by Aubrey Watts
“Hey Jason,” he calls across the bar, never breaking eye contact with me. His voice is deep and sultry, and I can hear my heart thumping heavily against my chest. The bartender turns around to look at us, visibly exasperated.
“Put her drink on my tab.”
He complies and turns his attention to another patron.
I swallow hard, feeling my mouth go dry. “Thank you,” I whisper with a slight smile.
He nods and slides down a few barstools so that he’s right beside me. He smells like oil, cigarettes, whiskey, and cologne. He leans into me and extends his calloused hand. I shake it nervously, feeling his warmth spread throughout my body all at once.
“I’m Macon,” he says without effort.
Macon.
My beer is set down in front of me and I take a long drink of it, throwing the name around in my head. It’s not what I was expecting, but it fits him.
“And you are?”
I meet his gaze. His eyes are a captivating shade of icy blue unlike anything I’ve ever seen.
“I’m Cassandra,” I breathe, taking the leap, “nice to meet you.”
Chapter 3
“That’s the thing about fighting, though.” Macon gestures with his hands and pauses to take another sip of his drink. He’s animated in everything he does. “You can never really know how good your opponent is; even if you’ve fought them dozens of times. They can train. Their entire technique can change between matches. You have to be on your feet at all times.”
I’ve never met anyone as passionate in what they do as he is. His eyes glow when he describes the rush of adrenaline attached to stepping inside a ring. He’s all smiles and laughter. Fine lines accentuate his mouth and hint at his age, but it’s clear that he’s a young soul—an entirely different creature from most men in their mid thirties.
“You’ll have to come to one sometime, I can get you t—”
His smile dissipates and he furrows his brows, stopping in midsentence.
“What?” he questions with his lips slightly parted. The look of confusion on his face is adorable. “Do I have something on my face?”
I shake my head and lean into the counter, taking another sip of my beer—the second one he’s bought me. “No, you’re fine,” I say, flashing him a smile.
He returns the gesture and it’s scalding—the effect that crooked grin has on one particular region of my body. I blush, ignoring the wetness between my thighs.
“So what do you do, Cassandra?”
My full name sounds so natural leaving his mouth that for one brief moment, I find myself forgetting that most people don’t call me by it. He grips his drink, whiskey on ice, and brings it to his lips. I admire the way his Adams apple bobs in his throat as he swallows.
“I photograph weddings,” I mumble into my hand, averting my gaze from his. Everything about him turns me on. It’s too much to handle.
“Really?”
I nod. “Yeah, not what you were expecting?”
Macon thinks it over and shrugs. “No,” he says, waving a hand in my direction, “but it makes sense.”
I’m not entirely sure what that means but I don’t ask him to elaborate. He’s vague, but I chop it up as just another part of his charm.
“I will say one thing,” I say, sitting up a little straighter. “Weddings can get pretty bloody too. I mean, not in the same way as a boxing match, I’m sure, but…”
He arches a brow. A curious grin spreads across his face. “But?”
“Well…have you ever seen two bridesmaids fight over who gets to catch the bouquet?”
He chuckles at the comment and his laughter reverberates down the bar, catching the attention of a few patrons.
“You,” he says, pointing a finger at me, “I like you.”
It’s a fleeting comment but one that makes my heart swell nonetheless. He laces his arm around my shoulder and I freeze. It’s the first time I’ve ever understood what people meant by the term, “getting butterflies.”
“Well you aren’t too bad yourself,” I say, feeling myself blush.
A loud group of women in a bachelorette party approach the bar from across the club but Macon’s gaze never leaves mine. He presses his thumb against my cheek and I suck in a deep breath. “Just an eyelash,” he whispers with his hand still on my face.
My mouth goes dry at the prospect of kissing him, but the moment passes and he pulls away from me.
“So, uh,” he starts, trying to find some semblance of normal conversation, “who were those girls you were with?”
