by R.S. Grey
She knew what she was doing when she said my name like that and just as she intended, my dick hardened as if her sweet, little hand was wrapped around it.
“What’s up, man?” I hear Josh say behind me as his hand pats my shoulder. My body immediately stiffens as though he could feel how worked up I am. He and two other guys from our soccer team slide around the table and fill in the remaining seats.
“Hey guys.” I tip my beer bottle toward them in greeting before taking a swig. A hint of Charley’s lip gloss stuck to the rim and I can’t help but want to lick it off. Vanilla. My new favorite flavor.
“Is Tom here already?” Josh asks, forcing my focus back to the present.
“Yeah, he and Charley went to grab a drink.”
“Smart man,” he chuckles before glancing over at Naomi and Bennett. They’ve had their heads tucked together since she and Charley arrived. I’ve never seen Bennett like this with any girl. Hell, a couple of nights ago we were in the club picking up women and now look at him. The boy’s in love and it looks like I might be losing my wingman.
“Are you excited about that photo shoot in Hawaii you’ve got coming up?” Josh asks, leaning back in his chair and getting comfortable.
I nod. “It’ll be work, but the days should wrap up pretty early and then I’ll have time to explore the island.”
“That sounds awesome, man. Too bad you don’t date models or that’d be the best weekend ever.”
Too bad.
I shrug off his statement and take another swig of beer. In the past, my rule was in place to keep my professional integrity intact. I don’t want to walk onto a set and have to worry about the model being pissy about the fact that I never bothered to call her back. Don’t fucking shit where you eat. It’s always been simple… until now.
A familiar giggle fills my ears and I tilt my head slightly to watch Charley break through the crowd. Tom has his hand on the small of her back, leading her to the table, and I have to physically push past the urge to break his fingers. I try to remind myself, for the last time, that I don’t give a fuck as I take a gulp of my domestic.
I don’t know what they’ve done in the past five minutes, but she somehow looks even more tipsy and neither one of them has a drink their hands.
“Hi everyone!” she sings as her gaze falls over Josh and the guys. They all sit up a little straighter as she nears and mutter awkward hellos. For a moment, their schoolboy reactions make me think that maybe I don’t even feel anything for her; maybe this is the effect she has on every man. I let that thought settle in for a minute, and although the idea of going back to my old life sounds compelling, I know I’m wrong. She’s gorgeous, yes, but there’s something about her — her softness, her hidden complexities, her humble nature— that has woven its way around my mind, threatening to undo me. I want to know everything about her. I want to know what she’s hiding behind those captivating, blue eyes.
Fuck.
I watch her slide into the chair next to me less gracefully than she had a few minutes ago, and I can almost taste the tequila in the air.
“Did you guys take shots at the bar?” I ask, annoyed at the edge in my voice.
She looks up at me with her innocent, doe eyes.
“She made me, Jude!” Tom laughs behind me. I want to kill him.
Charley giggles with him and gently sways in her chair. I can’t imagine how a girl her size could force anyone to do anything. Not to mention, he should have noticed how drunk she was already.
“I’m curious. How did she force you?” I’m asking Tom, but my gaze never leaves Charley.
She bites her lip and angles her eyes at me accusingly, “I can be very persuasive.”
The rest of the guys laugh off her comment and start talking about some football game scheduled for the next day, but I can’t turn away from her. She’s bewitched me and there’s no hope of breaking the spell.
Her eyes fleet quickly around the table and by the time they flash back to me I can see the concern written across them. She leans in closely and folds her hands over her stomach.
“I don’t feel so good.”
Of course you don’t, I want to say, but I bite my tongue.
“Did you eat dinner?” I ask softly, surprised at how quickly my anger turned to concern.
She mashes her lips together and shakes her head.
“Charley, you can’t drink like this and not eat dinner before,” I chide, but the moment I get the words out I instantly regret them. All of a sudden she looks so young and innocent. I want to make her feel better. I don’t care if she is naive, she doesn’t deserve to be sick.
