by Stacey Lynn
But it sure as hell isn’t going to be tonight, regardless of the fact my dick is jumping at my zipper, loving the idea and picture she’s created.
“I think friends can hang out and get drunk for whatever reason. Can’t we?” I tip my beer glass against hers, clinking them together. I’m essentially daring her to stay and drink with me, and we both know what happens between us when there’s too much alcohol.
A heated, dark pink hue colors the apples of her cheeks, and she swallows slowly. It takes seconds for her to meet my gaze again, and when she does, her voice is husky, unable to hide anything she’s thinking. “Yeah. We can do that.”
Desire thickens her voice, and my blood boils inside of me, rolling quickly, headed straight to the head below my waist with all the best ideas.
It won’t happen, not tonight. But that doesn’t mean I can’t remind her how good we were together in other ways, too. Plus, that desire and heady look in her eyes is exactly what I needed to see. It’s the exact same thing I saw from her as I left her apartment earlier in the week.
She does still want me.
And now all I have to figure out is if it’s just for sex…or is she finally considering giving me what I wanted months ago? A shot at forever.
* * *
—
Caitlin bumps against me as I walk her down the sidewalk. We leave the bar at ten o’clock, early enough that it’s not too bad to walk, and yet when she insisted she could get home on her own, I absolutely refused to let her go.
When she realized how serious I was being, she put up little fuss, blowing a kiss goodbye to Tucker before letting me help her get her coat on. As entertaining as it was to watch her struggle with armholes and get her scarf wrapped around her neck, it would have been closing time had I left her to fend for herself.
Now I have one arm wrapped around her, my gloved hands at her waist. Her head is propped against my chest as I guide her over the cracked sidewalks so we don’t face-plant onto the cement.
After Ashley left earlier, I only had two more drinks. Caitlin clearly had to let go of some stress because she sucked those martinis back like she’d never get another one. Tucker and I chose to kick back and watch her drink, listen to her drone on and on about plans for the bar if I decide to expand.
The fact she already considers it a done deal of when not if has sparked an excitement in my veins I’ve been struggling to have about the whole idea.
But with Caitlin’s excitement growing and so clear, shining in her slightly glassy eyes, I sat back and listened to her explain the entire grand concept to Tucker, loving how confident she is about what I can do.
It makes me feel like an asshole for lying to her, especially about tonight, but also like a superhero, as if in her eyes, I can accomplish anything.
And damn…every man I know wants a woman at his side who encourages them and their ideas like Caitlin does with mine.
It also hasn’t escaped my notice that not once, not one single time since Ashley left tonight, has she mentioned Michael, either, and I haven’t pressed that. A part of me is hoping it’s because she’s had so much fun with me she’s completely forgotten that she was stood up earlier. The other part of me is dying to know if she’s still disappointed.
She trips over a crack in the sidewalk, and we both fall forward. “Easy!” I call out, grabbing her right before we both face-plant.
Once we’re on our feet, I dip down and slide my other hand beneath her knees and stand.
“Jonas!” she yelps as I pick her up.
“We’ll never get you home if you keep tripping over everything.”
“It’s not my fault the sidewalk is moving.”
I laugh. She’s goofy.
I carry her the last two blocks to her apartment and am greeted with a wave from Maurice when I reach the lobby.
“Hello there, Miss Hayes and Mr. Reeves. Need any help tonight?”
Caitlin already has her keys in her hand and waves them in the air. “No thanks, Maurice. Jonas’s got me.”
Yeah I do. And I wish I could in a different way.
“Just making a delivery, Maurice, I won’t be up there long.”
“Shame,” he grins. The man is old enough to have retired a decade ago, yet he still shows up for the night shift with the excitement of an employee’s first day of work at their dream career. “Take your time.”
I punch the elevator button and adjust Caitlin in my arms. Her eyes are droopy but she’s smiling.
“What’s so funny?”
