by Stacey Lynn
Not me.
Still, what I seem to forget is the look of fear and fury that had hit Trey and Corbin as soon as they’d seen me held against a cement wall. A guy I didn’t even know approached me in the hallway after leaving a dorm party. He’d shoved me through the door, pressed his body up against mine on the wall, and before I knew it he’d slapped me and shoved his hand beneath my skirt.
Fortunately, that’s as far as it went before Corbin and Trey found us and shoved him off me. But that look of fury on their faces that night? Two other strange men barreling down the stairway, coming across that, it’s forever ingrained in my mind. And it’s what helped me heal because even though there are a bunch of assholes in the world, Trey and Corbin constantly remind me that there are far more good and decent men, too.
“His name is Brett.”
“I mean his screen name.”
“That is his screen name. Unoriginal. Unassuming. It might have had some numbers after it, but when we talked he seemed completely nice. It’s not like he’s the only creep in the world.”
“That doesn’t matter, and if he’s going to be scaring women away, he’s not the guy for this round of testing. Besides, him grabbing you in any way is against the terms and conditions they agree to before signing up.”
Like anyone ever reads those. I let it go, though. Trey knows what he’s doing.
He finds the guy’s profile, flashing me the picture on his phone’s screen.
“That’s him.”
He takes a screenshot and drops his phone back to the couch. “I’ll delete him later. What else is going on?”
“I talked to a couple this weekend. Might see if I can meet up with one later this week, but after what happened, Teagan and I talked about meeting guys where I feel more comfortable.”
“Good. You should do that. Any ideas where?”
“Yeah. I’ll figure it out.”
“Okay then. Let’s get back to work. Contracts for SportsFanW are on the way. What else is in the works this week?”
He flips open a paper calendar, something he only uses during our meetings. His scribbles are unreadable chicken scratch, worse than any doctor’s I’ve ever seen, but I know when he gets home to his technical lair, he’ll import it all to computers. When I’ve teased him about it in the past, he’s said writing things down increases the odds he’ll remember them later.
I grab my tablet and swipe the screen to light it up. “You have a meeting with the clothing retailer…”
And just like that, we get to work. Except I’m still thinking about Dirty Martini’s and if it’s a good idea to go there, so when Trey finally leaves, I grab my phone, and for the first time in months, I pull up Jonas’s name and number.
Since he doesn’t work too late Sunday nights, there’s a chance he might be awake.
Hey, long-lost friend Caitlin here. Any chance we can talk?
I plug my phone into my charger in the kitchen and head to my room to shower and get ready for the day. I might like working in pajamas, but a girl’s also gotta take care of herself.
Less than an hour later, I’m dressed and refreshed for the day, planning out the rest of my afternoon running errands for Trey, when I head back to my kitchen and grab my phone.
Jonas’s text blares at me on the screen like a lightning strike.
Dirty’s at one. I’ll buy you lunch.
He’s never ordered me around before. He’s also never offered to buy me food. It’s all a bit strange, but maybe we’re both feeling a bit weird after our last encounter.
Still, I need a safe place to vet guys, and Dirty’s is the only place I can think of.
I type back I’ll see him then and head out of my apartment. A one o’clock lunch will give me enough time to head to the post office and drop off Trey’s dry cleaning before I spend the rest of the afternoon paying bills and invoicing his clients.
I can already feel the anxiety building, though it might be those butterflies again.
Chapter 7
Jonas
I have one eye on the clock and one eye on the bar. It’s lunchtime on Monday, a slow enough day. I figure when Caitlin shows up, we’ll have plenty of time to talk. And I’m more than curious to know what she wants to talk about.
Messaging her over the weekend has been beyond strange. Hiding who I am from her and trying to answer her simple questions without giving away who I am makes me feel like I’m lying to her. But I want to win her with who I am, not how good we are in bed together. If I tell her I want another chance, that’s exactly where we risk ending up.
Mostly because it’s where I want to be so bad.
