by B. N. Toler
I’d insulted him.
And I did have my doubts. However cynical and insecure that made me, I did. But I also knew I liked him and respected him. And I really wanted him to respect me…to see me…the real me. Not this broken woman I had become.
“Wren,” I mumbled quietly, but loud enough to get his attention. When his gaze met mine, my throat tightened as I struggled to speak the words on the tip of my tongue. “I’m sorry. I’ve kind of become this person that expects the worst and hopes for the best.” I shook my head. “I don’t mean to be…bitchy.”
Blinking a few times, he bobbed his head once and, evidently, decided to move on. “What do you think of this place?” he asked, quickly changing the subject.
It took me a moment to catch up. “It’s really nice,” I managed after a beat, before gulping down almost half my drink, praying the alcohol would numb my embarrassment.
“I’d hoped you’d like it. I don’t know why, I just really thought you would for some reason.”
I smiled, pushing back my moment of chagrin. I liked that he thought about me and what I would like. It wasn’t that I was completely fixated on finding all the wrong or suspicious things about him…it was more that I didn’t want to get so caught up in the sweetness of Wren that I was blinded.
The pub had a certain feeling of nostalgia that enraptured me. A small band played in the back corner, adding to the atmosphere. I was smitten with the place, and my mind ran over every detail knowing it would make its way into a book of mine one day. Even though Wren and I didn’t have much conversation after that, I still enjoyed being there. The dinner rush came in shortly after us and Wren became flanked with people wanting to talk about everything from his job, to politics, to war. Occasionally he’d reach around and grab my leg, squeezing it, letting me know he hadn’t forgotten about me but didn’t want to be rude to his friends either. But I didn’t mind a bit. I actually enjoyed listening to him speak with others, hearing his thoughts and views. I learned quite a bit about the man I was “dating.” One of the biggest things I learned was he was admired…no doubt. People were eager to talk with him and engage. I’d dare say there almost seemed to be a line; one person would break away after speaking with him, and then another would appear in their place almost instantaneously.
At one point he’d leaned over and whispered to me, “You look beautiful tonight, by the way.” And there I was, smiling, getting lost in the sweetness.
“I’m a writer. Anything you say or do may be used in a story.”
-Unknown
When we left the pub, we went back to his house and put on a movie, hunkering down on his leather couch with a glass of wine each.
“You can sit next to me,” Wren announced as he patted the space between us. “I promise I won’t bite, or try to seduce you.”
My mouth tightened. Poke. Poke. Poke. He couldn’t help himself.
Taking his hat off, he tossed it on the coffee table and combed his fingers through his hair, giving it a bed head/tousled look. It was unfair really…that a man could look that good by simply running fingers through his hair.
“How do I look?” He waggled his brows, lifting one side of his mouth in a goofy smirk.
“Handsome,” I admitted. Even I, the most cynical in all the land, was still susceptible to his good looks.
He grinned and patted the space next to him again.
Chuckling, I scooted closer, curling into his side, his arm over my shoulders, our feet resting on the coffee table. I was buzzed by the alcohol, but my wistful haze was from more than the drinks I’d had that evening. The charm of the town, the pub, the people, it all had me floating on an air of sentimentality. It felt good to know places and people like this did exist—not just in movies or books. Little things got to me. I’d always been this way.
“Your town is pretty amazing,” I told him. “I loved the pub. Like a lot. Thank you for taking me there tonight.”
“I know a lot of good people here.” He nodded in agreement before scratching at his beard.
I sipped my wine and stared ahead at the television, though I wasn’t really watching it. Being this close to Wren was unnerving. Mostly because I liked it. When he wasn’t getting on my nerves, I wanted to be this close to him. Only a few hours before I’d felt like fleeing on him, and now here I was cuddling with him. I was like a light switch, flipping back and forth. It was no wonder he thought I was crazy…hell, sometimes I couldn’t understand myself.
“Aww,” he cooed as his fingers grazed my shoulder softly. “You kinda do like me.”
And then, just like that, the switch flipped again. I’m not sure why his statement hit me the way it did, maybe because in some way it sounded patronizing, like he was teasing me.
