This is going to be a bitch to clean up. But she’s my bitch, and there’s not a motherfucking thing that could make me let this one go.
If anyone had told me three days ago that I would be sitting at a high-top in the middle of a sports bar drinking beer and eating cheeseburger sliders with Jake, I’d have looked at them like their head was screwed on backward. Yet here I am, watching Jones and Gustafsson on the big screen while all around me men grunt and shout every time one of them connects a strike.
One of the guys in the fight, the blond one, takes down the other guy and the table of men next to us lets out a collective groan. There’s enough testosterone in this building to fuel a small village.
This is our “date.” This is where he brought me. There isn’t enough chocolate or cheesecake—or chocolate cheesecake—in the world for Brody to be able to pay me back for this.
“I hope this is okay. I wasn’t sure if candlelight dinners were your thing,” Jake says as he takes a swig from his Michelob Ultra.
I’m not sure I have a thing. If I do, I haven’t been on enough dates to figure it out, but I know that being alone in the dark with Jake is not it.
“It’s fine.”
He smiles at my response, triumphant, like he’s proud of himself. Jake is not a bad guy. He’s gorgeous, has a good job and most of the time, when he’s not being arrogant and superficial, he’s a decent human, yet I still can’t bring myself to want anything to do with him. Mostly because he’s completely clueless about the female population and what we want.
He points to the two sliders left on my plate. “You gonna eat those?”
Before I finish answering him, he’s reaching across the table and helping himself.
Jake shoves a slider in his mouth then washes it down with the rest of his beer. “I never told you this, but—” Something happens on the TV that makes him jump to his feet and throw both hands in the air with a yell.
The entire bar shouts with him, and I’ve never been more thankful for one dude punching another dude in the face than I am right now. The fight is over. Jones won. And Jake is thoroughly distracted.
“The dartboard is finally open. Wanna play?” he asks, obviously—and hopefully—forgetting whatever it was he was about to say a minute ago.
“No, I’m just going to finish my beer. But you can play.”
“You sure?”
I flash him a smile. Yes. Please. “Yep. You should go.”
His blue eyes meet mine, and an all too familiar expression crosses his features. Oh no. Please no. He leans in close. No, no, no. His voice lowers as he tucks a strand of hair behind my ear. “You are beautiful, Addy. So fucking beautiful.”
If he kisses me, everything I just ate is going to come right back up.
His knuckles brush over my cheek, then he kisses me on the forehead.
I let out a sigh of relief. “Easy, Casanova. This isn’t a thing.”
“Oh, this is so a thing.” He winks. “I’ll be back in a minute,” he says then he waves his empty beer bottle at our server and walks to the back of the bar.
Jake barely makes it to the group of guys gathered near the dartboard when I feel someone watching me. My blood heats, and my skin pebbles. I’ve only reacted this way to another person once in the last two years. It’s him. It has to be him.
My eyes scan every table in the room until I finally spot Blaze Abbott sitting at the bar. The expression on his face takes my breath away—total male, raw and powerful. My heart races at the sight of him. He lifts his beer then smiles. It’s tight, forced, but still undisputedly beautiful. I raise my near-empty glass then down the rest of my beer.
Less than a minute later, he’s at my table, sliding onto the stool next to me, consuming me with his presence. His jet-black hair looks like he made every effort into making it look like he put no effort at all into fixing it, but knowing him he probably just woke up that way.
“You look like you could use a refill,” he says.
“What gave me away?”
His eyes gleam. “The empty glass.” Women probably line up for a chance to be with him the way techies line up for the latest iPhone. He’s so good-looking it hurts.
I force myself not to stare. “Good answer.”
He tilts his chin toward my empty but signature Stella Artois glass. “So, you’re a lager girl?”
I mindlessly trace my fingers around the gold rim. “Is there really any other type?”
