by C. L. Stone
Suddenly feeling bold, I leaned in and whispered in his ear. “Something or someone?”
I stepped out of his embrace and walked away, needing to put distance between us before I did something I might regret. That dance, relatively innocent as it was, got me revved up in a totally unexpected way. I almost wished I could be a one-night stand kind of girl, because Shane with the blue-gray eyes was hazardous to my libido. When he called my name, I looked over my shoulder and smiled, then disappeared into the crowd. Damn, is he hot.
I rejoined Simone and the others on the dance floor, more relaxed than I'd been in what felt like forever. With finals behind me, it seemed like the perfect time to let loose. Why had I denied myself this fun for so long? Oh yeah, Matt.
When I thought I couldn’t possibly dance any more, I headed for glass doors leading to the patio, relieved when the crisp, evening air flooded my lungs and cooled my flushed skin. As I made my way to the bar, I decided right then and there to replicate a scaled-down version of this patio in my future—way, way in the future—home. Something about its cozy simplicity drew me in, asking me to pull up a seat and stay awhile. Whoever designed Loft25 knew what they were doing, a thought I never expected to have about a club, of all things.
“Bottle of water, please,” I told the bartender, taking a seat on an empty barstool.
I sipped my water, soaking in the relaxing ambience. Apart from the occasional blasts of noise when the door opened, the outdoor space was much quieter than inside. An upbeat Coldplay song rang through speakers, keeping the mood lively without overloading the senses.
“Would you care for something stronger?” a deep voice rumbled, and I twisted on my stool, barely able to stop myself from gasping at the face staring into mine.
Gorgeous was not a word I typically used to describe men, but nothing else seemed adequate. His features were almost too perfect to be real, from his full lips and patrician nose to his striking pale green eyes and thick blond hair. I longed to reach out and run my fingers along the stubble covering his wide jawline and prominent chin. Not that I would ever do such a thing, of course.
Remembering that he asked me a question, I returned my attention to the bottle of water in my hands. The one that I was currently spinning nervously. Real smooth, Emma. “No, I’m good with water, thanks.”
He took a seat on the stool next to me, and the bartender set a glass of amber liquid in front of him without being asked. How often does he come here?
“What happened?”
Still feeling dazed by his presence, I shook my head to clear it. “I’m sorry, what?”
He pointed to my finger that was, embarrassingly enough, wrapped in a Disney Princess Band-Aid. Why did he have to be the one guy in the world to notice my finger instead of my cleavage? Just my luck.
“Oh, it’s only a paper cut. No big deal.”
“You never know,” he replied seriously. “People have been known to lose limbs from mere paper cuts.”
“Really?” I pressed a hand over my heart in exaggerated shock and watched his eyes, surprised when they still didn’t stray to my chest. “I may need to change professions, then.”
One eyebrow arched in response. “Oh? And what profession would that be?”
“Gift wrapping at Williams-Sonoma.”
His lips twitched into a tantalizing smirk. “I didn’t realize that gift wrapping is a profession.”
“It’s not really. Well, for me, at least. It’s a part-time job I picked up during the holidays.”
“I see. And, when you’re not wrapping Le Creuset cookware in elegant pineapple paper, what do you do?”
“You seem to know a lot about Williams-Sonoma,” I said slowly, wondering if there was a completely different reason he wasn’t interested in my cleavage.
He shrugged. “My sister is obsessed with kitchen paraphernalia, so it’s an easy place to shop for her.”
My phone buzzed on my lap, and a new text flashed on the screen.
Simone: Get your ass back in here! Meet you at the bar in 5.
“My friend is waiting for me inside,” I said, placing my cell back in my wristlet. As tempting as it was to continue chatting with Mr. Gorgeous, he was the type of guy who could easily threaten my current no-dating resolution, assuming he was interested. No need to stick around and find out.
I started to walk away but stopped abruptly when a hand encircled my wrist in a gentle hold. My eyes landed on where his skin kissed mine, and goosebumps dashed up my arm.