Jumping up, I set my wine glass on the table and spun around to face him. “I know I’m a mess, but you have to admit any woman…” I paused to correct myself, “Any smart woman would look at you and all this, and think you had a pretty sweet setup for getting laid here.”
He snorted, remaining in the position he was when I’d jumped up, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. “Setup?”
I rolled my eyes. “Come on, Wren,” I grumbled. “I’m not saying you’re a skeeze, I’m just saying any woman would probably be a little wary.”
“So you think I’m just trolling for ass here, huh?”
I cringed at how crass his question had sounded. Not that I was some delicate flower and couldn’t handle it, because I could drop f-bombs with the best of them. I was well versed in the world of cursing. Thinking he was the kind of guy that ‘trolled for ass’ was bad enough, hearing it out loud was worse.
Placing my hands on my hips, I decided to be honest. “I don’t think you have any problems getting laid.”
“And what makes you think that?”
Again, I rolled my eyes. “Your nice cars, the big house, the way you keep weapons and bullets everywhere to reiterate what a badass you are. I mean look at you.” I flung an arm in his direction. “You look like a freaking gladiator.”
He laughed.
“I wasn’t being funny,” I griped.
Now he moved, scooting forward and placing his glass on the table. “Look, Hannah. I think you’re a nice woman…but I’m at a loss here. Clearly, you’ve been through the ringer and it’s made you,” he motioned a hand at me, “like this.”
My head reared back slightly. “Like this?”
Tilting his head up, his eyes narrowed as he looked at me. He was angry, frustrated at the very least. “Bitter,” he clipped out. “Cynical.”
I winced internally. That was a low blow.
“I’m a goddamn man,” he stated bluntly, his stare burning into mine. “I work my ass off. I work too much, honestly. I pay my bills, I workout to keep in shape because it’s important to me, and if I want something, I go for it. I work hard to have nice things. I’m not setting up the ultimate pussy magnet pad. I live in the middle of nowhere. Do you really think it’s that easy for me to just get women out here?”
“Well, I’m here,” I argued, though I wasn’t sure that helped my plight any.
He stood, his body inches from mine, his height towering over me. “And why are you here?” he asked. “Obviously, you cannot be seduced by my house and my stuff. You’re too smart and enlightened of a woman for that.” I glared at him. He was being a condescending ass. “Or is it,” he paused, before continuing, “is it that you see an attractive, successful man and you think the only thing he could want from you is sex because you can’t see why else he’d want you?”
Looking down at my hands, I took a slow breath. He was good at tearing down a person and shredding their argument. I’d give him that. I didn’t know what to say. A part of me didn’t feel I was wrong. I knew overanalyzing and worrying to death about everything was a problem for me. I knew I had been burned and my experiences had, in fact, made me cynical. But I didn’t like them pointed out. Wren had a point, too. My self-esteem was pretty much at rock bot
tom. Was I projecting my image of myself on Wren? There was nothing worse than being a vulnerable, insecure mess, and then being called out on it. Being weak wasn’t fun or sexy. I started to think, well, shit, why does he want me here?
Turning my head, still unable to look at him, I murmured, “I’m sorry.” And I was. It was another moment where I wanted to run, hide from him. I felt exposed, like cracked skin that had been in the sun too long. It burned. I was broken.
Taking my chin, he tilted my face up and forced me to meet his gaze. “Nothing has to happen here tonight. The guest room is made up for you. I didn’t bring you here to impress you and trick you into bed. I asked you here, honestly, because I wanted to see you, and I’m busy because my work schedule is nuts, and I thought I could somehow make it work where I got to spend time with you.” Oh…
A sad guilt washed over me as I stared into his eyes realizing I believed him. I was ruining this.
Pulling my gaze away, I shook my head, feeling silly. “Just be real with me. Okay?”
“Okay,” he agreed. “It’s a deal.”
Reaching his hand out as if he wanted to shake mine, he said, “Friends again?”
If I didn’t feel so shitty, I’d laugh. Placing my hand in his, we shook. “Friends.”
