Bang Theory

by Valente, Lili

I am lonely. And frustrated.

  And maybe it would be easier to resist the urge to get close to Bridget if I were getting close to someone else.

  “You should keep your eye out for a friend tonight.” Cutter nods over my shoulder, his snake charmer eyes glittering. “Maybe one of these fine ladies.”

  I glance behind me to see three women in bowling shirts approaching up the sidewalk. All of them are laughing their asses off, and all of them are old enough to be my mother.

  Or, more likely, my grandmother.

  I turn back to Cutter, who’s wearing a shit-eating grin. “Very funny.”

  “Wasn’t trying to be funny. Haven’t you heard? Elephants are the new cougars.”

  “Elephants.” I grin. “Did you cook that one up yourself?”

  He laughs. “I did. Right there. Spur of the moment. I’m feeling better already.” He rubs his palms together briskly before opening his arms to me. “Come here, bro. Let me hug the shit out of you. You always make me feel better. How do you do that?”

  I wrap an arm around him, pulling him in for a combo chest-bump–back-thump while he squeezes me tight enough to make my spine crack. “No idea,” I grunt. “Since you never tell me anything.”

  Cutter lets me go with a sigh. “I do. In my way. Now let’s get drinks. First round’s on me.”

  We head inside, high-fiving Bert, an old friend from elementary school who works the door almost every night, and sidling up to the bar next to the Blue Hair Bowling Team. Cutter buys their first round, as well, earning their adoration for the rest of the night and proving he’s a softer touch than he lets on.

  I don’t know what’s going on with him and his dad, or why he’s so interested in how long it’s been since I’ve gotten laid, but I’m glad he’s feeling better.

  At least someone is.

  I, on the other hand, still can’t seem to quit thinking about Bridget. About her kiss, her touch, and how perfect it felt to have every inch of her pressed against me.

  She’s so deep in my head that when I spot her across the crowded room, for a moment I assume my eyes are playing tricks on me.

  But when I blink, look away, and look back again, she’s still there, leaning against the wall, batting her eyelashes at some tall, shaggy-brown-haired asshole. She laughs at something he’s said as she twirls a gummy worm in her hand, whipping it into her mouth and trapping it between her teeth in a way that makes my balls clench.

  Instantly, I want to cross the room and strangle that douchebag.

  And then he reaches out, tugging the worm from between her lips and popping it into his own mouth and I’m on the move. I don’t make a conscious decision to intervene. It’s way more fucking primitive than that.

  All I think is, Hell, no. Mine. Hands off, motherfucker, and then I’m beside him, tapping his shoulder.

  He turns, revealing a lightly wrinkled face and a moustache a 70s porn star would be proud of. It squirms on his lip as he chews, intensifying the disgust rising inside me. This guy might be a decent person, but he’s not even close to being good enough for Bridget. She’s so high above him they aren’t breathing the same oxygen.

  I jerk my head to the side. “Not going to happen, man. Leave. Now.”

  His eyes widen, but he looks more amused than pissed.

  If I were in my right mind, I’m sure I’d be grateful for that—I’ve never instigated a bar fight, and I don’t want to start one now—but I’m not in my right mind. I’m possessed by an intense and irrational mixture of protective instinct and jealousy that steals my words away, leaving me to grunt my approval as the man lifts his hands casually in surrender and backs away.

  And then Bridget and I are alone, and she’s glaring up at me, brandishing a fresh sugar worm that she twirls as she demands, “What the heck was that, Shepherd?”

  But I don’t answer her.

  Because I don’t have an answer.

  All I know is that seeing her batting her eyelashes at another man makes me crazy. So crazy that now I’m taking her hand and pulling her to the back of the bar, out through the rear door and into the alley, where I lift her into my arms, press her against the brick wall, and kiss her like I’m never going to stop.

  Chapter Eight

  Bridget

  I’m hammered.

  Wasted on gummy worms and food coloring.

  I am high on Green Number Four and hallucinating all of this. I must be.