“You forgot something.” Those words from his sumptuous mouth nearly made me shiver until I realized he was talking about my water bottle. Of course he was.
“Thank you,” I said, snatching the bottle from him and fleeing before he could see my blush. What is my problem tonight? Usually men, even hot ones, didn’t affect me like this.
“Where the crap have you been, Em?” Simone asked when I finally made it to where she was standing along the upper balcony.
“I had to fight through the crush of dancing bodies; besides, you said you’d meet me at the bar.”
“Okay, so sue me. I should have specified the upstairs bar.”
“Have you been outside? It’s amazing, and I swear the guy I talked to was an actor, or should be,” I rattled off, feeling surprisingly energized as I looked around for the rest of our group, finally noticing Danielle and a guy shoving their tongues down each other’s throats. “Did Jessica already leave?”
“Yep, and Danielle’s boyfriend showed up.” Simone took another sip of her drink as I mouthed “sorry” and she merely shrugged.
“Man, I wish we could get in over there,” she said, eyeing the roped-off area across from us with longing.
“Wouldn’t that be nice.” In comparison to the crowded balcony, where we currently fought for an elevated view of the dance floor, the VIP section appeared roomy and comfortable.
“Good evening, miss,” a waiter said, appearing at my side. “You and your friend have been invited to the VIP room.”
Simone’s astonishment mirrored my own. “Really? Who invited us?” she asked.
“The gentleman over there,” the waiter said formally.
When I glanced the direction indicated, I spotted a man surrounded by a group that was obviously enraptured by whatever story he was telling. I wondered why he wanted us to join him (not that I was complaining) and speculated that perhaps there had been some mistake. But, any doubts on that score vanished when he looked directly at me and winked. I bit back a grin; my “emergency” dress was proving to be quite the good investment—first the dance with Shane, then the banter with Mr. Gorgeous, and now an exclusive invite.
“Damn, Emma,” Simone whispered loudly as we were led past the velvet rope, drawing scowls and curious stares.
“Quick, Simone, make a wish to win the lottery,” I joked, feeling like a genie just granted her first wish.
Our host stood as we approached. “I’m Cole.” His rich voice reverberated through me and his dark brown, almost black, eyes sparkled with mischief and invitation. It seemed crazy, but I instantly felt drawn toward him.
“I’m Emma . . . and this is my friend, Simone,” I added, amused by Simone’s sudden shyness.
“Well, aren’t you two perfect for each other.” A tall, lanky guy dressed in nerdy-chic clothing and dark-rimmed tortoise glasses appeared next to Cole holding a small tray of drinks. “She shares a name with a Jane Austen heroine known for her matchmaking, and Cole is the king of matchmaking apps.”
“Is that so?” I asked, intrigued by this tidbit of information. Should I try to snag an interview with him? I wondered, before chiding myself. I’m here to have fun.
Cole shrugged. “I created an app in college.”
“An app?” the waiter scoffed. “No. Cole created the app for dating. I assume you’ve heard of Strike?” His enthusiasm was clear, and I wondered whether he was more enamored with the app or its creator.
“OMG.” Simone finally chose that moment to j
oin the conversation. “You created Strike? Hit it off or strike ’em out, Strike?”
Cole nodded.
“I freakin’ love that app,” Simone gushed like a fangirl.
The friendly waiter beamed in agreement. “I know. I met my boyfriend on there.”
“Don’t you have work to do?” Cole asked him teasingly.
“Oh yes, so sorry. I’m Xavier and I’ll be taking care of you this evening. Would either of you like a drink? In addition to the full bar menu, there are several exclusive cocktails that may interest you. And, I’d be happy to direct you to reading material, but I’m guessing that you’re here for the company.” He waggled his eyebrows.
“I’ll take a screaming orgasm,” Simone answered. So will I, I thought, admiring Cole’s tall and toned build. His shirt was rolled up to the elbows, revealing muscular forearms that I could easily imagine wrapped around me, pinning me against a wall.