I wrap my arm around the back of her chair and lean in. “Do you want to go home?” I ask, watching her eyes grow wide in shock, and I can’t help but chuckle.
“Not with me… Do you want me to take you to your home and then I’ll go back to mine?” I clarify, but I’m not sure if I’m trying to convince her or myself. I won’t want to leave her if she’s sick.
“Um…” she hums, glancing across the table toward Naomi. I follow her gaze to find her friend in the middle of a heated make out session with Bennett. He has Naomi practically pinned to the chair as she drags her hands through his once perfectly gelled hair. Jeez, that escalated quickly.
“I could probably just go home by myself,” Charley says, nodding once and then twice as if she’s trying to convince herself that’s what she should do.
“I can’t let you do that, Charley.”
I can’t add her life to my guilty conscious. There’s no more room.
“No, really, Jude. I don’t want to inconvenience you,” she adds, already standing and looking around at the group.
“I’m gonna head home,” she announces to the table. “I have to, uh, wake up early in the morning. Naomi, I’ll text you tomorrow,” she offers with a weak smile. Tom begins to stand and I shoot him a death stare. He is not going to take her home. I should have stepped up this morning and told the guys she was off limits, but I’m not going to make the same mistake again.
Tom stands frozen for a moment, unsure of what to do.
“I’ve got her.” My tone couldn’t be clearer. I’m not going to fight Tom about this. He needs to back down. “I’ll see you guys next week.”
By the time I’m moving after her, Charley’s already halfway through the bar and I have to jog to catch up. When I slide beside her, she glances up at me with a timid smile.
“How can you move so quickly?” I murmur, wrapping my hand around her waist. The touch is too intimate, but it makes me feel like I’ve got a real hold on her. I don’t want her to trip and fall in those boots. Surprisingly, she doesn’t move away. Instead, she pushes back into me, giving me her weight and pressing her soft curves against me.
My arm practically engulfs her petite frame and I exhale thinking of what could have happened if she’d left by herself. Does she usually walk around at night alone? Surely Naomi sticks with her most of the time.
I hear her hum into my chest and I glance down. “I’m glad you’re coming with me,” she offers, and then looks down at the floor as if embarrassed that she’s told me the truth.
I gently lift her chin, just like I wanted to do at the photo shoot. “Are you sure you don’t want Tom to take you home?” I ask because I’m genuinely curious of what her reaction will be. Jealousy is a new feeling for me and I’m beginning to realize just how possessive I feel of this angel.
She chews on her lip but doesn’t meet my eyes. Instead, her gentle gaze is focused on my stubble as she nods slowly.
“Say it, Charley.”
Her lips part gently and she breathes in a slow inhale.
“I want you to take me.”
CHAPTER SIX
Jude
Charley’s last semblance of sobriety dissipated during the cab ride home. The shots she took at the bar sank in, adding to the alcohol already coursing through her system. I am not this guy. I don't sleep with drunk women; therefore I don’t take c
are of drunk women. Yet, here I sit, cradling Charley against me and praying she won’t be sick before we get to her apartment.
“How many shots did you and Tom take?”
“Two.” She puckers her lips and drags out the “ew” sound.
“But I took a few shots before leaving home,” she clarifies, rolling her head toward the window. I’ve got a good hold on her, but I’m pretty sure if I let her go she’d slide right on down to the floor of the taxi.
“Do you normally drink that much?” I ask gently. I won’t judge her for it, but it concerns me that she didn’t think to eat more before she started.
“Never,” she whispers, and it’s impossible to ignore the sadness suddenly clouding her blue eyes. She looks hopelessly lost in that moment.
I squeeze her shoulder reassuringly, uncertain of where her mind is starting to wander. She’s watching the New York landscape flash by through the window. It’s a few minutes later when she finally murmurs, “My mom drank a lot.”