Gripping my hand, he quirked one brow before he asked, “Is this really how you shake hands with people?”
“Yeah. Why?”
“Weak,” he barked.
I noted our joined hands, the firmness in my grip versus his. “Well, I’m not a dude. My handshake shouldn’t be as strong as yours.”
“I agree. But it should be stronger than this,” he said as he held my hand and whipped my arm up and down like a limp spaghetti noodle, pointing out how weak my hold actually was.
“What should I do? Try and rub your knuckles together?” I jested.
“It depends on what you’re trying to say.” He released my hand and went on. “I can tell you right now, a woman trying to out strengthen a man in a handshake will not do her any favors. Men hate that shit. But your shake shouldn’t be dainty either.”
“So somewhere between rubbing knuckles and kiss my ring finger?” I laughed.
“Shake mine again,” he ordered softly. I did, this time making sure to add more strength in my hold. “More,” he said. I squeezed harder. “Come on,” he groaned, “you can do better than that.”
Again, I squeezed harder. “There she is,” he chuckled. I noticed his forefinger was out, pressed against my wrist.
“What’s the deal with your finger?”
“That’s how a man establishes dominance.”
Glancing up at him, I swallowed, committing it to memory. That was going in a book somewhere someday. Sticking my finger out so it rested on his wrist, I said, “What if I like to be in charge?”
He quickly eradicated that idea when he jerked me to him, slamming my body against his. “I think you could be…it’s just going to take some time.”
All cylinders fired in my head, winding and cranking, warming up to dissect the living hell out of that last statement. But before I could get the conveyor belt of overthinking going, he kissed me. Before I knew it, he was sitting on the couch and I was straddling him, kissing him like my life depended on it. I was nothing more than the thread of a yo-yo. And he was a yo-yo master. When I unraveled, he brought me back, wrapping me neatly around my spool. Why was I this way? I couldn’t understand it. And in that moment, I didn’t want to. I wanted to forget the walking, open wound I had become; overly sensitive and unhealed, scathed by even the thought of a touch. I didn’t want to be me.
The magic of the town, the highs and lows of my thoughts, his charm, my fears, and his words had joined together and created some kind of force that pressed upon me, urging me to do something…anything. To live. To breathe. To want. To feel. So…I did. Instead of running from what I wanted, I met it head-on.
Coffee
As I filled the coffee pot with water in the employee lounge at work, my mind wandered to thoughts of Hannah from the night before. She’d tossed and turned all night. I was a heavy sleeper, not usually awakened by someone moving beside me, but with her, it was as if I was conscious of her every move even while I was unconscious.
How we ended up in my bed had been a bit of a blur. It happened so fast and unexpectedly. At least it felt like it did. It was as if one moment we were on my couch and the next, we were naked in my bedroom.
“Take me to bed,” she’d rasped against my lips as she straddled me, her hips grinding against me in a tortuous rhythm. My head spun a bit. Hadn’t she just freaked out because she’d thought I was only trying to get her into bed? Now she was asking me to take her there? The hell?
“Hannah—”
“I know,” she interrupted me. She knew I was about to question this sudden shift in her mood. Sensuality pooled in her ash-brown eyes, drawing me in, as she laced her fingers in my hair. “But I…I want this,” she assured me. “I know I want this. And I won’t question it. I promise.”
Then she kissed me again, tugging my lip between her teeth, making me groan. Lust surged through me, my body moving without thought. Lunging us forward, we slammed onto the coffee table, remotes flying everywhere, our wine glasses turned over and spilling on my hardwood floors, as I pressed my body on hers and kissed her. Fuck it. Her legs were wrapped around my waist, her hands frantic as they roamed my back and arms. When her hand weaved between us and found me hard, throbbing, and she began to rub me through the fabric, I groaned again. Fuck, that felt good. But I knew…we couldn’t do this. I knew she’d regret it tomorrow. She changed her mind faster than I blinked. A bit out of breath, I pulled back and stood, my chest heaving as I inhaled and exhaled. She stared up at me, her hair fanned out around her head, her shirt twisted and revealing her stomach, her cheeks pink.
