After all, that was my original intention the night we met. And now he does seem to want me. I think. And our short time together is ideal—two more days. That should be enough of a defining boundary that I can’t—won’t—read more into it. Won’t start building expectations only to be let down. Just a fling.
No lie, the decision makes me a little lightheaded. I run a brush through my hair, brush my teeth, and touch up my makeup, not that I wear much. My hands might be a little shaky.
I exit the bathroom, patting the back of my head to make sure there are no rogue hairs poking out.
Aiden’s gaze flicks super-quick up and down my body. He smiles. “You look nice.”
My palms get all sweaty. “Thank you.”
Then we have an excuse-me dance in the hallway as we each try to pass the other, and all the while I’m acutely conscious of his nearness and what I hope will happen later tonight. Now my whole body feels like one big flame of awkward awareness.
Aiden takes his turn in the bathroom, and I’m heading back over to the balcony when my phone rings. Claire.
“Hey.” I slide open the glass door. A cool breeze hits my face.
“Hey, seen any Vikings yet?”
“Ha ha.” Behind me, the shower comes on in the bathroom. Heat chases up my spine as I picture what that means. Aiden. Naked. With water running down all that toned skin.
“Be honest. How many times have you drawn stabby pictures of me in your travel journal?”
Her question yanks me from my increasingly dirty thoughts. I laugh for real this time. “Actually, none.”
There’s a pause. “Wait. Is this Jane?”
I roll my eyes. “Yes.”
“I don’t know. You don’t sound pissed at me. Is it possible you might be, gasp, enjoying yourself?”
I answer tentatively but honestly. “I think I am.”
“Good. Where are you now?”
“W—” I quickly turn this into an “I just checked into the hotel. The view’s great. Overlooks the beach. Can’t wait to see it in the daylight.”
“What’d you think of the stops today?”
I fill her in, and it feels weird to carve Aiden out of the retelling. But, yeah, she’d be throwing an epic WTF lecture at me right now if she knew who was with me. And while it is still a bit WTF, it’s also something private right now, and I can’t explain it to her. I’m not sure I can explain it to myself.
To redirect the convo, I ask, “So what’s going on with your doppelganger?” There’s a hurricane out in the Atlantic bearing down on the Bahamas. It’s hurricane season, so that’s not unusual. But this one’s been dubbed Claire. Like any smart Floridian, I keep an eye on storms brewing in the Atlantic.
“Ha ha. She’s being a weirdo. Did a full circle out there.”
The shower shuts off, and the door opens behind me, but it takes a moment for me to think through what can happen. Sure enough, Aiden says, “Ready to go?”
I jump. Why, I don’t know. His presence wasn’t a surprise, and his voice shouldn’t have been. Guilt?
Claire pounces. “Who’s that?”
I don’t answer, because I’m kinda doing a mental Muppet flail, trying to process seeing Aiden fresh out of shower (dressed, but still), his asking me a question I need to answer, and Claire overhearing. My delay has made Claire suspicious.
“Jane, do you have a man in your room?” She sounds downright excited.
At the same time, Aiden says, “Sorry. Didn’t realize you were on the phone.” He makes a bashful face.
“No!” I say in an explosion of breath. I’m answering Claire, but Aiden looks at me, puzzled, while he collects his wallet and room key, placing them in his back pocket.
“I thought you said you were in your room?”
I whip around to put my back to Aiden. “I was.” I step onto the balcony to make it more of a fudge than an outright lie. “But I’m not anymore.”
“So you’re not getting lucky tonight?”
“Who knows. Night’s still young, right?” I tease, knowing this will throw her off the scent.
“That’s the attitude, girl. I’m glad this trip’s working out.” A horn blares in the background. “Listen, I gotta run, but what do you think about coming to Saturday’s game before you head back? I know The Turd’ll be there, but by then, you’ll be over him, right? This’ll be a good test.”
One more day with Aiden. Before I can think too hard, I say, “Yeah, that sounds great.”