Her confession catches me off guard. She looks too polished to come from a rotten past. The taxi pulls up to a stop sign and Charley watches a family taking their dog on a late night walk. What was her family like?
“I’d come home from school and usually she’d already have started on her second bottle of wine for the night. I know because she used to let me play with the corks,” she laughs sadly.
Her words are hazy as though they’re spilling from her mind like a daydream. Does she know she’s speaking out loud? She doesn’t look at me as she talks, and I don’t interrupt her. I want to know why there’s so much sadness in those eyes.
“She wasn’t like an alcoholic-alcoholic,” she laughs, but it doesn’t sound carefree. It sounds pained and hollow, so I pull her closer to me, trying to shield the sad memories.
“She functioned perfectly fine and had everybody in her social group fooled. She was poised and polished around them, but around me she turned into a nasty drunk. She’d say the meanest things to me while I was growing up. Drunk minds speak sober thoughts, right?” She pauses for a beat. “God, I hate her.”
The city lights illuminate the sudden paleness of her features as a tear slides down her delicate cheek. I reach out to swipe it away, for once not caring about the consequences of my actions. Tomorrow I’ll go back to being the old Jude, but right now I just want to be there for her.
“I’m sorry, Charley,” I whisper in her ear, watching the goose bumps bloom down her neck.
My words break through her daydream though, and she suddenly tries to scoot away. “Why am I telling you this?” She shakes away her thoughts and then leans her head back against the seat. The moment is gone and I can already feel her reserve building against the world once again.
She isn’t opening up to me; she is letting drunken memories slip out to blend with the hazy night air.
“Jude, I feel sick,” she groans, squinting her eyes closed in pain.
“I know,” I soothe. “We’ll be home soon.” I keep running my fingers through the silky strands of her hair as silence fills the confined space of the taxi.
But when we’re almost to the address she gave the cabdriver, I watch a sloppy smile unpeel across her lips. I can’t keep up with her drunken moods. She’s crying one minute and smiling the next. Will she remember any of this in the morning?
“Jude, will this be like it is in the movies— where you start to undress me because I’m too drunk to do it myself, but then we have sex because I suddenly sober up?”
Her words are sloppy, but I can’t help the fact that hearing her say the word ‘sex’ still makes my dick stir. She’s that enticing.
“Is that how it happens in movies?” I ask, trying to appease her.
“Mhmm,” she mumbles, keeping her eyes closed and her head tilted back. “But just so you know, I’m definitely going to throw up when we get home. And you’ll be disgusted, so we should probably not have ‘the sex’ if that’s okay.”
I laugh, completely losing myself in the drunken allure of this woman.
“Alright, Charley, guess I’ll just have to settle for a rain-check then,” I retort, wishing my words weren’t a joke.
Her smile spreads across her cheeks, highlighting her little dimples, and I lose myself in the innocence of them.
But the moment washes away when the cabdriver pulls up in front an old townhouse. I pay his fare quickly and then help a clumsy Charley out of the backseat.
It’s hell trying to get her from the cab to her front door. Once were there, she leans against me as she rifles through her purse for her keys. My neck cranes back to see the view of the two story house. Ivy winds up the brick facade and friendly plant holders dot the outside of each window. Does she live in this place by herself? It’s huge.
A frustrated sigh breaks through her throat and I glance back down. “Charley, do you want me to get the keys for you?” I ask lightly, not wanting to push her amiable mood.
Her tongue peeks out of the edge of her mouth as she focuses on finding the keys. I have to fight the urge to just take the damn purse out of her hands.
“No. No, I can get them,” she slurs. If this was any other girl… no. I don’t even know what I’d be doing because we wouldn’t be here right now. We’d be at my apartment finishing up so I could call a cab and send her on her way.
Suddenly a light flicks on in the foyer and the image of a short, gray haired woman appears through the frosted glass.
“Mrs. Jenkins!” Charley shouts, much too loudly for the middle of the night.
