“Ready?” The bouncer guarding the door jerks up his chin in my direction. I mentally reach for his name, but who am I kidding? I don’t know it, and he’s probably never bothered to remember mine. The turnover for both of our positions are so high, I guess he figures like I have: Why bother?
I nod. “Yes, I’m good.” He twists the lock and pushes the glass door open, allowing me to pass through before shutting and locking it behind me.
And Jay’s not here.
Except for a few cars parked along the curb, the sidewalk is empty and shadowed, lit only by the red neon from The Rabbit Hole’s sign.
Damn. Disappointment and relief wrestle it out in my chest, and it’s difficult to tell which one will get the pin.
Disappointment because…well, obvious reasons. For the last three hours of my shift, I moved on autopilot. Anticipation and lust had hummed under my skin, and my brain had been consumed with images of exactly what he could do when he had time for more than—how did he put it?—a quick finger-fuck.
Disappointment because I was looking forward to drowning everything—where I would be living in a week, my uncertain career, Mom’s health, the ever-increasing pile of bills withPast Duestamped in angry red ink on the envelopes—in a few hours of pleasure with a man who could make me forget.
Relief because now there’s no chance of what-if’s. Because he, Jay Whatever-His-Last-Name-Is, is a colossal What-If. You know, the men who have you wondering if there could be more than the one night. What if you could be the woman who changes his mind? What if you’re the one who’s special to him? That path of thinking will have you believing in Hallmark moments and Disney endings. Will have you mistaking love for obsession. Becoming a slave to the heart and the body, endlessly chasing the emotional and physical high only that person can provide. It’s better that he didn’t show.
“Ro.”
My head jerks up, and as Jay steps out of a parked black muscle car, all ideas of caution, relief, and warnings whip out of my head, whisked away like a trailer caught up in a Kansas twister. A scalding tide of lust sweeps in, and above it, the sharp crack of joy.
Oh, I’m so screwed.
And I can’t lie. I hope it won’t be just figuratively.
“You good?” he asks, drawing to a halt in front of me, his gem-like gaze narrowing on my face. Probably because I’ve been standing there like a marble statue.
“Yes,” I push out. Hiking my bag higher on my shoulder, I glance around him, zeroing in on his car. “VeryFast and the Furious,” I comment in a weak attempt at humor. And diverting his attention away from the fact that heflustersme.
God, that’s humiliating.
First fluttering, and now flustering.
I swear to Christ, if I start giggling, I’m laying my own ass out.
He doesn’t reply to my lame teasing and isn’t distracted by my diversion tactics. Instead, he cups my jaw, pressing his thumb to my chin. The light but firm pressure silently demands I look at him instead of the sleek lines of his car that I have zero trouble picturing Dom Toretto in.
“You change your mind about tonight, it’s okay to say so, sweetheart,” he murmurs.
Change my mind? I wish it were that simple. Wish I didn’t crave what he could give me so much that I’m going against my innate survival instinct that’s blaring a “You’re Screwing Up” signal.
Wish I didn’t hunger to discover if his face would twist in pleasure when he came.
Wish the curiosity to find out why a man who looked like him needed to pick up a dive-bar waitress didn’t dig at me. I think this need is the most hazardous of all, because it has nothing to do with the physical, but a desire to knowhim.
Oh yes, I shouldsobe running in the opposite direction of this man…
“No.” I shake my head. “I haven’t.”
My common sense sneers a “silly bitch” and stalks off while my vagina applauds and cheers.
“Okay.” He nods, slowly releasing me, then something dark and more than a little fierce flashes through his eyes. “Good,” he growls.
The low, menacing rumble echoes through me. My heart thuds against my rib cage, and a hard, aching spasm deep inside me has my knees trembling, threatening to send me tumbling forward against his wide chest.
“One more question, sweetheart. You okay with going to my place? You don’t know me, so when I promised I’d never hurt you in that way, there’s no reason to believe me other than me asking you to take my word for it. But if you’re more comfortable going to your apartment, I’m down with that…”
I cut him off with an abrupt shake of my head. “No, yours is fine.”
No way in hell do I want my soon-to-be-ex roommate and her boyfriend to have a ringside seat to my sexcapades through the very thin walls of our apartment. And besides, as inexplicable and probably foolish as it seems, I trust Jay not to hurt me.