She rattles off directions, with a promise to text me the event address, and hangs up. I reenter the room. Aiden’s head is dipped downward, his thumbs flying along his phone screen. He looks as if he’s in professional mode, and it throws me, which is weird—the man does own a business. Had I just assumed he was frivolous with it too?
He looks up then and smiles, the professional mask gone. “Ready for dinner?”
“Yes.” I think, remembering my newfound resolution to be open to sleeping with him. I can do this.
Chapter 10
Jane
Soon we’re downstairs, and it doesn’t take us long to discover that this place has no restaurant for dinner, nor does it have a bar.
“I think Rollo the Viking would have objected to this,” Aiden grumbles.
We hike down the street a block or two to a pizzeria the front desk told us about. It’s super casual, thank God, both because of how we’re dressed, and also if it was romantic, my nerves would register on the Richter scale.
We split a pizza brimming with cheese, sliced tomatoes, and Italian sausage, as well as a bottle of Pinot Noir.
I set my empty wine glass down. Hoo boy. I might be a little buzzed from just two glasses.
“So what made you want to be a librarian?” He sits back and stretches his arm against the back of the red vinyl booth.
I tuck my napkin under my plate. “I’m sure you can guess.”
“You love books.”
“Yes.”
“But why a library? Instead of working in a bookstore or working for a book publisher or something.”
“I think I just love libraries, to be honest. The old one here was practically a babysitter for me.” I look off to the side as memories well up. “My mom would drop my older brother and me off there while she ran errands. Do you remember the old library?”
“With the crazy steps?”
“Yes!” The riser-less steps rose from the center of the main lobby and went up, but skewed sideways. It was like an Escher drawing, though I didn’t know the term at the time. Walking up them was a mind-bender, for sure.
I lean forward. “I would pretend I was a spy, and I’d sit in the upstairs areas and snoop on the people below, taking notes. If I went to the bathroom, I’d look at the shoes of the lady in the stall next to me and then make a game of trying to find her in the library.
“There were whole worlds in that place, with both the books and the people-watching. I loved it. I still remember one sci-fi book in a spinner rack that I started to read about some girl whose mind was able to exist in alternate planes, and I had to put it down because it was time to go. I’ve never come across it again, and I don’t remember the title. But that’s what a lot of my afternoons were like in the summer—people-watching and dipping into exciting worlds between covers.”
And then I stop. Because—holy cow—I think that’s the longest monologue I’ve had with him, and it was pretty dang dorky. I watch him, expecting him to say something patronizing like, “That’s nice.”
He smiles. “That’s nice.”
I scoff. Typical.
His eyes go wide, and he stretches his hand across the table, clasping mine near the empty wine glass. His skin’s warm against mine, and just that little touch makes my breath catch.
“I mean it,” he says. “It’s an awesome memory. Magical. I didn’t mean it to sound patronizing, though I can see how it could come across that way.”
I’m not quite convinced, but he gives my hand a squeeze, an
d that warmth from his skin and his voice shoots through me. God, his brown eyes are looking intently at me, and I think…I think he means it. Screw it. I’ll take him at face value. If he’s lying, it’ll be his fault if he’s bored.
“It was magical. I hate that it’s mothballed and scheduled for demo. But it was that experience that inspired me to create that kind of environment for others.”
His hand’s still on mine, and I don’t dare move.
Act casual. Cuz, yeah, I’m totally used to discussing books with a hot guy, who’s holding my hand. I can’t even tell you how he looks to me right now—his arms create a ninety-degree angle, one stretched to hold my hand along the edge of the table, the other across the back of the booth. Since he’s at the edge, it’s as if he’s blocking everyone out but me. And at the center of all this? Charcoal gray T-shirt stretched across his broad shoulders against the wine-red booth vinyl. His intense gaze focused on me.
“We had a good library where I grew up too. Dad always took us to their annual sale, and getting a library card was like a rite of passage.”
“It was!” He understands.