A smile plays on his lips. “Oh, Grasshopper, I have so much to teach you.” His words stir the butterflies in my stomach. His gaze locks on mine, and for an intense second, time stands still. Then he clears his throat. “Did you know there’s a ritual for pouring Stella on tap?”
“You mean somewhere in Belgium a busty blonde does a little dance while burly men cheer her on?”
He laughs and stands. “Come with me. I’ll show you.”
“Okay, but if you start chanting, I’m out.”
His eyes roll. “Just follow me.”
I follow him across the room to the bar where he was sitting a moment ago. He moves to one side and holds out his arm to wave me past. I may not get out much, but I’m pretty sure it’s not normal to walk behind the bar and make your own drink.
I stop before stepping behind the counter. “Are you sure this is okay?”
He flashes a million-dollar grin and arches a brow at an older gentleman stacking glasses a few feet away. “I know the owner.”
The other guy wipes his hands on a white towel that hangs from his belt loop and returns Blaze’s smile. “Hey man, sorry to hear about the fire.”
“Thanks,” Blaze replies, then he chuckles. “Enjoy it while you can. I’ll be up and running and back to putting you out of business in no time.”
The guy laughs and shakes his head, then flips us the bird before going back to what he was doing.
I move behind the bar. Blaze moves to slide past me in the small space until he’s facing me, his body just inches from mine. He stops right in front of me for a second and sucks in a breath, my breath, because right now he controls the very air that I breathe. In that second, I fully understand why his mother named him Blaze. Being near him is like being on fire. It takes everything I have not to close my eyes and let him watch me burn.
His tongue sweeps across his bottom lip before he turns around and moves to the tap. “So, first you take the chalice.” He grabs a glass like the one I drank from earlier and runs it under water. “Give it a cool bath. This is called The Purification.” The water runs across his strong hand and over the glass. His mouth curves up in a proud smile. “Then we have The Sacrifice.” He presses the nozzle down, letting the first bursts of foam fall before bringing the glass underneath and angling it just so. His hand is steady, not even the slightest hint of nervousness while my pulse is fluttering. I am utterly engrossed in this, in him. “The Liquid Alchemy. Here, it’s all about the angle. A perfect forty-five degrees.” When the glass is a little more than half full, he lowers it and begins turning it straight, still completely and totally in control. “Now, The Crown. See how perfect the head is?” He looks at the liquid with pure admiration. First, I was jealous of a pen. Now, I’m jealous of beer. I need to raise my standards. “And The Removal.” He pulls the glass from the tap in one smooth and fluid movement then closes the nozzle. Bubbly streams of foam run over the top and down the sides of the glass. Blaze takes something that looks like a butter knife and scrapes off the top layer. “The Skimming.” He holds the glass at eye level and stares into it, through it, straight into my eyes. He licks his lips then looks back at the liquid. “The Judgment. Three centimeters of foam. No more. No less.” He dips the glass upright into a small sink full of water without spilling a single drop of beer. “The Cleansing. And finally…” He hands me the glass, his fingers brushing mine when I take it. “The Bestowal.”
I never imagined watching someone pour beer into a glass would be erotic. After seeing the intensity in his gaze as the gold
liquid swirled around the bottom of the glass and how graceful his movements were, how focused he was on getting it just right, I believe this man could make playing chess sexy.
I swallow hard. “Wow, that’s quite the presentation.”
His lips part as he meets my eyes. “Well, she’s quite the lady.”
God, I wish I could read minds right about now. I’d give anything to know exactly what he’s thinking when his gaze shifts from my eyes to my mouth.
“And are you this meticulous with all the ladies? Or is it just Stella?” Oh my God, I’m flirting. This isn’t me. I’m not brazen. I don’t flirt. I’m amazed at how the words tumble off my tongue as if they’re the most natural thing in the world.
His gaze lifts to meet mine again, and there’s a heated challenge in his eyes. God, those eyes. “What’s the point of doing something if you aren’t going to take your time and do it right?”
Was he… Was that… Did he just innuendo me?
