by Arthurs, Nia
“I’m ready. I mean that.”
Yesterday, I bared my soul to Teale. I begged him to let me go.
He denied me.
He claimed me without laying a finger on me.
But I’m not a pet. I’m not his slave. I’m not his plaything.
I’m done with his game.
If he won’t let me go, well, I’ll just do the damn thing myself.
Kayla eyes me like she doesn’t believe me. A beat passes. Two. “Good.” She slowly straightens. Glides back around the desk. Slips back into her chair. “Then let’s find you a match.” She shakes her head. Smirks. Amends, “Let’s find you a husband.”
18 Teale
Work is my refuge. When things don’t make sense, ones and zeroes do. Every problem has a solution. Every snag is just a bump in the road to an inevitable destination—victory.
It’s the weekend.
Saturday night.
And here I am, trying and failing to work out a code that my team has been unable to solve all week.
I’d welcomed the distraction but, now, I just want to tear my hair out and toss my computer far, far away.
My phone rings.
I pounce on it, eager for something else to focus on before I take a bat to the expensive equipment.
It’s Brendon.
“Sup.” I settle the phone close. Glance through the glass walls of my office to the emptiness outside. My team’s already settled in. Their presence lingers in the knickknacks and picture frames littering their desks.
“Hey.” Brendon pauses. “This is weird.”
“What is?” I get up. Stretch my legs.
“Quiet background. No loud music. No girl giggling in your ear over the line. Are you alone right now?”
“Yeah.”
He sounds astonished. “Why?”
“Why?” I rub my temple. Because of a freaking five-foot-two pastry chef with a penchant for dark glares and sweet, sweet kisses. “I…”
“Are you sick?”
I chuckle. “I’m working.” I lean against the desk. “What do you want, Brendon?”
“Are you sure you’re okay, man?”
Okay? That’s debatable. I’m doing the best I can to keep my distance from Zania.
That last time…
That look in her eyes…
I have to figure things out and I can’t do that when I see her. She gets into my brain. Messes me up. Makes me want to do things, say things, have things I never did before.
I’ve been playing games all my life.
It’s where I live, where I’m most comfortable.
I take nothing seriously, especially relationships.
But this doesn’t feel like a game.
Not anymore.
Where I’m at, the way I’m feeling, is uncharted territory. There could be a damn cliff three steps away and I wouldn’t know.
How do I move forward from here without plummeting to my death?
“You know what? I could use a break,” I say.
“The usual place?”
“I’ll meet you there.” I hang up. Grab my car keys. Leave work and, hopefully, my thoughts about Zania, far behind.
* * *
This is my favorite kind of bar—music blasting from the speakers (EDM, of course), a dance floor filled with people trying to forget their woes, enough women to pick and choose who I’m taking home.
I used to have to drag Brendon here. The fact that he’s volunteering means I’ve really worried him.
My gaze scans the crowded room. It’ll be easy enough to reassure him that I’m the same guy.
I’m still Teale.
I hear hissing next to me and glance to the side. Brendon’s face is squashed in that this is good tequila expression. I grin and sample my own shot. Liquor burns down my throat and falls to the depths of my stomach. Flames spark to life in my veins. A wave of calm washes over me.
I slam the empty glass back on the table. “That was good.”
“It better be. I ordered the best bottle in the house.”
“How pathetic do I look?”
“Very.” Brendon’s grey eyes scour my face.
The music shifts to another song. This one is quieter. Inviting conversation.
Something I don’t want.
I hop off the bar stool before Brendon can start acting like my shrink. “I’m going in.”
He shrugs. Points to the tequila. I’m staying put.
I nod. Suit yourself.
I feel his eyes watching me as I make my way to the dance floor. Brendon and I have managed to stay friends this long because we understand each other. He’s here to rescue me from myself. To throw me a life-vest.
It’s up to me to take it.
Or drown.
Which is the option I’m choosing tonight.
I plan to dive between a woman’s thighs and I won’t emerge until everything in the world feels right again.
My eyes shift through the darkness. I bob my head to the beat—a frantic, electronic thing that’s so loud it can barely count as music.
Almost immediately, a girl starts grinding on me.
It’s dim, but I can see enough. Red hair—probably from a bottle. Dark eyes. Pale skin. A lot of pale skin. She’s wearing a dress that has a cutout all the way to the bellybutton.
Beautiful.
Sexy.
Red fingernails clamor over my biceps.
My lips curl into a smile. There’s no excitement. I’m not expecting any. But I go through the motions anyway.
This is what I’m good at. Who I am.