  There’s no way that Shep really stormed across the bar, told the guy I finally worked up the nerve to flirt with to back off, and then hauled me back into the alley behind Chippy’s to make out.

  There’s no way that he’s kissing me like this, hard and deep, no holding back, making it clear that he wants me as much as I want him.

  But if this is a hallucination, it sure is a vivid one.

  I swear I can feel Shep’s hands on my hips, squeezing tight as my arms twine around his shoulders and my legs wrap around his waist. I can taste Shep and whiskey mingling in my mouth, banishing the chemical aftertaste of the candy and making my head spin with hunger for something sweeter than sugar.

  “I want to lick you,” I pant in a breathy voice between kisses. “I want to memorize every inch of your skin with my tongue.”

  “You’re drunk.” He presses me harder against the brick wall, his hands sliding down to my thighs as he kisses a trail down my neck.

  “I’m not. I’ve only had one glass of wine,” I insist, threading my fingers into his hair and arching into his mouth.

  “You’ve been eating that candy that makes you crazy,” he says. “I shouldn’t have my hands on you when you’re like this.”

  “But I love your hands on me.” I trap his earlobe between my teeth and bite down hard enough to summon a growl from low in his throat. “And I’m not crazy. I’m testing part one of my hypothesis—embracing enthusiasm. Don’t you like enthusiasm?”

  He curses beneath his breath and shudders against me, shifting until I can feel how hard he is behind the fly of his jeans.

  Oh, he’s enthusiastic all right, and I’m just enough out of my right mind not to feel the slightest bit shy as I circle my hips, grinding against him as I whisper, “Feels like we’re on the same page to me.”

  “No, we’re not,” he says, holding me up with one hand as the other fists in my hair, holding me captive as he stares deep into my eyes. “We aren’t doing this, Bridget. Not here. Not with you like this.”

  “Like what?” I ignore the prickle of embarrassment needling at my chest. I’ll feel embarrassed later, after the gummy-and-sex buzz wears off. “Aggressive? Going after what I want? Refusing to stay in the shadows like a good wallflower and wait for someone to notice me?”

  “No, of course not, I—”

  “Because I’m tired of waiting.” I cup his beard in my hands, loving the prickle of those crisp hairs against my palms. “I’m going to become a sex goddess, capable of summoning love and romance into my life, Shep. I’m going for it. No turning back. So you have three choices—get on board or get out of my way.”

  “That’s two choices,” he says, but he doesn’t break eye contact or show any sign of putting me down and backing away. “You’re not thinking straight, and I don’t get naked with women who can’t give clear-headed consent.”

  Just hearing the words “get naked” slipping from his lips is enough to make me shiver with longing.

  God, I want to be naked with him. So much.

  If I can just be naked with Shep for one night, I could die a happy woman.

  But I know that look on his face. He’s not going to waver, no matter how much I might beg or plead.

  Which leaves me only one course of action. “Then let’s sober me up,” I challenge him. “Fisherman’s Diner? Fifteen minutes? You, me, two grilled cheeses with fries and extra fries?”

  He hesitates only a second before he sets me on my feet with a tight nod. “Meet you there. But we leave the bar separately and don’t tell anyone where we’re goin
g. Our original agreement stands—no matter what does or doesn’t happen, we don’t tell anyone. We keep this between you and me.”

  “Agreed.” I smooth the front of my shirt with trembling hands. “But something is definitely going to happen. I’m not going to chicken out when the gummy worm buzz wears off, Shep.”

  “If you do, that’s fine. But promise me something.”

  I cock my head. “Okay. Maybe…”

  He leans close, making my breath come faster all over again. “Next time you go looking to score, pick someplace more upscale than Chippy’s. Most of the men in there are crazy, just got out of prison, or both. There’s no one here who’s good enough for you.” He checks his watch. “I’ll see you at Fisherman’s in fifteen.”

  And then he spins on his heel and stalks back into Chippy’s, releasing a burst of music and laughter as the door opens and closes behind him.

  “But you were here,” I whisper, fingers twisting together.

  Does that mean Shep thinks he isn’t good enough for me, either? Is that why he’s been pushing me away?