“Maurice. He likes you.” She pats my hand and settles in on my chest. That burn ignites along with another desire I’m hoping she can’t feel beneath the thickness of my coat. “You’re a good guy, Jonas. One of the best.”
The elevator door opens, and we enter, me setting her to her feet as I hit the button to her floor.
I don’t respond as the elevator creeps to the floor. She and I enclosed in small spaces has always led to physical things, and more than once we’ve left with my handprints on the reflective walls from caging her in and kissing the hell out of her.
Her being so sweet is messing with my head and my resolve to win her slowly, and the right way.
The bell dings and the doors open. She curls into me, and I get her to her door, her keys to the apartment already in my hand. I go to unlock the door when her small hand covers mine.
She’s removed her glove in the elevator, and the soft, warm flesh of her hand on mine is almost too much to bear.
God. She’s torturing me without even realizing it.
“Wait,” she says, and I peer down at her. She’s propped against the wall, head back. “I really mean it when I say you’re the best. I’m lucky I have great guys in my life. I know all aren’t as good as you.”
Shit. Her face twists with the pain, and I resist the urge to flinch. I’ve lied to her enough over the last couple of weeks, and I can’t do it with this.
“You should know, Trey told me. About how you met.” Her sleepy eyes pop open, and I grin, tapping her on the nose to keep this topic from getting too heavy. Any more thinking about that prick, and my fist is liable to end up in the wall. “Left out something important about how you met Trey and Corbin, didn’t you?”
She swats at my hand, scrunching up her nose. “I don’t like to talk about it.”
And yet, she’s the one who brought it up tonight. I rest my shoulder against the wall and brush hair off her cheek. “Is that why you don’t like relationships?”
“God, Jonas. I’m too drunk for this.” Her eyes close, and she rubs them with her fists. She’s probably right and I’m about to apologize, open her door, and send her on safely, when she groans. “I don’t know. Maybe but not entirely. My parents sucked. I was raised a loner, I guess. I’ve never had a lot of friends.” She shrugs, and she’s so drunk she almost topples over from the slight motion.
“You’re a mess,” I tell her, unlocking her door.
“Trust me,” she groans again. “I know.”
“Hey.” I hold out my arm, and she walks into it, collapsing against my chest, and I pull her to me, wrapping my arms tight around her. “I just meant you’re drunk. That’s all.”
“Yeah, well, I am a mess. I mean, who grows up feeling like they don’t need anyone?” She brings up her hand and jabs her index finger against her temple. “Me, that’s who.”
I squeeze her tighter. The things I want to say to her. The things I want to prove to her. The list is too numerous to count, but she’s anything but messed up. Scared maybe. Uncertain of what it’s like to fully trust someone or love them the way she deserves, but she’s not a mess.
She nods against my chest and mumbles something I can’t understand since her face is smashed to my coat. I lean back, brushing hair off her face. “What was that?”
Her lips pull to one side, and then she nibbles on her bottom lip. “I asked if you wanted to come in.”
Fucking hell. She’s killing me. My hands are at the sides of h
er face. “You’re drunk.”
“I’m not that drunk.”
If I wanted to be any other guy for her, hell, even how we used to be, the answer would be so easy. My dick already thinks the answer is obvious. I’m hard as a rock just from hugging her and getting to hold her for the first time in so long.
“I can’t, Caitlin.”
She blinks and looks away, frowning. “I figured. Of course you don’t.”
“Hey.” I pull her back and bend down so I’m close to her. So damn close I could easily press my lips against her, slide my tongue into her mouth, feel her small but strong fingers dig into my hips. Visions and ideas of what I want to do to her body flash in my mind so quickly I groan. “I can’t go inside with you, honey. I don’t want to go back to what we used to have. You mean too much to me.”
She closes her eyes, and when she opens them again, any hope or emotion is gone. “I understand.”
She doesn’t. Caitlin can’t have any clue of what she means to me or what I want from her, and the time for this conversation is not when she can barely stand. But soon, very soon, because there’s no way I can continue this charade for much longer—especially if it means seeing her prance into Dirty’s with more guys.