“Just my friends,” I say, regaining my composure. “Vega and Olivia.”
I don’t know why I tell him this next part, but the words leave my mouth before I can stop them. “Olivia, the brunette, was actually the one who encouraged me to come talk to you.”
“Oh?”
I swallow hard, trying my best to hide the obvious fog of desire in my tone. “Yeah,” I confess with a shaky laugh. “I’m not really the type who approaches guys in clubs.”
He nods. A brief lapse of silence falls over us. Macon presses a finger against my mouth and I stare at him, taken slightly off guard by the gesture. He’s quick to pull away when he notices the look of shock in my expression.
“Sorry, it’s just…” He chuckles and scratches his neck. “Women wearing red lipstick. That’s kind of my thing.”
I smile at the admittance, making a mental note to thank Olivia later. If it weren’t for her, I wouldn’t even be here. I look around the club for her but she’s nowhere to be found, and there’s a new group of people in our booth.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
The question lingers in the air. I blink once, then twice, unsure as to whether or not I heard him correctly. It’s been awhile since a man has propositioned me.
Macon frowns. “Sorry…I didn’t mean to—”
I shake my head and reach for his hand. “No,” I say, flashing him a nervous smile. “I’m sorry, I was just distracted. Yes…I would like to get out of here.”
He smiles back at me and pulls me to my feet, slapping a crumpled twenty on the counter to cover our drinks. I watch him pull his muscular arms back through the sleeves of his leather jacket, which he removed a while ago, stating that he was hot. Someone barrels past us and knocks me off balance. I stumble and he catches me. The heat of his hands sends an immediate shiver down my spine. I swallow hard, regaining control of my limbs.
He curls his hand around my much smaller one and leads me through a sea of thrashing bodies towards the door. He nods at the bouncer, who opens it and steps aside. The cool air greets us like an old friend; it’s a refreshing sensation after being in a stuffy bar all night, surrounded by sweaty bodies. Macon’s large frame towers over mine. There are a few stragglers from the club making their way toward their vehicles, but other than them, we’re more or less alone.
Macon presses a hand against my face and my eyes flutter briefly shut as I sigh into him. It’s a level of intimacy that I’m not used to—not by a long shot. There’s electricity between us. I can feel it in his fingertips, sending jolts of energy all the way down to the tips of my toes. And when he kisses me, finally, the entire world melts away all at once. He knows exactly what he’s doing and takes his time. He laces his fingers through my hair and groans into my mouth.
I’m soaking wet—incapable of focusing on anything other than the way his lips move against mine. When he finally pulls away from me, we both struggle to catch our breath. He cups my chin in his hands and stares down at me with an intensity that leaves me yearning for more. I caress the stubble on his jaw, admiring the way his olive skin looks beneath the flow of the streetlights.
“Come on,” he says. There’s a newfound urgency in his tone. He reaches for my hand once more and we continue walking, with me a few steps behind him, struggling to keep up.
I know absolutely nothing about him, nor does he know anything about me, but that’s part of the allure of it all. All that ma
tters now, in this moment, is the way his hand feels against mine as he leads me through the parking lot, towards a shiny black bike with all the dings and whistles.
Because Olivia was right. In this moment, I’m not Cassie. I’m Cassandra—a free spirited woman who throws caution to the wind and doesn’t think twice about climbing onto the back of a handsome guys motorcycle and riding off into the night with him.
Chapter 4
We drive along the road in silence; the soft hum of the Bonneville’s engine serves as our only distraction. I wrap my arms tighter around his chiseled chest and take in his scent. He’s intoxicating, in more ways than one, and I find myself wanting him more than I’ve ever wanted anything or anyone.
A few minutes later, we pull into an isolated parking lot that overlooks the dark Pacific Ocean. Macon parks and helps me off the bike after him. I stretch my arms, following him across the cracked slab of concrete, toward the water. It’s a chilly night and I’m only wearing a light sweater. I wrap my arms around my chest and stick my hands in my pockets to warm them, and my fingers brush against something plastic inside.
