by Aly Martinez
“Oh God. There is no him!” she yelled. “I don’t have an abusive boyfriend. So please just stop with that and leave me alone.”
I was shocked by her outburst, but her reaction secured the fact that I wouldn’t be leaving her alone at all. I didn’t give one fuck that it made me creepy as hell. I could live with that—as long as she lived too.
I didn’t reply, nor did I move away. I simply focused my attention on the water below—which meant I was secretly studying her out of the corner of my eye.
She nervously adjusted her hair at least a dozen times while I finished my cigarette. She even scooted down the rail a few feet, and much to her dismay, I slid down with her.
“You aren’t going to leave, are you?” She sniffled.
“No.”
“Sam, I’m—”
I pushed off the rail and spun to face her. “Don’t say fine. Whatever word you’re planning to finish with, don’t let it be fine.” I huffed and shoved a rough hand through my hair. I was probably overreacting, but I couldn’t risk that I wasn’t. “I get it. You don’t know me, but in some ways, that makes me the perfect person to talk to. So, please, I’m begging you. Tell me what’s going on with you. Just give me your story. I’m not here to judge.”
“I can’t,” she said, swiping two fingers under her glasses to dry the tears.
I would have given anything to be able to see her eyes—get a real read on her. Her mouth and her body language only gave away so much, but I needed more.
“Well, then. I’m sorry if me being here bothers you, but I can’t walk away. You don’t have to talk, but you’re stuck with me until you walk down off this bridge.”
Tilting her head up to the sky, she sucked in deep breath. “You don’t have to babysit me.”
“Fine. Then you stand there and babysit me. Last night was shitty for me.” I pointedly lifted my eyebrows at her. “And this morning wasn’t any better. I could use a babysitter.” I blew out a breath, trying to check my attitude.
She didn’t deserve it. She obviously had enough going on without some stranger blowing up at her too.
Humor. I can do that.
“And, as my babysitter, if you’re fighting the urge to pat my ass and tell me that it’s all going to be okay, I definitely wouldn’t stop you.” I flashed her a grin that I knew would go unanswered. I was okay with that though, because she stopped moving away.
Her chin quivered as she chewed on her bottom lip.
I fucking hated seeing her like that and had to ball my fists at my sides to keep from reaching out to touch her. I was desperate to console her, but I was already forcing my company on her. I wasn’t going to do it physically, too.
That wasn’t what she needed.
What does she need?
I swallowed hard when her shoulders began to shake as sobs ricocheted inside her chest, seemingly unable to find a way out.
Fuck it. Maybe just a little touch.
I slid a hand down the rail to cover hers.
It was a simple gesture, but it was easily the greatest decision I’d ever made.
That one touched destroyed a wall.
I wasn’t even sure whose wall it had been to begin with—hers or mine.
But I would have spent my entire life tearing it down if I could have only predicted what was on the other side.
Spinning, she threw her arms around my neck. Caught off guard, I stumbled back a step before steadying us both. Folding my arms around her waist, I pulled her flush against me. Sobs ravaged her, but I held her as though I could siphon them away.
I couldn’t, but just trying returned to me far more than I was giving her.
And, for that alone, I squeezed her even tighter.
Tourists bustled by us, probably staring as they passed. But only one person on that bridge mattered.
It wasn’t me.
And, for once, it wasn’t even Anne.
I actually didn’t know her name at all.
“I’m sorry… I’m…” She continued to cry into my neck.
“Don’t be sorry,” I croaked around a lump in my throat.
Nothing else was said for several minutes as she wept in my arms. I didn’t whisper soothing words. I just stroked her back and allowed her time to collect herself.
What would I have I said anyway? Why she was crying in the first place was a mystery to me, but it was one I was determined to solve.
Finally, she stepped out of my grasp and began frantically drying her eyes. “I need to go. I’m really sorry about that.”
I immediately wanted her back.
Safe.
In my arms.
To keep my hands busy, I dragged a cigarette out. “Please don’t go,” I whispered as I lifted it to my mouth.
“I have to get off this bridge,” she replied.
I quickly nodded in understanding. I wanted her off that bridge too.
“Thanks for… Shit. I’m so sorry. Let me get that dry-cleaned for you.” She motioned to the tears and black makeup smudges staining my shoulder.
I chuckled. “I’ll be okay. Besides, I can’t give it up. It’s my only coat.”
Her face paled. “Oh God. That’s even worse. I’ll buy you a new one.”
“I’m kidding. I have a whole closet full. I swear.” I made a cross over my heart. “But don’t worry about getting it dry-cleaned. Really, it’s not that nice. I can just toss it in the wash when I get home.”
“I can tell you from experience that mascara isn’t going to come off in the wash. Just let me—”
“Seriously, it’s just a jacket. If you are hell-bent on making it up to me, then tell me your name.”
Her chin snapped to the ground. “Uhhh…”
“Right,” I said, more than just a little put off.
“It’s just…”
I shoved the unlit cigarette back in the pack then tilted my head toward the way down. “Come on. I’m ready to go home.”