Before I know it, she’s on her tiptoes, and her lips brush against mine. I inhale the sweet scent of her perfume, and it’s impossible to deny her.
My hands yank her to me and I step backward, pulling her into her apartment. The door slams closed behind us, and her back is against it. She’s already rolling her hips, and I’m swallowing her groans as she takes mine, accepting my tongue that I slide against her lips.
And fucking hell in a handbasket. She’s fire and ice and even drunk she’s still the best damn kisser. It’s the kind of kiss that boils my blood and shoots desire straight down my spine.
I pull back, breathless. “We can’t,” I say, although I’m gasping and my hips have her pinned to the door. “I can’t do this with you, Caitlin. Not like this.”
With secrets and uncertainties.
I press my head against her forehead even as her hands slide to my waist. “I miss it,” she says, and it’s so sweet, so sad and faint, I want to fall to my knees and explain everything, carry her to bed, and make it all better.
She stops me, throwing her hand to her mouth, and her eyes go wide. “Oh shit,” she groans. She takes off running, and by the hunch of her shoulders, her hand over her mouth, I know exactly what’s about to happen.
I reach the bathroom right before she slams the door shut, drops to her knees, and empties the contents of her stomach into the toilet.
Chapter 18
Caitlin
My head. My high school’s old drum line has taken up residence inside my skull, pounding their mallets on the largest bass drum known to man. It doesn’t take more than a few seconds to roll over, the memories of last night pounding against my brain to the incessant thumping of my headache.
Hot damn.
I kissed Jonas. Then promptly threw up after he rejected me. Yet he didn’t leave, he stayed. I couldn’t even summon the mortification I should have felt when he grabbed a clip from my bathroom counter and held back my hair with it, or when he wet a washcloth and gave it to me when I was done, still crouched over the toilet. He’d lifted me in his arms and so easily and carefully carried me to my room. He made his way around my space with the ease of a man who had spent so many nights there, digging through my drawers to find a T-shirt.
But God. Mortification had set in then, even with me being barely awake. I struggled to sit and managed to push myself up, plopping my head against my headboard. His face showed surprise as he held up a shirt.
“You still wear this?”
I blink slowly. He was never supposed to know I kept it all this time. He was never supposed to know I stole it at all. I shrug, the energy it takes for that simple motion wearing me out. “It’s comfortable.”
He steps toward me, shirt fisted in his hand until he reaches the bed. “It was my favorite. I thought someone stole it from the laundry room. And you’ve had it? All this time?”
I wither beneath his perusal. He’s so serious. He’s supposed to leave. He’s the one who just rejected me not more than fifteen minutes ago. The gray shirt he has in his hand is from his senior year of high school. Twelve years old, the faded screen print letters of Connecticut University barely visible. What was once a deep pink is now muted, dirty. He bought it before he decided not to go to college. “It’s just a shirt, Jonas.”
His expression turns soft. A gleam in his eye I don’t have the energy, or sobriety, to decipher. “Sure it is, Caty. Just a shirt is all.”
I close my eyes as he reaches out. With efficient movements, he pulls me to the edge of the bed. “Let me get you dressed in this and then I’ll let you rest.”
My hands fall to his shoulders, and I lean in to him, my head lolls forward. So sleepy. Oh my goodness. Martinis are the devil in disguise.
He lifts my limp limbs, divesting me of my shirt and bra, and I realize he has no reaction to seeing my body. It’s a boon, really. It’d be creepy if he was getting turned on and enjoying himself right now, but the Jonas I’ve been with still would have paused. Shot me a teasing look and encouraged me in some way. This Jonas is quick and efficient, hurried in his movements as if he can’t wait to leave.
“Will you stay?” I mumble, once he’s slid this shirt over my head and tugged my arms through the sleeves.
His lips press to the top of my head. “Until I know you’re asleep, but I can’t stay with you, Caitlin.”
