One Night Flame

by Beverly Evans

  “That obvious?” I give him a sad laugh, the booze loosening up my lips. I need to slow my roll, but instead, I get a third. I have a decent tolerance, but three in this short span of time is approaching my limit. At least I ate a big meal before I came.

  “You look fucking miserable,” he shrugs. “No offense.”

  I roll my eyes. “None taken, I guess.”

  “But in all seriousness, Grant’s always been a douche. You’re probably better off.”

  I flinch at his words. Even though I hate Grant for what he’s done to me, some moronic part of me still loves him. I can’t erase three good years entirely in two weeks.

  “How do you know he was a douche?” I ask.

  “We went to the same high school, remember?” He angles his body toward me more. “I know him.”

  Grant and I also knew each other in high school but didn’t start dating until the summer after our freshman year of college. I was always way, way too shy to even approach him in high school, even though he was nice to me when we had classes together. He was the cool, hot guy, student council president, captain of the soccer team, well-liked by everyone. I ran with the ‘good’ kids who didn’t quite qualify as nerds or artsy types or jocks. Our defining characteristic was that we all made good grades. I never thought I had a chance with him. If we hadn’t been partnered up during our summer course after our freshman year of college, I doubt we would have even crossed paths again.

  I sigh. I used to think of our chance meeting as a stroke of luck, but if it hadn’t happened, where would I be now?

  “If you knew him in high school, then why do you think he was a douche?”

  Noah snorts like I’ve just said the funniest thing in the world.

  “Bro, you can’t be serious. He was so full of himself just because he happened to be good looking, and all the teachers kissed his ass because of his family name.”

  So Grant’s confident about himself. Is that a crime? It’s not like Noah’s Mr. Humble. And Grant is good at a lot of things, so it’s not like that confidence isn’t based on reality. Also, Grant’s parents are both prominent lawyers in town. Basically everyone uses their practice, so everyone knows them and respects them. They’re nice people.

  But still. He could be a little cocky when it came to some things, especially the things I knew I was better at. But you can’t have a flawless partner.

  I blink, wondering why the hell I’m defending him in my brain, still. It’s like the breakup created two sides in my brain, and the one that hates his guts is still trying to win the fight. I have every right to hate him, so why can’t I?

  I shake my head to try to get that out of my brain. Grant’s an asshole, and he cheated on me. Maybe even for years. Nothing else matters. I’ll never forgive him.

  “Don’t call me ‘bro’,” is all I can say to that.

  “I’m not lying.” He leans back on one elbow, still giving me that look that makes me feel like he’s seeing inside of my brain. “The fact that you aren’t jumping down my throat to defend him must mean that you see some hint of truth in that.”

  “No one’s perfect.”

  “True, true.” He doesn’t take his eyes off me as he sips his beer, which makes my face flush. “Why aren’t you drowning your sorrows with friends?”

  “Why do you want to know?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Why can’t I be sad by myself?” And why can’t he just leave me the hell alone?

  “That’s also true. It just seems like a girl thing to do. Y’know, make a voodoo doll of him, bitch about men as a whole, chug wine, shit like that.” He’s serious, but there’s a little snark behind the words.

  “Way to play off every stereotype of women ever.” I’m annoyed at his presumptions, but I find myself smiling a little at the delivery. “Most of them knew about him cheating but somehow hoped that he’d come clean before the wedding. So those friendships are over.”

  “What the fuck?” He puts down his beer, looking truly horrified. “That’s the most fucked up, stupid thing I’ve ever heard in my life. And those were your friends?”

  His indignation on my behalf feels good. I expect it from my mom and brother, but Noah has no reason to be emotionally involved in my life. In fact, he's probably the last person I would think to do this. Maybe he's less of an ass than I remember, but I kind of doubt it. My situation is so messy that it even appeals to Noah’s sympathy? That really tells me things are bad.

  “Yeah. Or so I thought.”

  “Jesus. I'm sorry,” he says, so genuinely that I’m surprised. “I take back my last question — why aren't you out there ruining the lives of everyone who fucked you over, Kill Bill style?”