  If so, then this has all been a big misunderstanding.

  Shep is one of the best people I know. He’s the kindest, sweetest, most loyal man I’ve ever met. Sure, he gets grouchy sometimes—when Kirby and Colin prank him or if he’s woken before noon the day after a show—but even grouchy Shep is a total teddy bear.

  A sexy teddy bear.

  Can teddy bears be sexy? Probably to some people, I guess, like the ones who dress up in life-sized furry costumes and play weird sex games together.

  There is a whole world of sexy times out there, filled with people doing wild things in order to scratch their itch. A friend with benefits sex-periment isn’t even a blip on the weird radar in comparison.

  It’s really no big deal.

  There’s no reason for Shep or I to worry.

  Now to convince Shep of that before the food-coloring buzz wears off…

  Chapter Nine

  Shep

  I’m not going to sleep with Bridget.

  I’m not going to sleep with Bridget.

  I am not going to sleep with Bridget.

  I scrub a hand down my face and stare at the faded blue door to Fisherman’s Diner, wondering if there’s time to make a break for it before she shows up. Hopefully, she came to her senses somewhere between Chippy’s and here and is headed home to sleep off her gummy worm poisoning.

  I’ll probably get a text any second, explaining that she’s tucked into bed and apologizing for standing me up.

  I tug out my phone and stare at the screen, willing a text alert to pop through.

  Instead, the bell tinkles over the door and sea air rushes in, carrying the scent of salt, fuel from the boats headed out on night cruises around the harbor, and a top note of flowers and sunshine, courtesy of the only woman I’ve ever met who carries spring on her skin all year long.

  I look up, heart jerking hard as I meet Bridget’s blue eyes across the heads of the other diners. She doesn’t search the restaurant. Her gaze cuts straight to mine, pinning me in place as she starts across the room, a determined jut to her chin.

  She stops at my booth but doesn’t sit down.

  She stands there, staring down at me as she tents her fingertips on the table. “So here’s what we’re going to do,” she says softly. “We’re going to get our food to go and take it to your place, because it’s closer. If we eat first, that’s great. If we don’t, we can always warm the food up later.”

  “French fries don’t reheat well,” I say in a voice so calm I almost sound bored.

  But I’m not bored. I’m about to crawl out of my skin from wanting her, drive myself crazy imagining all the things I could be doing to her in ten minutes if we head to my place.

  But we’re not jumping into anything when she’s clearly not herself. “And you’re still being weird. So sit.”

  “I’m not being weird. This is the new me.” She rolls her shoulders back and stands up straight. “The new Bridget takes charge. She’s fearless. Soggy fries don’t scare her, and neither does anything else.”

  “Great. Then you’ll still be fierce and fearless after we’ve had food.” I nod to the other side of the booth. “Sit. Eat.”

  Her nose wrinkles, but she finally slips into the seat with a sigh. “Okay, we’ll eat here. But I’m not kidding. And if you bail on me, I’m going back to Chippy’s. I already told Theo that I might be back and warned her and Colette to keep an eye out for good prospects.”

  My teeth grind together. “You’re really determined to do this? To follow through on something that came to you during a trauma-induced hallucination featuring Sir Isaac Newton?”

  Her chin tips up. “It was more like a dream than a hallucination. And dreams come from our subconscious, Shep. This is a problem my brain has been mulling over for a long time. And yes, I’m going to follow through on this completely reasonable plan to turn my dating life around. If you’d been sleeping alone for as long as I have, you’d be determined, too.”

  Before I can ask how long it’s been—or anything else I shouldn’t—our server appears, tugging her order pad from her white apron with a big smile for Bridget. “There you are, sugar. He said his other half was getting here soon. You two know what you’d like?”

  I said no such thing—she must have me confused with one of the other men sitting alone in the diner—but the look Bridget shoots my way makes me wish I had. Her eyes soften and her lips quirk up on one side, like she’s charmed, and when she speaks her tone is gentler than it was before, “I’ll have the grilled cheese with lettuce and tomato, no mayo, and curly fries, please.”