His hand is still on mine, its warmth furling inside and combining with the glow from the wine. Oh wow. I think… I think the night’s going well.
Aiden
I gently squeeze Jane’s hand. “You ready to get out of here? We could work off our pizza with a walk on the beach.”
Jane does her stillness thing, and I hold my breath. I don’t want to push her. At all. I’m happy to have this evening go however she wants. Earlier, I showered and squeezed one off so I wouldn’t be too amped. Her eyes widen a fraction, but she nods.
I stand, still holding her hand, and help her up. We split the bill at the counter and make our way back across and down the street. I seek her hand beside mine and thread our fingers together. She says nothing, and I sure as hell don’t either. I’ve found that with Jane, it’s best to let some things run under the surface or she’ll spook.
The thing is, I’ve decided to explore this with her. And I don’t just mean sex. So all this hand-holding and walk-on-the-beach thing isn’t me being a smooth schmuck trying to get in her pants. I can’t believe I’m about to voice this but—I’d like to date her.
So, to me, this is Date One.
I have no expectations for the night other than getting to know her better.
And because I’m suddenly girlishly giddy with that idea, I pull her hand up when we step onto the curb and give her knuckles a quick kiss. “That was a good pizza.”
“It was. Just the right amount of cheese and sauce and a firm crust.”
“Yeah, can’t stand the limp ones.”
“That’s what she said.”
I bark a laugh. It’s an overused joke, but it’s so unexpected from her. She gives a little giggle, and that lights me up.
“So what made you want to open a bar?”
“You showed me yours, so I show you mine, is that it?”
“Yes.”
By now we’ve passed the hotels, and the moonlit beach stretches ahead, the steady rumble of the waves sloshing against the shore.
“Nothing as noble as yours,” I answer.
Some people are grouped under an umbrella to the left, so we turn right and angle toward the waves. With my free hand, I take off my flip-flops, and she does the same. The sand is cool against my feet.
She nudges my arm with her shoulder. “Come on, you had to have had some reason. Running a bar isn’t easy.”
“No, it’s not.” And with a jolt, I realize that not once have I thought about the Butt since this morning’s phone call. I’m tempted to call my manager again, but I have to trust he’d call me if another crisis happened. “Won the Quota license in a poker game.”
“Wait. What? Quota?”
“Yeah. Was playing some high-stake games back in San Francisco with some tech guys. One couldn’t afford the next ante, so he threw it in.”
“I don’t understand how that relates to the bar?”
I explain how Florida works on a quota system for selling liquor. Beer and wine? Apply to the state, no prob. Wanna sell liquor? Nope. No licenses left. So they go for big bucks in the private sector. This guy had inherited his from an uncle or something.
At first, when I won it, I didn’t have plans. I was still happily engaged, working a job I loved.
But when Brittany left and I came across it while packing up to move?
It seemed like the answer to my fucking prayer to have a fresh start somewhere very different.
“I also love mixing drinks, the art of it, and have wanted to introduce signature drinks, but…”
“But your clientele isn’t quite right for that, I take it.”
“No. It’s a beer and peanuts kind of place, and not even a craft beer kind of place. They just want the standard stuff. Nothing fancy. My Quota license is wasted on them.”
“That sucks.”
“Yeah.” We step around an elaborate sand sculpture of what looks like a great ape. “When this one is settled enough, I’ll branch out with a second one, use my Quota license, and switch the Butt to just beer and wine. Maybe on Osprey. Serve drinks that are family recipes of mine and my employees. Or maybe ones from locals.”
“Ooh, that sounds like a cool concept, if you play up that part.”
“Yeah. I want to use my uncle’s Old-Fashioned recipe. He’s from an old Virginia family, and their recipe is a tad different. It’s that difference that started my fascination with the vintage cocktails—how each one got passed down and how they vary.”
We turn back at a curve in the beach and angle toward the lodge. She asks probing questions about the bar and my love for heirloom cocktails. I’m enjoying being in her presence and talking. It’s a new experience for me. Well, not quite new, but it’s been a long time since I’ve let myself have this kind of space with a woman I’m attracted to.