“And for you?”
When I realized Xavier was awaiting my answer, I quickly said, “Surprise me.”
People filtered in around us and Simone started chatting with some of them, effectively leaving me alone with Cole. After he suggested we sit, I sipped my delicious cocktail and attempted not to gawk at him, instead letting my eyes roam over the exclusive space and its inhabitants. Almost everyone that passed, from guests to employees, greeted Cole by name.
Cole defied my initial expectations, engaging me in a surprisingly lively debate on the impact of technology on dating, even going so far as to advocate against its use. When there was a brief lull in our conversation, I finally said, “So, are you a regular?”
“Something like that.”
“It just seems like you know everyone here, which leads me to believe that you spend significant time clubbing.”
“A fair bit,” he answered noncommittally, “but I have other interests as well.”
“Such as?”
“Well, you, for one. I find you rather interesting,” he said, grinning devilishly. Normally I would have found his type of flirting off-putting, but with Cole, it was fun.
“I find that surprising,” I laughed.
With his arm on the leather sofa behind us, Cole leaned closer and I felt a wave of heat roll over me. “I’m not sure why. You’re sexy, confident, and intelligent.”
“So, that’s why you invited me to the VIP section. You saw me and thought, she looks so intelligent.”
He chuckled. “Okay, you caught me. I was actually thinking that you are the most stunning woman I’ve seen, and I had to meet you.”
I sipped my drink, hoping my face wasn’t as red as my dress.
“Plus, you and Simone looked like you could use an escape from the couple trying to eat each other’s faces out there.”
“Yeah, thanks for that. Hopefully Simone is having a good time.”
“Oh, I think she’s doing just fine,” he said, glancing in her direction. Simone had made several friends and was clearly enjoying herself. As Cole turned back to face me, I saw a shadow cross over his features and followed his line of vision. Shane? This could get awkward.
Shane approached and held out his hand for me. “I trust you won’t mind if I steal Emma for a while.”
I peered up at him, speechless. What was this, The Bachelorette? Was there a first impression rose hiding around here somewhere that I was expected to bestow on one lucky suitor? Too bad Simone was missing this exchange; she would have loved it.
Cole must have taken my frozen state for reluctance, because he gave Shane a smug grin. “Seems that Emma would rather stay here with me,” he drawled. He loosely draped his arm around my shoulder, blatantly staking his claim.
I started to edge away, but Cole kept his hold on me and spoke with quiet suggestion. “Why don’t we take this back to my place? I can show you a few of my other interests.” Awareness prickled my skin, and I hated that my body was so eager to take him up on his proposition.
“That’s not how I operate,” I said firmly, in contrast to the uncertainty flowing through me. I stood and ignored Shane’s outstretched hand, moving to the balcony railing to stare over the dance floor.
Shane stepped up next to me, leaving a few inches between us. “Cole wasn’t bothering you, was he?”
“I take it you two know each other?” Twisting my head slightly, I caught his seemingly sardonic smile.
“You could say that.” Cryptic much?
“Was there a reason you wanted to steal me away?” I asked while checking the time on my phone. I could only handle so much intense flirting in such a short time span.
Sensing my impatience, the corners of his mouth turned down. “I was thinking we could hang out or maybe dance again?”
“Thanks, but I’m exhausted. I’m going to grab my friend and head out. Have a good night, Shane.” Once again, I walked off before giving him a chance to respond.
I thought I was going to have to drag Simone from her new friends, but my frantic expression must have convinced her. Was it normal to be so freaked out by multiple male admirers? Probably not.
Simone had just exited the club, the heavy door slamming behind her, when I felt a hand on my shoulder. Thankful for any excuse to avoid the cold for even a moment, I turned, surprised to find Mr. Gorgeous towering over me.
What. The. Hell? This is getting weird.
“You escaped before I could get your name.”