If there’s a chance she’s figured it out, I’m screwed. Her asking me to talk is a huge sign I need to tread cautiously in this conversation. Perhaps, like me, she’s not okay with how we left things last week. I still feel like a dick for it. Not to mention going behind her back to her best friend and getting his advice along with his permission. At least someone has my back and understands my reasoning.
Let’s just hope eventually Caitlin will, too.
Sara, one of my lunchtime servers, slides her drink tray onto the bar. “You look like you’re going to throw up.”
I feel like I might. If Caitlin comes in this door with eyes blazingly pissed off, I’ve made a colossal mistake. “I’m all right.”
“Missing Ashley or something? Or what?” I give her a look that hopefully communicates I’m not discussing anything with her. Sara is cute in an older-woman-and-taken kind of way. She’s married, and her only son is in elementary school, which is why this shift works so well for her. She’s able to spend a few hours doing a job she enjoys and still pick Ben up after school on her way home. Plus she’s damn good at it and is the exact sort of professional server I need on staff to take care of the lunchtime business crowd.
My look is effective because she rolls her eyes and rattles off her drink list. I make it quickly, and I’m sliding a raspberry cosmo, a dry martini, and a local Portland IPA onto her drink tray right as the door opens, the wind from outside pushing a burst of cool air in with it.
Caitlin whips in, pulling the door shut behind her, unwrapping a light scarf from around her neck as she does it.
Damn. Like every time I see her, my pulse kicks up. She’s beautiful. Tiny in an unassuming way that belies the fire of her personality. It’s one of the reasons that she’s so fun to spend time with. I never know what’s going to come out of her mouth: the girl lacks any inhibitions whatsoever. Which is only one of the reasons that while I was falling in love with her, I was willing to push that to the side to be able to keep sleeping with her. She’s incredible in bed. A woman who is confident and independent and knows what she wants but is also able to try any new random thing we could think of blows my mind.
It also makes my dick hard while I remember the various activities.
“Hey.” I clear my throat. Thank God I’m behind the bar where she can’t see below my waist. “You made it.”
“Hi. Told you I would.” Her eyes do a quick sweep of the bar before coming back to me. She’s chewing on the side of her lip, which means she’s nervous. I rarely see her nervous. At least she’s not pissed. “So—”
I toss a menu onto the counter, not that she’ll need it. She’s had it memorized for a year. “Lunch first. Place your order, and I’ll go get it started.”
The fact that she takes the menu and reads it like she’s never been here shoots alarm bells to my ears. Why is she so damn nervous? I wasn’t that big of a dick to her.
“I’ll take the shrimp satay and a mini cheese board, please.”
“You got it. Drink?”
“Thanks. And, oh, maybe just a water, please?” Her lips are pressed to one side. I’m not sure she’s made eye contact with me yet.
Something is up. I force myself to brush it off. I pour her a water and set it on the bar on top of a coaster. “Go have a seat at the gray table, and I’ll have this started quickly, okay? I have to grab P
aul from his break, and I’ll meet you there.”
“Sure.” Her eyes slide to mine then. They’re timid. Wariness creeps down my skin as she turns away.
I haul off to the kitchen and have Manuel, our main lunch cook, place Caitlin’s order next in line. A cheese board and satay should only take a few minutes. Then I head down the hallway. Unsurprisingly, Paul’s out back, smoking something without nicotine in it. I wave my hand in the air. “Cut that shit out, Paul, and your break is over. I need you behind the bar.”
He presses his joint against the brick wall and tucks it into his pocket. “Sure thing, boss man.”
Paul is about a thousand times less useful than Tucker, and I’d write him up for being stoned at work and smoking in public even if possession is legal in Oregon now, but frankly, the guy actually performs better when he’s high.
I sigh, following him back inside. I’m still trying to shake off my unease at Caitlin’s timidity when I grab a drink from the bar and meet her at the table. It’s a high-back circular booth. Plush gray velvet covers the couch, and while there are plenty of other comfortable seating options, this table provides more privacy than any other seat.