“I think we should…take a minute here,” I managed. This wasn’t easy for me. I was a man after all, which made pulling myself off a woman I really wanted, and who was telling me she wanted me, damn near impossible.
Sitting up, she combed her fingers through her hair, somewhat straightening it, before tugging her shirt down. When she stood, she moved around me and walked to the bottom of my steps.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
Taking the first step, she twisted her neck and looked at me. “I’m going to your bedroom.” Then she ascended the stairs.
Rubbing a wide palm down my face, I sighed. Damn this woman was frustrating. Here I was, trying to be a decent guy, and she was pushing me. It seemed like a no-win situation. If I took her, she might regret it and somehow resent me for it. If I didn’t, she’d probably feel rejected.
“Why are you making an entire pot of coffee?” Kegs asked, pulling me from my thoughts, as he plopped down on the break room sofa.
“Hannah’s going to be here in a few. When I left this morning, she asked for coffee.” I’d had to be in early for a briefing, so I told her to sleep in and meet me around nine.
“So how’d it go last night?”
I tilted my head from side to side, unsure of how to answer. The night had gone well, though there were moments where Hannah’s mood seemed to shift. Then there was the ending. I’d been worried about how she’d feel about everything that happened. Would she be upset? Would she regret it? She’d seemed fine when I’d kissed her goodbye this morning. She was still naked, wrapped in my sheets, her hair tussled, her eye makeup smudged into a smoky look around her eyes. Damn, the woman was sexy. I had to admit she had the whole morning-after look going for her; hot as hell. It took everything in me not to crawl back into bed with her and make her cry out in pleasure as she had the night before.
“It went well,” I answered him.
When he didn’t comment, I twisted my neck and looked over my shoulder at him. He was watching me, one brow quirked and a smirk on his face, waiting for more details. He wanted to know if Hannah and I had hooked up.
That was a loaded question.
When I’d walked into my bedroom, she stood near the bed, waiting. I wondered if she was second-guessing herself now that she was actually in my room. Taking a seat on the mattress, I patted the space beside me. There was no pressure here. I wanted her to know she could back out if she wanted to. It’s not that I didn’t want her, because I did, but I didn’t want her to regret it. Her gaze moved from my hand to meet my stare and she shook her head no as she pulled her shirt off and tossed it aside before moving between my legs. Jesus…My bathroom door was cracked open, the light on, softly illuminating the room. Where the light met the shadows across her body, it accentuated the sharpness of her collarbone, the swells of her breasts peeking above her pink lace bra, the curve of her lips that were slightly pouted, as if she were aching to press them to mine. When she grabbed the hem of my T-shirt, taking her wrists, I held them for a moment, fixing my eyes to hers.
“Hannah,” I rasped, my will weakening as I fought what was right and what I badly wanted. “This is your last chance to back out. Tomorrow, when you wake up, you can’t play the I-made-a-mistake card. You’re in this? Yes, or no?”
“I know. And, yes,” she murmured.
Are you sure? I asked her, though I didn’t speak the words, my eyes not moving. I wanted her to be completely sure. She flicked her gaze down at where my hands gripped her, then cut them back to me, her way of saying, yes, now let go. Releasing her, she pulled my shirt over my head and dropped it on the floor. Placing my hands at my sides, I clutched my comforter even though I was desperate to touch her smooth, firm body. If she was going for it, I wanted to last. Placing both of her petite hands on my shoulders, she slid them down my arms and back up again. Her stare was fixed on one hand as she slowly ran it across my chest. When she lifted her head, her eyes were hooded as she leaned in and kissed me, her tongue darting out, catching my lower lip. I clutched her to me, tightly, as I lifted her and stood. There’s only so much a man can take. As she undid my jeans, I unhooked her bra. She let it slide off her arms before she continued with her mission to undress me, leaving me with the struggle of watching her hands and her breasts. When we were both naked, she stood a few inches away from me caressing my body with nothing but her eyes before looking up to meet my heated stare, seemingly studying my face. What was going on in that mind of hers? Why was she looking at me like that?