  I laugh a little. “I can't ruin anyone's life. I don't want to be a bad person.”

  “Even though you have a damn good reason to do it? Even though they had to have talked shit about you if they all decided to keep Grant’s cheating a secret?”

  The truth stings. If they wouldn't even tell me that Grant was cheating, they would have no problem talking about me behind my back.

  “What are you drinking?” Noah asks.

  “Rum and coke. Why?”

  “Hey, can we get two shots of rum?” Noah asks the bartender.

  “Oh, I'm already close to my limit…” I protest, without much conviction. Being drunker sounds good right about now.

  “Close to it, but not over it,” he winks. Miraculously, it makes me flush with pleasure instead of shrink away from being creeped out. “I'll call you a car if you need it. Or you can crash on my couch. I live across the street.”

  I watch the bartender pour us the shots.

  “Why are you being so nice to me?” I hold the shot between two fingers. “It's kind of sudden.”

  “I might have been an asshole when we were kids, but I like to think I've grown since then.” He raises his shot to clink the glass against mine. “Fuck Grant?”

  “Fuck Grant,” I cheer, clicking my shot to his and downing it. It burns all the way down.

  “Besides. I can't kick you while you're down. That's like kicking a kitten.” He smirks and chases his shot with a sip of beer. “Wow, that does not taste good.”

  “Serves you right.”

  Great, even Noah of all people pities me. I'm sick of being pitied. I just want to be anonymous. I can’t wait to get out of this town. Moving to New York City is my chance.

  The next shot hits me hard and fast. I go from ‘could have a conversation with my mom without being embarrassed about how drunk I am’ to ‘I am very drunk, and I need to go dancing now’ in an instant.

  “You don't want to talk shit about your ex?” He asks after a little bit.

  I bite my bottom lip. “Why, do you just want to hear bad things about him?”

  “I mean, that's an added bonus. But you're holding all that shit in and have no one to vent to.” He shrugs. I can tell he's about as drunk as I am. He must have been here for a while, waiting for the fights to start. “Hearing honest shit-talk is like charging my batteries. I’m like a god of chaos.”

  That gets a little laugh out of me, even though I'm still annoyed by him.

  “And I know you, even if we’ve always been at each other’s throats. You’re repressed as fuck, and you can’t let rage stew inside you for too long. You’ll explode.”

  “Screw you; I’m not repressed,” I hiss. He’s called me that a million times in my life, but now I hear Grant’s voice mixed with his.

  “Relax, relax. I’m not saying it’s a fatal flaw. I’m just saying that it’s an easy fix,” he explains. “Hit me with more of how you feel and let that stick up your ass dislodge.”

  I glare at him, but he just gives me another smirk, the bastard.

  Maybe I should be asking myself why he seems to care, but maybe he's right. I do need to let it all out. My first step in fixing myself should be to start acting different. Maybe I’ll prevent myself from having a massive meltdown like I did at the hotel.
>
  So I start talking. Once I start ranting about all those tiny things about Grant that drove me nuts over the years, I can't stop. Noah listens. Really listens, even if I suspect he's just in it to hear me spill my dirty laundry.

  He might hold it over my head forever, but I’m not planning on coming back into town for a long, long time. So who cares? My life’s already in the garbage, so what’s another pile of trash added on top? He even orders pizza from the place next door, so we can keep drinking without getting wasted. It's the best pizza I've had in ages.

  We’re there so long that the place mostly clears out, and I'm back to comfortably tipsy — loose-lipped but could have a conversation without seeming like a hot mess.

  “You know what the worst part is?” I mumble over a big mouthful of pizza crust. “I caught him in bed with another chick, and he never slept with me. Not once. I wanted to do it, but since he never pushed the issue, I never said anything.”

  He literally chokes on his pizza for a second. “What?”

  “I said —”

  “No, I heard what you said, but you dated for three years and never fucked?”

