entered, playing by his rules, then I could only hope he was being honest.

  In the spirit of saying what was on my mind, I decided to try it. What had Jack told me? If I had a question, ask?

  The way he was looking at me, brows furrowed in concentration and dark eyes staring at my face, making me feel more seen and alive than I ever had, made me desperate to know:

  “What are you thinking about right now?”

  Without breaking that penetrating gaze he said, “What you taste like.”

  My lips parted, and that was when I caught a glimpse of Brock, hovering near the opposite corner of the bar.

  Brock’s gaze met mine, and for a horrifying moment, time hung and I felt everything good and warm melt away and spiral into a ball of panic in my stomach.

  I couldn’t handle it. Not tonight. Not under the same roof with him.

  “I need to go,” I said, clutching my phone and fumbling for my purse.

  Jack stayed seated and did that “protecting body shield” thing again, but was obviously surprised by my change in mood.

  “Okay,” he said calmly. “Why don’t I see you home safely?”

  I shook my head. “My friend is coming to pick me up in about a half hour.” A half hour was too long to stay there, waiting for Brock to approach me. Especially now that he’d seen me. I had to get out. Now.

  Jack stood up, and then I did. Well, tried to stand. Between the drinks hitting me fast and my nerves, I stumbled a little. My hands landed on Jack’s chest. I looked up at him and he held the underside of my wrists as I righted my stance.

  “Why don’t you drink some water first?” he offered.

  “No, thank you, but I have to leave.” With that, I bolted for the exit.

  Chapter Two

  I’d gotten three strides down the street when I heard my name called. I knew the voice. It froze me in my path like an anvil of terror had just been dropped on my head. I turned and saw him.

  “Hello, Brock.”

  “What are you doing rushing off like that, little Lana?” He took another step toward me. “I get the impression that you were trying to avoid me.”

  “I was,” I mumbled.

  He tsked at me. “Dad wouldn’t like us fighting.”

  I sneered at him. The only thing that momentarily squashed my fear was when he referred to my father as his.

  “I thought you were in New York.”

  “I was, but I’m back now.” Another step closer, so I took two back. “You didn’t hear the good news? Dad promoted me to VP.”

  My mouth parted just enough so I could feel the breath sweep from my body, carrying my horror with it. “No.”

  He nodded.

  Another step forward.

  Another two back.

  “Aren’t you going to congratulate me? I’ll be overseeing the Denver branch. Working side by side with the old man.”

  I shook my head. It was my first summer finally getting to work there with my dad. And we were only in the first few weeks!

  “But
I heard you got a grunt position at the company. I think that’s sweet. Don’t worry, I’ll be a nice boss.”

  Bile rose in my throat and I tensed to run, but my feet were like ice.

  “There a problem here?” Jack said, walking out.

  Brock spun to face him. Jack immediately positioned himself between me and Brock, inches from my disgusting step-brother, staring him down. It was then I realized how tall Jack was. At six-two, he towered over Brock.

  “Oh, good evening,” Brock said to Jack in a professional tone, which shocked me. “Aren’t you—?”

  “Why don’t we go have a chat over there?” Jack cut him off with so much sharpness in his voice I thought I saw Brock wince. But he complied, and both men walked back toward the bar entrance. Before they were out of earshot, Jack looked over his shoulder and said, “Stay there, Lana. I’ll be right back.”

  I nodded and crossed my arms, trying to keep the chill away. But the cold was coming from within. Jack and Brock spoke for a moment, then Brock went back inside, and Jack came toward me.

  “Is that who was bothering you?” Jack asked.

  I swallowed and he eyed me, awaiting my answer.

  “That was my step-brother.” It took all the practice I had to pull off my straight face and calm my nerves so that I could diffuse this situation without him thinking the worst. “We don’t see eye to eye on things.”

  Jack looked at me for a long moment. Whether he bought my story or not, he thankfully didn’t push it.

  “You said you were waiting for a ride, I don’t want you waiting outside,” he said. “Why don’t you come back to my place, it’s just right up the street.”

  I frowned. We were in the middle of downtown, and the only homes nearby were a few brick mansions and luxury high-rise apartments. Which meant, if he did actually live close, he was wealthy enough to afford such a place. Still, even though he seemed trustworthy enough, and I felt some sort of connection to him, it wasn’t a good idea.

  “Thanks, but I’ll be fine.” However, my body was on the brink of shaking from the surge of adrenaline.

  “You don’t look fine.” His voice seared to the core of me and I was helpless not to meet his gaze. “You are very smart to be cautious. We are still strangers, after all. But having you wait in the dark, outside on the streets of Denver, is not acceptable to me. Especially when you have that scared look.”