“How about that?” I said, going for annoyed but coming across as more mysterious than anything.
“If you’re not going to tell me, I guess I’ll have to call you Cinderella.”
I pointed at my metallic silver heels. “No missing glass slipper here.”
He eyed my Band-Aid. “No, but she’s the only blonde princess I know.”
“Just call me Ella,” I said, unable to contain a small laugh. If only he knew how close he was to the truth.
“Okay, Ella. I’m Nicholas. May I offer you a ride home?”
“Thanks, but I’m here with friends.”
“I have an SUV.”
“And we have an Uber already on the way.”
“Do you think that’s safe?”
“As safe as getting in the car with a strange man who I met in a club? Yes.”
“You think I’m strange?”
I held in a snort. Not even a little bit. “I think I need to go. It was nice meeting you, Nicholas.”
“You too, Cinderella,” he replied, his smile broadening unexpectedly.
What a bizarre night.
2
My phone rang, interrupting me from my latest research for the next edition of the paper—the impact of the rise of terrorism on study abroad programs. I glanced at the screen and sighed, tempted to simply silence the phone and continue working. Accepting the fact that I’d have to speak with my mother eventually, I leaned back in my chair and swiped the phone to answer.
“Hi, Mom,” I said, hoping this would be a short conversation.
“Hello, Emma, dear. What are you up to this Saturday afternoon?”
“Working on some articles for the next edition of the paper.”
“You are so devoted. I’m sure all the other students are out partying or enjoying their break at home with their families.” Dig number one.
“I am enjoying my break; I just have some things I need to take care of. Anyway, what’s up?”
“What day does your flight arrive? Your father and I wanted to make sure we would be at the airport to pick you up.”
“I’ll be home the 23rd,” I responded, resisting the urge to remind her that we already discussed this, multiple times.
“We can’t wait, and I know Matthew would love to see you as well. His mother told me he’s arriving tomorrow and staying through the beginning of January.”
I pinched the bridge of my nose, struggling to maintain a sense of composure. “Mom, Matt and I broke up. I’m not interested in seeing him while I’m home.”
“I think the two of you should at least talk. Y
ou were together for so many years . . .” She trailed off, alluding to “the biggest mistake of my life” for the millionth time since the breakup. Will she ever give it a rest?
Unable to take any more, I blurted, “Actually, I’m dating someone.”
Expecting her to pounce on my declaration, I cringed and awaited the barrage of questions. Instead, I heard some shuffling noises in the background before she answered, “That’s lovely, dear” in an absent tone, clearly distracted by whatever was happening on her end of the phone. That’s lovely?
“What’s that, Harold?” she called, before returning to me. “Oh, honey, I’m sorry, your father needs my help with the Christmas lights. I have to go.”
I disconnected the call and stared at my computer screen, wondering how on earth I was going to survive this visit home. For the first time in years, Matt wouldn’t be a part of our family traditions, and I knew I’d never hear the end of it. But, was having a fake boyfriend any better? My mother could be like a dog with a bone, and considering her adoration of Matt, she would probably interrogate me thoroughly about this new man in my life.
Resuming my research after a fresh cup of coffee, my earlier zest for the story about studying abroad faded, and I was itching for something different. I still liked the idea, but maybe Simone was right; maybe we needed to write about something sexier. Or someone sexier.
Cole immediately came to mind. He seemed game for anything, and he would be perfect for an article—engaging, photogenic, and with an app success story that was a college student’s dream come true. Ideas for the interview and article quickly came together, but I needed to do background research before approaching him. And, I’d need to find out how to contact him.
Since I didn’t know his last name, I started with an internet search for “Strike” and “Cole,” figuring those terms were likely to give me a launching point. I was right. The search resulted in seemingly endless pages of hits on the sexy app-developer.
Impressive. He graduated from Caltech with honors several years ago, putting my initial guess of his age around twenty-five as about right. When I searched for him by his full name, several links popped up for Cole and Loft25. Interesting.