She didn’t move. “Sam, I… I mean…”
I forced a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”
Resting a hand on the small of her back, I ushered her down the bridge. She went willingly, but her eyes were aimed at the ground as she nervously knotted her fingers in front of her.
When we reached the bottom, she stopped and lifted her gaze to mine. “About that little freak-out on the bridge… I’m… I shouldn’t have put you in that position. I mean, you—”
She could have apologized all she wanted, but I wasn’t interested in the least. Pulling a yellow piece of paper from my pocket, I cut her off. “Take this. I completely understand that you don’t want to talk or tell me your name. But, last night, I was freaking out that…” I paused to think of how to gently phrase it, but I came up empty. It is what it is. “I thought you jumped.”
“Sam—”
“No. Just hear me out. That’s my number. You seem to get here no earlier than eleven every night. So I’ll be here tomorrow and every night after that by ten thirty. But if, for some reason, you feel the need to come earlier, use that and I’ll be here.”
Her face softened as she took a step toward me. “Sam—”
I scrubbed a hand over my chin and continued to talk over her. “And if, for some reason, you don’t feel like coming up here, can you at least put me out of my misery and shoot me a text or something?”
“Sam, stop.” She inched even closer and rested her hands on my chest.
“I get it. You’re clearly a private person. Feel free to block your number and sign the text ‘Designer Shoes’ or, really, not at all. I’ll know who it’s from,” I nervously rambled. It wasn’t because she was suddenly touching me or the fact that heat might as well have been radiating from her hands for the way it made my chest feel, but rather because I wanted to touch her too.
But I really just wanted to throw her in the back of my car and force her into some kind of therapy so I could stop obsessing about her—and then maybe touch her in a different way.
I didn�
�t think kidnapping would go over well, but instead of acting like a normal person and offering to get her help, I looped an arm around her waist and shifted her even closer against my body.
“I think you’re right. I really might be a tattooed stalker.”
She smiled. “I’m not going to jump,” she whispered.
God, I want to believe her.
“Take your glasses off,” I whispered back, tipping my head down so I was only a breath away from her mouth.
Her tongue darted out and dampened her red lips.
I needed to see her fucking eyes. And then taste her mouth.
Then kidnap her.
I decided to take matters into my own hands. After slowly reaching up, I pinched a corner of her glasses. I didn’t remove them, but I made my intentions clear.
“Please let me see you.”
She didn’t move away, nor did she agree. So I stood there with my hand on her glasses, pleading with my eyes for a single glimpse of hers.
She did something better.
Her tongue made an encore against her lips—just before it ruined me for life.
She pushed my hands away then sealed her mouth over mine.
My eyes popped open in shock for only the briefest of seconds. Then a moan rumbled in my chest as she opened her mouth and twisted her tongue with mine.
She tasted like mangos, and I fucking devoured her like a man starved.
For as many cigarettes as I’d smoked while waiting for her, I probably tasted like an ashtray. But I could apologize for that later. I wasn’t stopping any time soon.
Her tongue swirled as I took the kiss deeper.
Suddenly, she pushed off my chest and took a step away. “Fuck. Shit. I can’t believe I did that. What the fuck is wrong with me?”
My head was spinning, and her words sounded a whole lot like insults, but I still followed her forward.
“I’m standing right here,” I reminded her. “Can you possibly check the freak-out for after you sleep with me on our first date?”
“Oh God,” she groaned.
I tugged her back against me. I wasn’t letting go no matter what her reaction might be. Not after that small sampling.
“I’m kidding! Jesus, lighten up.”
“I’m sorry. About…” She dropped her head to my shoulder.
“Stop apologizing and grab a drink with me. I’ll even find a place with really bright lights so you won’t even have to take the shades off,” I joked, and she rewarded my efforts with quiet giggle.
At the sound, an unfamiliar high whirled through my mind. It rivaled anything tobacco could ever give me.
“Sam, I need to go. But I promise I’ll be here tomorrow night. Okay?”
It was my turn to groan.
No name.
No eyes.
Just a promise I didn’t want her to keep.
I wanted her to be absolutely anywhere but on that bridge tomorrow night.
But I also just wanted her to be with me.
“Okay,” I replied, begrudgingly releasing her.
She began backing away, and I could feel her hidden gaze locked on me.
“Thanks for tonight,” she said. “Let me know if you change your mind about the dry-cleaning.”
“How about this? I’ll trade you my jacket for your wig and sunglasses!” I yelled as she got farther away.
A smile lifted one corner of her mouth. A mouth I now knew and desperately wanted to taste again.
“Goodnight, Sam.” She waved her hand before heading to a parked black SUV and climbing into…the backseat?
Interesting.
“Goodnight, Designer Shoes,” I whispered to myself as her vehicle left the parking area with the silhouette of a man behind the wheel.
An unnatural rage flooded my veins.
What the fuck?
WHAT THE FUCK had I done? Oh, that’s right. I’d kissed Sam.
A freaking stranger.
Who was suicidal!
While standing on a bridge.
While he’d thought I was suicidal as well.
But, worse than all of that, I couldn’t stop thinking about it.
I’d replayed it in my mind at least a thousand times since I’d walked away from him.