The older man, whom I assume to be the owner, nudges Blaze with his elbow, breaking the spell. “That’s enough showing off for one night. Can I have my bar back now?”
Blaze laughs and places his hand on my hip. “I think someone’s jealous.”
For a minute, I’m certain he’s talking about the bar owner, but then I follow his line of sight. Straight to Jake.
“So, Blaze Abbott, huh?” Jake asks me on the drive home.
“I know what you think, and it’s not like that.”
As soon as I saw Jake watching us at the bar, I felt guilty—for doing absolutely nothing—and thanked Blaze for the beer and told him I’d see him later. Jake let me finish my drink but wasn’t interested in staying much longer after that. The drive home has been awkward to say the least. Just because this wasn’t a real date to me doesn’t mean it wasn’t to him, and I had no right to let some other guy get me all hot and bothered while another man paid for my dinner. Even if it was a little unconventional.
He takes his eyes off the road and turns to search my face. “What is it like, then?”
“Jake, don’t.”
Headlights from an oncoming SUV light up the cabin of his car, so he turns his focus back to the road. “I’m just curious.”
Minutes later, he pulls up to the curb in front of my building and puts the car in park. His hand reaches across the middle console and lands on my knee. He lets his thumb trace circles over the top of my kneecap before sliding his hand up to my thigh. So, this what dating is like now? A few sliders and a couple of beers and he’s leaning in for the kill.
I place my hand on top of his and move it back to his own lap. “I meant it when I said this isn’t a thing.” I owed him a date, and I gave him one. That’s where it ends. I exhale a shaky sigh and look him in the eye. Even though it would be so easy to go there with him, it’s not like that with Jake. He wants way more from me than I can give. So, why is this so hard? Because you don’t like letting people down. It’s the truth. That’s the only reason I ever agreed to this night to begin with, but I’m not going to lie to him or give him false hope. “We can be friends, but I’m just not ready for anything else right now.”
Seconds tick past before he finally replies. Something flashes in his eyes, but it’s gone before I can put my finger on it. “Well, when you decide to be ready, I’ll be here.”
What was that? Did I just witness the soft side of the impenetrable Jake Grimes?
I let go of his hand to extend mine out to him. “Friends?”
He locks his hand with mine, gripping it with a solid shake. “Friends.”
I open the door and start to climb out, and I swear I hear him mumble under his breath, “For now.”
When we were in college, Hector’s girlfriend had this habit of writing quotes on the bathroom mirror in her lipstick. I guess it was her way of making us feel better when we woke up hungover as shit. According to her, Mark Twain once said: “Never regret anything that made you smile.”
It’s been two days since I saw Adrienne at Shooters, and I still can’t get her off my mind. Her face. That mouth. Those hips. The look on the douchebag’s face when he looked across the bar and saw her with me. Nope. I don’t regret a fucking thing.
“What are you smiling at?” Liam asks, dragging me away from remembering how it felt to finally touch her, even if it was only for half a second. He looks side-to-side and over his shoulder to see if anyone else is around.
He’s shoveling piles of ash and splinters of wood into a steel barrel. I gave Hector the day off. No one is here but the two of us. One more day of this shit and we should be able to start cleaning up the inside. They got rid of all the water, but I’m not sure I’ll ever get rid of the smell.
I bend over and grab a piece of stray tin to carry to the dumpster. “Just thinking what a good job you’re doing,” I lie.
“You think Miss M will be proud?” Looks like I’m not the only one she’s made an impression on. A brown curl falls over his forehead, and he tries to blow it away. It’s damp with sweat, so it doesn’t move. Instead, it just sticks to his eyebrow.
“Definitely.”
His entire face lights up all the way to his emerald green eyes. He packs the pile of ash and debris into the barrel with the back of the shovel. Not gonna lie, the kid works hard. He hasn’t complained one time since he’s been here. He also hasn’t brought up the night of the fire or what made him do it, but something tells me there’s more to that story than a young kid playing a prank on a random business. One day I’ll learn his secrets. Right now, it’s just good to see him smile. I know how he feels. She makes me smile too.