I frown and glance up at Macon. He’s walking a few feet ahead of me, so I pull out the object and inspect it, and my suspicions are immediately confirmed. It’s a condom, most likely planted by Olivia when I wasn’t looking. I smile at the gesture and roll my eyes.
Macon stops walking, briefly, and turns to look at me. “Are you cold?”
I start to shake my head, but he removes his jacket before I can and hangs it over my shoulders. I smile at him and slide my small arms through each sleeve. “You’re sweet,” I whisper.
He pauses there, with his hands hovering just above my waist. For a fleeting moment, I think he might kiss me again, but it passes and he continues toward the sand.
“This is my favorite place in the city,” he says, spreading his arms. I linger back, taking him in. His muscles ripple against his tight white t-shirt as he stretches. He’s beautiful. There’s really no denying it.
I follow him through a patch of matted grass and weeds that separate us from the shore. Our feet sink further into the sand with every step we take, but I don’t mid. I reach down to remove my flats and carry them in my hands the rest of the way. Macon’s jacket weighs me down some, but it smells like him, and I don’t want to remove it.
We collapse a few feet away from the water, which rolls in heavy waves onto the shore.
“I’ve been coming here since I was a kid.” I say, scooping a handful of sand into my palm and allowing it to sift through my fingers. “Whenever my mom was being mean, or neurotic, I’d bring a notepad and some crayons, or colored pencils, or whatever, and I’d just draw.”
I can feel Macon staring at me but I don’t return his gaze; it’s nice—being admired by someone. “Do you still have them?”
“The drawings,” he continues with a nod.
“Oh,” I say, turning my attention back to the sea, “no, I don’t think so.”
He reaches for my hand and I realize, when it’s too late, that I’m still holding onto the condom. He takes it before I can stop him and holds it up in the moonlight for better inspection.
“It’s not what it looks like,” I start, feeling my cheeks burn red. Macon laughs out loud and raises a brow.
“Sure.” He winks at me and flashes me a smile. I’m horrified—completely incapable of crafting a response, but he doesn’t let me off the hook that easily.
He leans into me and I can feel his breath against my neck. “You were going to seduce me, weren’t you?”
His tone is laced with flattery. I roll my eyes and snatch the small piece of plastic from his grasp. “No,” I retort, steadying my voice, “I just found it in my pocket, that’s all. I think one of my friends must have planted it there as a joke or something.”
Macon chuckles and holds up his hands, gesturing non-judgment. I roll my eyes at him. He snakes an arm around me and pulls me to his chest. I relax, allowing my form to mold to his.
“So don’t take this the wrong way…”
I sit up a little straighter and swallow hard. This is always how it starts off. I bite down on my bottom lip and brace for disappointment.
“You don’t really seem very much like your friends. The two you were with back at the club, anyway.”
I hesitate. I should be more offended by the statement than I am, but I can’t find it in myself to be. Not now anyway.
“What do you mean?”
Macon thinks it over. “I don’t know,” he says, expelling a long stream of air from his lungs. “It’s just, they seemed one way and you’re this…” He waves a hand over my small frame. “Entire other way.”
I know what he’s getting at, of course. It’s the age old question, the same one everyone ends up asking eventually—In what world do a bubbling romantic, a pessimist, and an introvert co-exist in harmony?
I settle on an easy response to feed his curiosity. “I guess…I don’t know. We’ve just known each other our entire lives. We’re more like sisters than friends.”
Macon nods. “That makes sense.”
He jumps to his feet and pulls off his shirt, tossing it to the ground. Before I can fully register what’s happening, he removes the rest of his clothing too. I stare at him like a deer in headlights, completely taken off guard. He’s just as beautiful in the nude as he is clothed, but I expected as much. I watch as he dives into the water in one leap and disappears beneath it.