  I bury my head in my arms on the bar. Why did I think it wouldn't be embarrassing to talk about sex? I never even talked about it with my so-called friends, except in code. They know I’m a virgin and that Grant wanted to wait until marriage, so we’d marry for love and not lust.

  God, Grant was, and likely still is, so full of shit.

  Noah’s still looking at me, stunned.

  Did the fact that Noah has never been into me like that lull me into a false sense of security? He's straight, as far as I'm aware. He probably thinks I'm a freak.

  “Please pretend I didn't say that.”

  He whistles, low and long. “You were going to marry a guy who you've never had sex with?”

  “People do that all the time,” I say, with my head down still.

  “But you're not religious.” He gives me another penetrating look. “Have you ever had sex at all?”

  I let out a little groan. “Can we not talk about this?”

  He goes quiet, but I don't want to look up to see his face.

  “I'm not judging. I'm just bewildered as to why he wouldn't,” he finally says.

  I lift my head up just enough to look at him with one eye.

  “He didn’t want us to get married based on sexual reasons since we’re so young. But I don’t even know if he was telling the truth about that deep down. I guess he thought I was nice enough to date but too ugly to have sex with.”

  “You're not ugly at all,” Noah says with a laugh. “I would bang you. I’m not saying that to be creepy, just adding my two cents. A lot of guys would. That's not a problem with you. It's a problem with him because he’s an asshole who just wanted to manipulate you.”

  That makes me blush immediately. He doesn't say things just to be nice, but I don't believe him for a second.

  So what does he mean? I muster up a little liquid courage.

  “Would you really?” I turn my head to look at him, sitting up.

  The air between us changes immediately like it’s charged with electricity. He looks at me like he never has before: like I'm not his best friend’s uptight, dorky little sister.

  “Do I ever blow smoke up people’s asses?” He gestures for the bartender to close his tab. “I'm happy to take you across the street to my place and show you what you've been missing.”

  My jaw literally drops open.

  “What?”

  “You've been missing out on something, and I'm willing to show you. Better to lose it to someone you know.”

  I keep staring at him, waiting for him to tell me he’s kidding. But no, he’s still looking at me, also waiting. I know I shouldn’t do something stupid, but also, I feel desirable for the first time in ages. Grant was affectionate, sure, but he never seemed like he really wanted me, not like this. Noah’s warm brown eyes are melting me like chocolate. I glance at his lips for a second, then his eyes.

  I’m not sure if it’s the booze in my veins, but god, he’s hot. Why have I spent so much time hating him when I could have been taking in his gorgeous face? And the rest of his body?

  Why not go for it? Even if it’s a mistake, I’m already at my lowest. Might as well jump and see what the fuss is all about since I can’t dig lower than rock bottom. What if sex isn’t worth the wait? I have fun on my own, but it’s something I could go a long time without. I’d rather know now with some guy I know isn’t a murderer.

  “Sure,” I finally shrug.

  “Cool.” He signs his check and tucks his card into his wallet. “Let’s go.”

  In a few short moments, we’re at his apartment. It’s pretty small and modest, and so bachelor it’s almost hilarious. His living room has a fancy big screen TV, an Xbox, and a couch that’s seen better days. The rest of the furniture looks older too, but he has a ton of new video games around, plus some weights in the corner.

  He kicks off his shoes, and I do the same, my height coming down a smidgen. I hang up my purse too and suddenly feel self-conscious of every part of my body. I’ve been eating junk food and chugging champagne for the past two weeks — does it show? Because I’m definitely bloated as all get out.

  I don’t have much time to think about it because he wraps his arms around me and kisses me like he means it. I’m a little thrown off guard, weak-kneed, so I stop him.

  “What if I’m bad at it?” I say, already out of breath. “Maybe there’s a reason why Grant didn’t want to go all the way.”

  He looks at me, his head cocked slightly to the side. Then, he threads his hand through my hair and kisses me softly this time. My heart is pounding, but I manage to kiss him back. It feels so nice to be kissed again, but it’s weird to kiss a guy with stubble. Grant is always immaculately clean-shaven.