The door creaks open and the woman I assume to be Mrs. Jenkins eyes me with cold skepticism. If Charley doesn’t drink often, then I’m sure she usually brings guys home in a much more sober state. I don’t know why I care, but I don’t want this woman thinking I’m trying to take advantage of her.
Old hinges squeak to life as the elderly woman opens the door wider and steps back so that I can help Charley through.
“Thank you for your help. Charley isn’t feeling well so I wanted to make sure she got home okay,” I offer as Mrs. Jenkins eyes me up and down. She nods slowly and waves her arm for us to follow without a word. She’s wearing a patterned muumuu and well-worn house slippers. Her back slumps over at a sharp angle as though her spine can no longer support the weight of her upper body.
“Mrs. Jenkins, you don’t have to worry. Jude, here, doesn’t even find me atttractiveee!”
I snap my gaze to Charley. Even in her drunken slur, her words annoy me. It doesn’t help when Mrs. Jenkins sends me a glare over her shoulder. What? What am I supposed to do? Confess what I really feel for Charley while she stumbles drunkenly through the hallway? I don’t even know where she’s getting that idea from anyway.
When we arrive outside of a cherry-red door at the end of the hall, I begin to piece together that this is a boarding house of sorts. Mrs. Jenkins uses her set of keys to unlock the faded copper lock and then turns around, keeping her concerned gaze on Charley.
“Do you want me to come down and check on you in a little bit?” she asks, her warm expression makes it clear that she adores Charley. Suddenly I don’t mind her as much. I’m glad someone will be here to check on her later.
“No. No. I’ll come over in the morning if you want.”
“That’d be lovely. Good night, Charley. Feel better.” She offers me a tight-lipped smile as she moves around us and heads up the old wooden staircase in the corner of the foyer.
“She seems nice,” I note with sincerity as I hold the door open for Charley to enter.
But Charley doesn’t answer. The moment we’re inside, she runs to the toilet and collapses before it with a heavy groan. I bolt over and lift the lid and seat, brushing her hair away from her face. She isn’t sick right away. She sits there for a moment trying to will the nausea to pass, but sadly nothing will help but getting the alcohol out of her system.
I don’t know what to do. I’ve never sat with someone while they’ve thrown up before, but I try to re
member what my mom did when I was little. I rub Charley’s back the way my mother used to do, around and around in small circles, and I hope it soothes her a bit.
After a few minutes, her stomach is empty and the dry heaves subside. She leans back on her heels.
“I don’t think there’s anything left.” Her hands rest on her legs and her bottom lip protrudes subtly, but it’s enough to make my heart break at the sight. She won’t look at me and I know she probably feels embarrassed.
“Do you have a washcloth somewhere?” I ask, pushing off the ground.
“There are a few in the basket under the sink,” she gestures to the porcelain sink against the wall, which is barely two feet away from where we sit. That’s when I realize just how tiny Charley’s apartment is. Her kitchen and bathroom are crammed together against the wall before me. And when I twist my head, I see that her entire life is crammed into this one room. It doesn’t feel sad. No, it feels like a home and I don’t mind the small space one bit.
I wet the washcloth and bring it back to Charley, handing it over so she can dab her lips. She looks utterly drained as she lifts the towel, so I reach over and help her, dragging the warm cloth against her cheeks. I stand up and rinse it quickly, then turn it to the clean side to wipe away her makeup. She was wearing too much anyway. She looked breathtaking, but I like her blue eyes without makeup even more.
After she’s cleaned up, I stand to make an exit, knowing she probably wants some privacy.
“You could’ve looked at my boobs, but you didn’t. What kind of guy doesn’t look?” she asks out of the blue as she shoves off the ground and moves toward a dresser next to her twin bed.
Whoa. What?
“What are you talking about, Charley?” I wrack my brain through the events of the night, but not a single thing comes to mind.
“At the photo shoot. You were so close to me and I wanted you so badly, but you didn’t even look!” I watch her pull out a t-shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants.
Is that why she doesn’t think I find her attractive?