Of course he can’t. Sleeping in the same bed with a woman you’ve spent years sleeping next to and curled into isn’t on his list of things to repeat anymore.
Humiliation stings as I turn and climb into the bed. I tug the covers over me and roll, putting my back to him. This whole stupid thing started tonight because I was stood up. It makes total sense why Jonas doesn’t want things to go back to how they were.
Trey’s stupid app. There’s nothing wrong with the app. It’s working fine. Perhaps it’s just me who doesn’t work right.
“You can go,” I mumble, pulling the covers up to my shoulders and closing my eyes. “I’ll be fine now. Thanks for walking me home.”
“Caitlin—” he starts, and stops after my name.
I close my eyes and pray to pass out quickly. Seconds would be fantastic. I hear him moving. He heads into my attached bathroom and runs the water. Flushes the toilet. The water runs again, and by the time the bathroom door opens, the light from the room casting a glow over my bed, I pretend to be fast asleep.
I’ve been stood up, gotten drunk, kissed and almost puked on the only guy I can see myself being brave enough to hand my heart to, except it’s six months too late and he no longer wants it.
I’m the largest mess in Portland. Perhaps Oregon. West Coast minus Malibu. Those rich people are off-the-charts crazy.
“Good night, honey,” he says.
His hand squeezes my arm, and I’m plunged into darkness and silence as I finally pass out.
“Awesome, awesome,” I groan and throw off the covers. Next to me, the pillow is fluffed and clean. I have no idea where Jonas went, but he obviously didn’t stay.
Moving from the bed feels like I’m trudging through waist-deep mud. My movements are slow, my bones ache. Freaking hangovers and martinis. I still can’t believe I drank so much. Maybe I didn’t eat enough. I’d felt fine until I absolutely knew I wasn’t going to be. Leave it to me to go from tipsy to white-girl-wasted in the blink of an eye.
In the bathroom, I quickly clean up and brush my teeth, gasping when I catch myself in the mirror. My hair is a rat’s nest. More Medusa scary than curly and cute. Clipping it back, I wash my face and then pop some ibuprofen. I’m feeling almost human by the time I get back to my bedroom, and blink several times at the sight in front of me as well as the scent.
Someone has brought coffee to my room. Steam wafts from the white mug on
my dresser, and next to it is a bagel slathered with cream cheese.
He’s here?
I make quick work of finding a pair of pajama pants in my drawers and pull them on along with a clean shirt. If Jonas wants his back, I should give it to him.
But still my heart flutters as I take my first sip of coffee. He’s not only stayed but made me breakfast? Where did he sleep?
The couch, you moron.
Makes sense. I grab my plate and coffee cup and hurry as fast as my still shaking and alcohol-withdrawing legs can move me.
On the couch, a blanket is rumpled and tossed over the back along with two pillows from my hall closet. My steps quicken.
I reach the kitchen and pull to an abrupt stop.
It’s not Jonas standing in my kitchen with his back to me. Off to the side is a plate of bacon and eggs, still fresh and hot, based on the fact Trey is rinsing dishes and loading them into the dishwasher.
The fluttering in my heart disappears and drops like a brick to my feet.
“Hey,” Trey says as he closes the dishwasher, realizing I’m in the room. “You feeling okay? Heard you had a rough night.”
The coffee mug in my hand shakes. “Jonas called you?”
He chews on the side of his cheek before nodding. “Came and got me last night when he left. He didn’t have a key to lock up and wanted me to know what was going on so I could make sure you were okay.”
It was nice of him. It still hurts to know he didn’t wait to take off. I’m not even sure I’ll be able to show my face around him again at this point.
One great night of drinks together in months, and everything feels ruined between us.
We don’t have the benefits anymore. I’m not sure we have a friendship, either, and I have no one to blame but myself.
I hold up my mug of coffee. “I’ve felt better, but thanks for this.”
He inspects me, and I can feel his gaze on me as I put my back to him and head toward the coffeepot. I need massive amounts of caffeine to kick this headache.