I’d made poor choices with men in the past. I was far from the angel the media portrayed me as. But I had a sneaking suspicion that, if the news outlets got ahold of this little story, it wouldn’t have the romantic spin my stomach took every time I thought about the moment his lips had touched mine.
My steps were a little lighter that night while I was performing for thousands on stage. My thoughts weren’t filled with dread and guilt. Instead, they were focused on the top of that bridge¸ waiting for the moment I could return.
To Sam.
The show was entirely too long, but I snuck out of the backstage after party about thirty excruciating seconds after it’d started. Like a Freudian slip, I left my wig at home. I should have stopped to pick it up or at least checked to see if my stylist had something I could borrow, but after the concert that night, I just wanted some fresh air and a few moments alone.
And, by that, I meant a cloud of smoke and the sexy and intriguing man who accompanied it.
“You look better as a brunette,” Sam announced as he sauntered up next to me with a cigarette hanging from his lips.
A smile pulled at one side of my mouth.
He was wearing jeans and a black, long-sleeve button-down shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, which drew my eyes down to the colored inked on his arms, and I wondered what they meant. But, seeing as my heart was racing and I couldn’t figure why I was suddenly nervous around this man, I decided to give up on the deeper meaning behind his tattoos and worry about covering my clammy palms instead.
“No jacket again?” I asked, pulling the beanie low over my curls.
“Any chance tomorrow night you’re going to lose the shades?” he replied, ignoring my question.
“Not likely.”
“Your legs are healing up well,” he stated, leaning on the railing beside me.
“They looked a lot worse than they were.”
“Right.” He rolled his eyes, which I noticed were the most amazing shade of gold. Not quite hazel, but definitely not brown.
Damn it! Stop ogling the hot, suicidal man!
I flipped my gaze back to the water. “Your hand looks better tonight.”
He paused just before he got the cigarette to his mouth. “You noticed? I was worried you were gonna stop checking me out after you drove off with another man last night,” he said roughly, causing me to swing my head to face him. “Is he the one who gave you the bruises?”
Ugh!
“What? No! Besides, I told you there is no him. I fell down the stairs.”
“Whatever.” He brushed my honest answer off, but thankfully, his attitude also seemed to disappear. “So, you feeling better tonight?”
“Actually, yes. Now, let me see your hand.”
He twisted his lips, but he lifted it for me to inspect his cut.
“What’d you do?”
“Splintered it on a guitar.”
Now that perked my attention. “You’re a musician?” I asked as the idea of Sam strumming beside me made my cheeks heat.
I tried to hide my face by refocusing on his palm, even though I had no idea what I was looking at. I just wasn’t ready to drop his hand yet.
“Not in the least. I tore it apart to make a bookshelf.”
My gaze snapped to his. “A bookshelf?”
“Yeah. Just cut off the front and then added shelves.” He pulled his phone from his back pocket and started scrolling through pictures. It took him a minute to find the image he wanted, and it wasn’t lost on me that he did it one-handed.
What the fuck am I doing?
Again.
After dropping his hand, I tugged my beanie down as he thrust his phone in my face.
Sure enough, there was an acoustic guitar with the front cut
off and three wooden shelves running horizontal inside the body.
“It’s for kids books, but I guess you could use it for spices or something too. They’d have to be short though” He sidled up beside me so we could look at the picture together. “Or maybe some little knickknacks? I don’t know.”
“Wow,” I breathed. “You made that?” While he was close, I stole a deep breath of the musky scent of Sam’s cologne. He shouldn’t have smelled that good—not while smoking a cigarette. But he absolutely did, so I took another not-so-conspicuous whiff.
“Yep,” he boasted proudly, flashing me a megawatt grin my hidden gaze lingered on a little too long.
Okay, that’s a bit of an understatement. I stared.
And his smile grew as he stared at me…staring at him.
And it continued.
For entirely too long.
But not nearly long enough.
“Why are you looking at me like that?” he finally asked, snapping me out of my stupor.
“It’s just…” You’re sexy. “I mean…” And funny. “I, uh…” And happy. I suddenly got my thoughts together and shook off whatever hypnotic trance the memories of his mouth against mine had put me in. “You just don’t strike me as someone who would want to kill himself,” I announced.
His smile instantly disappeared and his eyes jumped to the ground as his black Converse nervously tapped against the railing. “Not everyone does.”
I should have been a decent human being and not watched such an obviously overwhelming moment for him, but the pain that had appeared on his face rendered me unable to look away. Frankly, in that moment, he more than looked the part of a man who wanted to end it all, and it scared the hell out of me.
I might have been up there too, but I knew what was going on in my head. I wasn’t going to jump off that bridge, but suddenly, I worried that Sam couldn’t honestly say the same.
My pulse spiked as he struggled to force down the demon my innocent observation had somehow unleashed. I wanted to help, but I had no idea what the hell to do. I was clueless as to the war he was waging behind those golden eyes. I barely knew the man breaking down in front of me, much less how to comfort him—or if he even wanted to be comforted.
The only thing I knew for sure was that I had to get him off that bridge.