“No.” I shake my head. “California.” At least for the last ten years. But he doesn’t need to know my life story when this is the last time we’re going to talk unless he wants another round. “If you need anything—”
“You.”
I blink. Then blink again. The blunt, rough answer rocks through me, a sucker punch that threatens to lay me out if I don’t shake it off. But God, I’m having a hard time shoving past the automatic flare of lust that blazes inside me, licking at my nipples, my clit. Self-preservation has me backpedaling a step before I catch myself. I’ve vowed to never be weak again, especially in front of a man. And though there’s no predatory glitter in that steady, unwavering gaze, it still makes me feel vulnerable. Like prey exposing its throat.
“What?” I rasp. And wince. Outrage. There should’ve been outrage in that question instead of hoarse shock and,goddammit, need. “Look, you might not have noticed, but I’m working, so…” I trail off, again taking a step away from the temptation that is him.
“Wait. I’m sorry. I’m fucking this up.” He shakes his head, more of those longer strands of hair falling into his eyes before he shoves them back. “I get it,” he murmurs, and yet I have no problem hearing him above the music, chatter, and raucous laughter in the bar. Maybe because, in spite of my internal alarm blaring like a tornado warning, I move closer until the edge of the table presses into my thighs. “You’re used to random strangers dropping some line on you, and that’s probably how I’m coming across. But to tell you the truth, I’ve had a shitty day. Scratch that, a shitty week. Which is why I came here in the first place—to drink and forget about it for a little while.” He leans forward, resting his forearms on the table and pinning me in place with that mesmerizing stare. I set my tray on the table in silent invitation for him to continue and sink my teeth into the flesh behind my bottom lip to prevent myself from asking what happened to make his day—no, week—so horrible. “Then I saw you. Gorgeous, so close, but untouchable. And the most attractive thing you have going on? I don’t know you, and you don’t know me. I could be brutally honest with you or lie my ass off, and you wouldn’t know the difference. You ever want that, Ro? To be someone else just for a little while?”
About every other hour.I briefly close my eyes, the part of me I thought had been successfully atrophied by disillusionment, betrayal, and pain stirs, troubled by that…something in his voice. Longing, need, a quiet desperation. The same things that reverberate and rattle inside of me every night when the noise stops and there’s nothing left to distract me from my thoughts, my memories. From me.
I loathe and fear those hours.
And a part of me resents him for making me acknowledge it.
Why couldn’t he just proposition me for a quick screw like every other man—and the occasional woman—in this place? I’m not ashamed to admit that I’m not a stranger to one-night stands. Relationships have never been my thing, but sex has been. Not that I’ve gone there with anyone at The Rabbit Hole, but a few hours of pleasure where two people are up front about what they want, with no messy feelings and broken promises of commitment and fidelity muddying up the works, are my specialty.
But something warns me that this man wouldn’t be an uncomplicated get in, get me off, and get out. He reeks of “complicated.” Oh, I have zero doubts he could more than handle the get-me-off part, but the rest? I’m not certain him leaving would be a simple thing. Especially since I might not want him to go as soon as the orgasm fades. Considering how my body lights up like the fireworks over Disneyland at just the sight of him, that’s entirely too possible for my comfort.
And emotional security.
Jesus. I part my lips to say…hell if I know, but before I can say anything, he curses and, reaching into his pocket, removes a cell phone.
“Goddamn it,” he growls, scanning the screen. His full lips flatten into a grim line. He flicks a glance up at me, and the raw lust there mixed with such turmoil sends me reeling, even though I don’t move. Once more, I’m battling the urge to ask him what put that vulnerability there. “I’m sorry,” he says to me for the second time in the last few minutes. “Never mind. I have to…” He frowns, sliding out of the booth and standing to his full height. I’m not a small chick, yet he towers over me. Thrusting a hand into his pocket, he withdraws his wallet and several bills. “Thank you for the drink, Ro,” he murmurs.
Numbly, I take the money, and with one more bruised glance, he stalks away, headed in the direction of the bathrooms and the alley that runs alongside the bar.
Good. This is good. He walked away before I could do something incredibly stupid like ask him what’s wrong. Leave myself open for him to dig in my life.
It all worked out the way it was supposed to.
And minutes later, when I shrug into my coat and trace the same path he took, it’s because I’m taking my last break of the night. Not to find out if he’s out there.
Maybe I would be able to believe my own lies if anticipation wasn’t speeding through my veins at just the thought of seeing him again.
Chapter Two
Jude
“Hell,” I snap, striding down the hallway that leads to the bathrooms and the exit with the red, blinking sign and its dark, blown-outX.
Pushing open the heavy steel door, I step out into the cold February night. It’s a balmy forty degrees out, and I’m thankful for the thick lining in the black peacoat I shrug on. Snow from the previous week stubbornly clings to dark corners near the green garbage dumpster and crowds up against the basement windows of the building across from the bar. Still, even the crisp wind and the small piles of snow can’t completely conceal the dank scents of trash and stale piss. I can imagine more than one customer venturing out here to take a leak when the bathroom isn’t available.
It smells awful. Which matches my mood perfectly.
My fingers curl around my cell, a tactile reminder of the reason I’m out here pacing in the alley. A reminder of why getting involved with another woman—even if just for a night—would be a mistake.
Ana had originally been a one-night stand. And now… I glance down at my phone, even though the text is cleared off the screen. Now I can’t escape my ex-girlfriend.
Sighing, I drag my hand through my hair, fisting the shorter strands at the back before dropping my arm. Anger, grief, the clawing-at-my-throat suffocation…they’ve all been my constant companions for too many years to count at one time or another. But lately—lately, they’ve gathered for a gangbang on my ass, and I’ve just been bending over and taking it.
And tonight, I’d come to The Rabbit Hole to escape it all—or at the very least drown it out in alcohol.
But then I’d seen her. The waitress. Ro.
If I’d had the sense God gave a doorstop, I would’ve sat my ass down in another section, ordered a drink from a server who isn’t a Mila Kunis doppelganger with curves more dangerous than the Talladega Superspeedway, and continued with my initial plan of getting blind drunk. Instead, I’d figured out which booth was hers and made the unwise decision of putting myself in her path.
I snort at the understatement of the century.