Thank goodness it’s open because based on the way Caitlin startles as I slide in across from her, blanking out her phone and setting her screen facedown, I’m glad we’ll have the privacy.
Is she checking the app? And messaging other guys as easily as she did me? Of course she is, but the mere thought of another guy getting under her skin sets me on edge.
“So. You wanted to talk.” Might as well get the reason for her visit over with. “But before you do, I want to apologize to you. I was a jerk last time you were here, about the whole—” I wave my hand out toward her phone. She’s already smiling, though, which means we’ll be just fine. “Dating app thing.”
“Apology accepted. I get it, I was surprised because of what you said about Ashley, but whatever. And anyway, I’m only playing along to help out Trey. Work-related hazard, I guess.”
She shrugs, but there’s a blush tinting her cheeks. She might be telling the truth, but not the whole truth.
Sara walks up to our table, carrying Caitlin’s order. “Hey, Caitlin. Anything else you need, boss?”
“I’m good. Caitlin?”
She shakes her head, already chewing a chunk of Gouda. “I’m good,” she mumbles behind her hand. “Thanks, Sara. It looks great like always.”
“Sounds good. Enjoy and holler if you need me.”
She heads off to another table, and I take a drink of my soda.
“So, how’s the app going then?” The question fizzles down my throat more harshly than the soda just did.
“Actually, that’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”
“The dating app?”
“No.” She laughs and munches on a piece of shrimp, almost moaning with how much she loves the food here. Pride infuses my chest. She’s always been sexy to watch as she enjoys food. And I love it that she loves mine so much. “Well, yes. Sort of. See…” She drifts off.
I’m on the edge of the seat. Has she already met someone else? I dig my fingers into my thighs to hide my tension, but nothing works.
She looks so uncertain, eyes hesitatingly coming back to meet mine. “Is this weird? Me talking about this with you? I don’t want it to be.”
It’s painful as hell. “It’s fine. Just let me have it.”
“Okay.” She takes another bite. Another sip. As she kills time, stalling, pressure in my chest rises. It’s all I can do not to lean over the table and swipe her lunch to the floor so she doesn’t have anything to distract her. “I went on one date last week with this guy, and to be honest, it really creeped me out.”
“He hurt you?” Fire burns my eyes as I spit out the question. “Jesus, Caty, you have to be careful.”
The force of my words startles her, and she jumps in the booth, hands dropping to her side. The nickname I used to use with her slides off my tongue so easily I don’t even realize I’ve done it until her eyes widen. Caty disappeared and went back to Caitlin the day I walked out of her apartment the last time. I needed that separation and then, it just never felt right. She’d told me once she hated the nickname unless I was the one using it.
I kick the wandering thought out of my head.
“It wasn’t bad…okay, well, it was creepy. Not bad, but afterward I talked about it with Teagan, and she thinks I need to meet these guys where I feel safe.”
“Of course you should.” A hundred questions pummel my brain, making me ache. Did she tell Trey? Did he kick the guy’s ass? If he’s not prepared to, I will, and I don’t even know what the guy did to freak her out so much. “You should always feel safe.”
“I know. Which is why I wanted to talk to you to see if you’d be okay if I meet them here.”
Watching Caitlin go on a string of dates? Shoving toothpicks into my eyeballs sounds more fun.
A warm thrill slides down my spine at the same time. She thinks of my place as her safe place.
Plus, I can keep an eye on her while checking out the competition.
There’s no other answer. “Of course you can.”
Chapter 8
Caitlin
Teagan: Have fun on your date. Has to be better than the last one, right?