  I think I like it.

  He pulls away, that infuriating smirk on his face. “I don’t see why he’d think there was a problem.”

  It’s a compliment, but that stupid smirk I’ve seen hundreds of times irritates the hell out of me. And yet, it makes him seem even hotter. His confidence is both a blessing and a curse.

  “I just want it to be…I don’t know, meaningful? Special? I’ve waited this long, so I might as well have a good time.”

  “I can make that happen,” he nods. When I give him an incredulous look, he adds, “I promise.”

  He pulls me into another kiss, this one more intense than before, pressing me against the wall. His hands are big, and the calluses on his hands scratch across the fabric of my dress. He takes the hand that’s in my hair and slides it down my cheek to the front of my throat — not choking or anything, but it’s just enough weight on me for my heart to start pounding like crazy in a good way.

  His hands travel over my body, curiously, but not like I’m some medical experiment the way I sometimes felt with Grant. He skims over my lower back and butt, which feels nice. Then he squeezes me, and I squeak, feeling myself flush. He laughs low and moves his hand back above my butt.

  “C’mon, let’s go to my room. It’s more comfortable.” He guides me away from the wall and to his bedroom.

  It’s also untidy and boyish, but I can’t see much more in the low light. He goes to flick the light on, but I make a sound of protest. I don’t know if I can handle being naked in front of a hot guy like him in full light. He keeps the lights off and turns to me again.

  God, he’s a really good kisser. It’s been a while since I’ve kissed anyone else. Is that why it feels so good? The newness of it?

  He presses me backward until we go tumbling onto his bed, him on top of me. His body feels massive and strong above me. His shoulders are so broad, and I can’t stop touching his hard muscle underneath his t-shirt. He runs his hand down my hip and onto my thigh until his big hand goes underneath it. He lifts my leg up onto his hip so we can get closer.

  My face goes red hot when I feel the slight bulge in his jeans. I’d felt Grant’s
in the past when we made out, but it was never intimidating. Noah’s is intimidating. I already know it’s a lot bigger than what Grant is packing. We grind against each other, and I feel myself getting soaking wet already. It’s thrilling, but in a way that makes my stomach tight too.

  He kisses down the side of my neck, and the feel of his lips and stubble along my skin makes my nipples almost ache with tightness. I want him to touch me there. I wish I hadn’t worn a dress because I can’t just take my top off. I’ll have to be in my underwear.

  “Can I?” he murmurs, touching the zipper on my dress.

  I nod, and he pulls it down. I hesitate to peel it off of my body, but I stand and do it quickly, trying to get it over with. I feel naked, even though I’m not. My attempts to cover up only make me feel worse like he can see through my hands to my squishy tummy and cellulite.

  “Hey, hey.” He scoots to the end of the bed and grabs my hands. He slowly pulls them down to my side. “Don’t cover up. You’ve got a nice body; you know that?”

  I look down at his knees, which are frustratingly nice. His freaking knees.

  “Want me to get more specific?” he asks, pulling me back onto the bed. I crawl on my knees and he does too, so he’s still taller than me. “You’ve got a great ass and thighs. I like your hips too. All of you is pretty sexy. Don’t feel self-conscious because I like your body and want to bang you.”

  I’m blushing like crazy, feeling simultaneously turned on and embarrassed. I look up at him to see if he’s lying, but of course, he’s always this blunt with me. He kisses me again, swooping me off my knees and onto my back again. He kisses across my collarbone, down alongside the strap of my bra, and on each nipple. Even through the fabric, I feel pleasure shoot all over my body. A hot mouth is better than a casual fondle, for sure. But my breasts are just a short layover on his way south. I tense up a little, and he lifts his head.

  “Can I go down on you? I think you’d like it.” He straddles my legs, hovering over me. “Might make the actual act less painful.”

  “I’m all… not shaved and stuff,” I stammer, closing my eyes. Of course, I hadn’t anticipated having sex, maybe ever at this rate, so I’m very natural down there.