How long has it been since a woman has genuinely made me smile?
Way too fucking long. I almost forgot what it felt like. Hector was right. If I died tomorrow, I’d bet my ass my headstone would read: Here lies the broodiest motherfucker that ever lived.
I toss the sheet of tin into the dumpster and go back to grab the barrel from Liam. “Last barrel for the day. Then we’ll wash up and I’ll get you home.”
That’s the deal I made with Adrienne this morning. She drops him off. I’ll bring him home.
I shouldn’t. I should let her pick him up the way Brody does. The way the blonde does. I should let her pull into the parking lot and wait in her car until Liam climbs into the passenger seat. Then I should wave and watch them drive away. But I don’t. I bring him home.
Because I don’t want to go another three days without standing close enough to smell the coconut body wash she uses or watch the way her pulse thrums in that little dip at the bottom of her throat every time I look at her.
Because I’m slowly but surely losing the battle between what I should do and what I want to do.
Because this woman makes me want things I’m not supposed to have, things I don’t deserve.
Every night, I watch from behind the bar as other people live their lives. They flirt. They dance. They kiss. They touch. Once upon a time, I was one of those lucky people. Too bad once is all we get. There is no redemption, no second chances at a one-of-a-kind love. I met the love of my life when I was ten years old, right after I lost my best friend. Three years ago, I lost her too, with no one to blame but myself. I’ve spent all my time since then building a wall—no, a motherfucking fortress—around myself to make sure no one else gets in. Or that I don’t get out. This is my pain. I earned it. There is no reprieve. I’m not even sure I want one.
And still, here I am going out of my way for a whiff of coconut fucking body wash.
The car ride is quiet except for the Top 40 station playing on the radio. Not really my thing, but I’m driving down the Interstate with a fifteen-year-old boy who probably wouldn’t know who Leon Bridges is if he jumped out in front of us.
Gritty.
Deep.
Raw.
That’s what music is supposed to be. It’s supposed to speak to your soul when your mind can’t find the words. It’s supposed to be real. That’s why I commission indie artists to pla
y at the brewery every week instead of paying a DJ. It’s why I brew my own beer instead of putting on a suit and tie for my father every day. It’s why no matter how many women lean over my bar, flashing cleavage and sliding me their number, I always go home alone.
Keep your bullshit. Give me real.
“You like her, don’t you?”
I turn down the volume on the stereo to make sure I heard Liam right. “Who?” I ask, even though I know damn well who he’s talking about.
“Miss M.”
“What makes you say that?”
“You only bring me home when she’s there.”
Smart fucking kid.
I glance over at him as I turn into their neighborhood. “Of course I like her. Don’t you?”
Real smooth way to dodge that bullet, asshat. I’m sure the kid doesn’t suspect a thing now.
His mouth lifts up into a smile but then drops back down again. “She’s not like the other two. Brody watches TV, and Haley stays on her phone. Miss M spends time with us. She makes us feel like a family.” I don’t miss the way he calls the others by their first names but not Adrienne. He laughs to himself. “She really sucks at Jenga, though.”
This is the most he’s said since I’ve met him. I don’t even bother trying to interrupt.
“She cooks the best. And she sings when she cleans,” he says as he rakes his fingers through his dark brown hair. His eyes look sad for a split second, then he recovers.
I have no idea what this kid has been through in the short fifteen years of his life. I don’t even want to try to imagine it. I’m just glad he has someone like Adrienne to help him past it.
I picture it, her singing and cleaning, and I smile. “Oh yeah?”
He nods then stares off out the window as though he’s picturing it too. Even though he has no fucking idea that in my head, in my version, she’s probably wearing a lot less clothing.
We pull into the driveway next to her car.
Blaze: A Driven World Novel (The Driven World) Page 5