Oh, she’s so wrong. I haven’t told her about the cute hipster guy with skinny jeans, flannel top, and gray slouchy beanie who was totally my kinda cute. That was, until he smiled so sweetly right before he picked his nose. Twice. Then there was Ryan, who I enjoyed somewhat, but every time he laughed, he sounded like a group of hogs. After one drink—the guy laughs a lot—I politely excused myself. There was another Ryan, and he wasn’t too bad. I love Star Wars as much as the next person, more than, honestly, but I also like to have a conversation with a guy that isn’t purely in Yoda-ese. A girl can only take so much.
Oh no. Teagan’s thinking of Jordan. The linebacker-sized hottie wearing a college football jersey on his profile pic, and yeah…that grabbed my attention. What girl doesn’t grow up with the fantasy of having the quarterback fall in love with her at first glance? I blame it on my love of young adult romance novels.
Until he started off our date letting me know how beautiful I was and said I’d be perfect.
For what? To be his date at a friend’s wedding. The problem? He was secretly sleeping with the groom and wanted—no, needed—someone to play wingman while he and the groom disappeared, keeping the new wife in the complete dark that one or both of them are either gay or bisexual and still hiding it.
To each their own, totally. But to use me for that? Nothankyouverymuch.
Although at least he was honest about it.
Needless to say, I’m not all that fired up about another date. These guys…I would have thought a dating app would wring out the jerks and liars and cheaters, but apparently, regardless of what you do or what the purpose is, some people are just willing to lie.
They’re not all liars. Ryan—the hog horn laugher—was really nice. And cute in a geeky eyeglasses-too-big kind of way. But endearing. It was just the laugh. It freaked me out. The nose picker? Hard no.
Being a guy’s beard and possibly being involved in breaking another woman’s heart…hard NO for me.
That still doesn’t mean I’m all that fired up to continue this ridiculous quest of mine. The only thing that keeps me going is realizing that Trey is all I have for a social life, and let’s face it, outside of watching the occasional sports game with him, he’s usually neck deep in another random project, and I don’t just want someone to spend time with, I want someone to spend time with outside of work. Trey makes this difficult.
That doesn’t mean it’s not still strange to be meeting them at Dirty’s. It’s weird as all get-out, even if I haven’t seen Jonas anywhere when I’ve been here. Which is weird on its own because the guy lives at his bar. But it makes things easier for me, too.
Still, awkward as it is, it’s the safest and best
choice I’ve got. Heck, Jonas didn’t skip a beat when I asked him, to make sure he didn’t mind.
Because he has a girlfriend and he’s totally over you.
“Ugh. Dating sucks,” I mutter. The entryway to Dirty’s is in front of me, and yet I’m unable to force my feet to take me inside. My cold hands are clammy, and I swipe them against my coat for warmth. I should have worn gloves. It’s freaking freezing. I shove my hands into the pockets of my coat and ball them into fists, peering closer to the windows.
As hard as I’m looking, I’m still not entirely raring to go for another gross encounter of the toe fetish kind. It’s not like my other dates have set the bar that much higher, either. Somewhere I have courage, but all I find in my pockets is lint fuzz. Perhaps my courage has been packed away until spring.
My shoulders scrunch up to my ears and I do another quick scan.
Sara is at an empty table, setting dirty dishes into a gray bin. Paul is at the bar, leaning forward, hands curled around the edge while he talks to some male customers. He jerks his thumb at the television behind him, and they all burst out laughing. There are several other tables taken, and yet no one of the male persuasion is sitting alone, eyeing the door, waiting for me.
“Okay. You can do this.” I jerk back from the window and blow out a breath, surprised I can’t see it float away into the frigid air. Summer can’t come soon enough. I’m dying for a trip to the beach. Or at least the freedom to finally pack away my fur-lined boots. I kick said boots against the pavement and shake off the chill before heading inside. Like always, the breeze clips the door, swinging it wide open, and I have to use both hands to close it. Every time I enter Dirty’s, I’m breathless like I’ve been stuck in a whirlwind.
No one else seems to have this problem with the door, and I’ve spent a lot of time researching, watching patrons come and go. The door must love only me.