We’re still holding hands, and I’m not sure if she realizes it, but she’s swinging them back and forth as we stroll along the beach.
At the water spigot, we wash our feet and squish along in our flip-flops back up to the hotel.
We step into the elevator, and when the doors close, we’re inhabiting a new kind of quiet space. Holy shit, I’m nervous. We’re on our way up to a room that we’re sharing—an artificial circumstance that wouldn’t have occurred naturally if this was Date One. I don’t want to make her feel uncomfortable, and I also don’t want to fuck things up.
I turn to her, ready to say…something. Not sure what, but I open my mouth to articulate what’s spinning through my head, what’s knotting my stomach, and I stop. Because she’s looking at me, eyes intense, with a whole ’nother quiet level. It’s similar to the one where she rubbed her hands on the steering wheel, working up the nerve to say we could share her room. She wants to break out, like then, but this quiet is reverberating with much more power.
I’m fascinated. Rooted to the spot. Watching her.
Chapter 11
Aiden
Holy shit. I feel as if I’m watching someone hatch out of their shell. Jane takes a step toward me. And another.
And then she, well…throws herself on me. Honest to God.
I catch her and fall back against the elevator wall with an oof. Her hand twisted into my T-shirt, she pulls me down, and our mouths crash.
Fuck yeah. All of my pent-up need for this woman unleashes in that moment, whipping through me. I wrap an arm around her and hike her up, molding her curves against me. Jesus, she feels fantastic. Soft parts to my hard—very hard—parts. We both groan, our mouths tasting, devouring. I stroke my tongue inside her, and she meets me, stroke for stroke. And, fuck, I didn’t imagine her taste—she’s got this intoxicating combo of sweet and spicy, laced tonight with our wine. I spin us around and get her in just the right—unhh—spot, but just as I press her against the elevator wall and she wraps her legs around me, the door dings.
I break our kiss long enough to stu
mble out of the elevator. She’s not deterred in the least. Her hot little hands smooth over my shoulders, and she trails kisses down my neck. I lurch down the hall and aim for the room, when I just want to shove her against the wall right then and there and grind my hips into hers. Taste her mouth again. Oh God. Taste…
Family hotel. Family hotel. I repeat this over and over and fumble a key card into the slot. All the while, she’s kissing me everywhere she can reach, her legs still wrapped tight around my waist.
When the door clicks shut behind us, it’s like the starting flag at a race for me.
I push her up against the wall and tilt my aching cock into her. It’s not enough, not near enough with the clothes between us, but we still. Then our heads slowly move until we’re staring at each other.
And honest to God, it feels as if everything else stills too—the furniture, the air, the light. The moment.
But not our breaths. Oh no.
In the stillness, I rotate against her again. A real slow flex of my hips, and I watch her. Her eyes round and dilate, and her cheeks flush. I cradle her face with my hands and push against her again. Lust barrels through me, concentrating in my hard-as-a-rock dick. Sensuous heat curls in my lower back, tightening my balls.
She breaks the silence with a breathy, “Oh my God.”
Yeah. No shit. Because I’m about to blow, and all I’ve done is grind myself against her like three times. I’m afraid to count cuz it might only be twice.
Jesus.
I think, deep down, I knew it was going to be like this. Perhaps that’s why I kept it casual that first night. We needed to give this…this attraction room to ease out, little by little, like easing the air from a balloon instead of letting it immediately explode.
A fierceness lights up her eyes, which is hot as fuck. She curls her fingers into the fabric on my back and yanks up on my T-shirt. Totally on board. I pop my head out of the shirt hole and toss it to the floor.
But instead of yanking on her shirt and tossing it to the floor like I really really want to, like my fingers ache to do, I plant my hands on the wall on either side of her face. And take a deep breath. Maybe if my hands are there, and not on her warm, smooth skin I can maintain some kind of control.
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