A few seconds later, he comes up for air, all smiles, and gestures toward me on the shore.
“Come in,” he says with a wave, ‘the water is great!”
I bite down on my bottom lip until I think I can taste iron. There’s no one else on the beach this late at night; it’s just him and I. But that doesn’t do much to calm my nerves.
“I don’t know!” I call out to him, shaking my head, “I’ve never skinny dipped before.”
It’s an embarrassing thing for a girl who was born and raised in California to admit, but it’s the truth.
“So?” Macon calls back, stretching his arms in the air, “what are you so afraid of?”
Fuck it.
I’m sick of being called a wimp. I stand up and begin to remove my clothing with shaking hands. My blouse hits the sand first, then my skirt, followed by my underwear and bra. I can feel Macon staring at me and I blush, covering my private parts as best as I can manage in a forced act of modesty.
“Hurry,” he yells out to me. I glance up at him, watching as his head bobs back beneath the dark current. I seize the moment and run into the water beside him. It’s the perfect temperature—not too warm or cold, and I’m struck by how different it feels to swim naked than in a swimsuit.
There’s something freeing about it.
I feel something brush against my stomach and jump, but it’s only Macon. He comes up for air and floats towards me, reaching to pull my naked form against his. Our bodies mingle—a clash of pale, freckled skin and tattoos. He touches every part of me in the water and I return the gesture, memorizing every caveat of his body for later.
When my hand brushes against his hardening girth, he sucks in a deep breath and groans.
“Fuck.”
His voice is warm, his mouth wet from the water. My head pounds; I can feel the last of my resolves slipping quickly away from me. He flicks his tongue over his full lips and reaches out to stop me from taking things further. I frown, meeting eyes with him.
“What is it?” I whisper, dejected, “why not?”
I’m struck by the realization that I sound like a child who has just denied a snack before dinner and I blush.
Macon shakes his head. “I want this, trust me, I do,” he says, brushing a wet strand of my hair behind my ear. “its just…there ain’t any harm in take things slow, you know?”
Slow.
The word echoes in the back of my head long after it’s spoken.
It’s a concept I’m all too familiar with.
Chapt
er 5
I dig my feet into the sand and stretch into it. We’re on the shore again, although this time only partially dressed, with him in his briefs and me in his t-shirt.
“What were you doing there?” I blurt out.
Macon turns to look at me and frowns.
I shake my head and wipe my hand over the drops of water on my legs. “At the club, I mean. It doesn’t really seem like your kind of scene, if you don’t mind me saying.”
He chuckles. “Oh, right,” he says, shrugging his shoulders, “I was there on a date, the place was her idea, but…she kind of never showed up.”
I try not to make my disbelief too apparent, but it must be, because Macon takes one look at me and laughs. “It’s okay,” he says, cracking his knuckles, “I’m kind of happy with the direction my night is taken.”
I smile at him, briefly, before turning my gaze back to the water. He reaches for my hand and gives it a squeeze. We sit in comfortable silence for a long time, listening to the waves as they hit the sand. I never realized how nice this was—basking in silence with someone you just met. It seems foreign, unnatural even, but there’s beauty to be found in it.
He reaches for his jeans and pulls a half opened pack of cigarettes from his pocket, lighting one. He offers one to me but I shake my head.
“Nights like this remind me of why I love this city.” He flicks the ash hanging from the end of his smoke. “I didn’t like it at first, but it grew on me.”
“Yeah,” I whisper, chancing a glance at him, “It kind of has a way of doing that.”
It takes me a moment to realize that he’s just revealed something to me about himself without even trying.
“Where are you from?” I question, watching as smoke wavers from between his full lips.
He turns to look at me and it takes him a second to remember what he said.
“Oklahoma. Bumfuck nowhere, basically.” He waves his hand in the air and glosses over it. “I could tell you the name of the city but you wouldn’t know it.”
He nudges his shoulder against mine. “What about you? Are you from LA?”