  “The same,” I say, handing over my menu.

  “Nothing to drink?” our server asks. “We’ve got a great local Pale Ale on tap.”

  “Nothing to drink, thank you,” Bridget says with a smile. “We’re in training.”

  “Oh, cool,” the server says, tucking her pad and pen back into her apron. “For what?”

  “Biking,” I cut in, unsure what food-coloring-affected Bridget will say. “We’re going to do a ride up the coast tomorrow.”

  “So fun!” the woman enthuses, flashing two thumbs-up. “Then I’ll just bring you water with lemon on the side. The food’ll be right out.”

  “That actually sounds lovely,” Bridget says after the server hustles away. “I haven’t been for a big bike ride in ages.”

  I resist the urge to reach out and cover her hand with mine.

  Touching her is a bad idea, even something as innocent as her hand. The last time I took her hand, we ended up groping each other in an alley, and it’s best for both of us if this night ends with us parting ways as just friends.

  “We could go,” I say. “The end is in sight on the reno at my parents’ place. I can afford to take some time off. We could make a day of it, stop in at Gunter’s for lobster rolls and that mint lime ice cream you like.”

  Her brows creep higher on her forehead, disappearing beneath her bangs. “Is this the part where you tell me that biking up the coast will be more fun than anything else we could get up to together?”

  I hesitate as the part of me that loves having my hands on Bridget more than anything on earth wars with the better angels of my nature. Finally, the two sides work out a compromise, and I say, “Not more fun, maybe, but smarter. Safer.”

  “Why safer?” Her eyes widen as she adds in a softer voice, “Oh, do you have…” She swallows, continuing in a gentle whisper, “Do you have an STD?”

  My brows snap together. “What?”

  “An STD,” she hisses, resting both of her hands on the table. “Is that why you don’t want to be my sex research partner?”

  I roll my eyes. “No. I don’t have an STD.”

  “It’s okay, Shep,” she says, her blue eyes going liquid with feeling. “I still like you exactly the same. You’re not going to stop being special to me just because you have a virus or whatever.” She bites her lip. “What
kind of STD is it? And are you getting the treatment you need?”

  “I don’t have an STD!” I say, loud enough to draw the attention of the woman reading at the booth across from ours. I lean in, dropping my voice as I mutter for Bridget’s ears only, “I’m clean. I was tested last year. Negative across the board. Perfect bill of health.”

  Bridget sits back, her shoulders relaxing away from her ears as she lets out a deflated, “Oh. Okay.”

  “Sorry to disappoint you,” I say dryly.

  “No, it’s not that.” She shakes her head. “I’m glad you don’t have an STD. So glad. I just thought…” She suddenly becomes very focused on rearranging her silverware, swapping the position of the knife and fork and then putting them back the way they were. “I just thought I’d found the reason… But I guess it’s what I thought before. Even though that seems insane…”

  I bend down, catching her eye. “What seems insane?”

  “That you might not think you’re…good enough for me,” she says, sending a poison dart sailing through my defenses to hit me squarely in the chest.

  I lean my forearms on the table, fingers threaded together.

  “That’s it, isn’t it?” she whispers, disbelief clear in her voice. “But that’s crazy, Shep. You’re an amazing guy. An amazing person. You’re one of the people I respect and care about most in the whole world. You’re just…so good.”

  “I try,” I say, uncomfortable with her praise, especially after how poorly I’ve controlled myself the past few hours. And now I have to have this talk with her, the hard talk I was hoping to avoid. I take a deep breath, forcing the words out, no matter how awkward and awful they feel on my tongue. “But I’m on the road all the time, Bridget. And your job and life and friends are here. We’d almost never be in the same place at the same time. Sooner or later, I know you’d come to resent me for not being here when you need me. Maybe even hate me for it.”

  “No, I wouldn’t,” she says. “First of all, I could never hate you. Ever. You’re too lovely to be hated. Secondly, I’m inexperienced, but I’m not a child. I understand what friends with benefits means.”