I’ve never chased after a girl. Never paid attention to one who didn’t want me. There were plenty more who did.
Red Head, for example.
I’m about to bend down. Offer her a drink. Maybe a ride out of here to somewhere more quiet.
A second before I do, someone catches my eye.
She’s short. Small, really. But there’s a circle of distance around her, as if everyone in the club is honoring her space, giving her room to do her thing.
Doesn’t take me long to figure out why she’s earned so much respect. The way she’s dancing…
It’s not overtly sexual like the woman currently humping my leg. It’s… different. Free. Completely devoid of inhibitions. She’s got her arms in the air, over her head. Hips shimmy back and forth.
They’re not fancy moves. This isn’t fancy music.
But it’s captivating.
Free.
She gives absolutely no damn about anyone or anything else except the rhythm. Her movements are making sense of the auditory mush. Turning it into something beautiful.
Someone steps into my line of sight before I can see her face.
I grit my teeth. Try to break away from my dance partner to catch a glimpse of the woman again.
Red Head is clingy. She grabs my wrist. Places it back around her waist. Thrusts her skinny behind against my groin.
My body doesn’t even respond.
But my temper does.
I try to fling her off while simultaneously stepping to the side in a desperate attempt to see over the crowd.
There she is.
But she’s not alone anymore. There’s some guy putting his hands on her. Trying to dance with her.
I grit my teeth. Take another step.
Someone snatches my wrist. Holds me back.
Red Head.
I scowl at her. Take control of my arm again. Swing my head back in the strange woman’s direction so I don’t lose sight of her.
She’s pushing off the guy’s hands, but he’s not getting the hint. Instead, he steps closer to her. Invades her space. Taints her dancing with his presence, his overt gyrating.
She whips her head around. Braids fling behind her. Long. Black. Golden clips. I see her face.
Beautiful. Brown skin. Big lips.
Zania?
My eyes slide down her body.
The way she’s filling out that dress…
> How did I not see it before?
She glares at the tall guy. Shakes her head ‘no’.
He whispers something to her. The smug look on his face tells me he’s not taking no for an answer.
My body tenses.
Veins thrum with barely restrained rage.
I stalk ahead.
Red Head slides in front of me, barring my way. “Buy me a drink?”
“Not tonight.”
I walk a few steps.
She blocks me again. Yells, “Why not?”
I don’t answer immediately. My eyes are trained on Zania. She’s cutting through the crowd. Heading off the dance floor.
The obnoxious guy is following her.
I grind my teeth. Every nerve, every muscle is on edge.
Grabbing Red Head by the shoulders, I forcefully set her aside and stalk through the crowd, heading in Zania’s direction.
She’s moving toward the bathroom, but she’s not going fast enough. The guy is gaining ground. He’s next to her. In front of her.
I see it all happen with red-tinged vision.
He’s staring at her chest. Down her dress. Straight at her cleavage.
She lifts her chin. I’m close enough to hear her yell, “No thanks. I don’t need a drink.”
“Fine. Then let’s just talk.” He grabs her hand. Right above her gold bracelet.
She yanks her hand back. Glares at him. “No.”
“You don’t look like you’re here with someone.” He glances around. “So why not have some fun?”
I swoop in then. Slide in front of Zania and the imbecile.
Her little gasp of surprise hits my back like a tiny hammer.
The obnoxious guy stares me down. “What the hell?”
I shift to the side and sling an arm over Zania’s shoulders. “Babe, is this guy bothering you?”
“Teale?” she hisses.
I lean in. Whisper, “Play along.”
Zania shrugs me off. The shock on her face is gone, replaced with annoyance. “I can handle this.”
“Looked like you were doing a great job.”
The sarcasm earns me another glare.
I ignore it and face the guy who can’t take a hint. “We have a problem here?”
“I just wanted to talk.”
“Is that why you grabbed her?”
“Sorry, man. I didn’t think she had a boyfriend.”
“Whether she’s got a boyfriend or not, when a woman says no, you back the hell up. Got it?”
He looks at me like I’m crazy.
I fist my hands, eager to sink it into his ignorant face.
Zania covers my knuckles with her palm. Mutters, “Stop it. Let’s just go.”
She pulls me along.
I start to follow her when I hear the guy grumble, “Tramp.”
It’s under his breath, but it’s loud enough for me to discern.
I freeze.
Go stiff.
Turn around.
Before I can launch at him, two slender hands cup my cheeks. My head is physically hauled around. Dragged down. Drug in.
I see Zania’s eyes flash.
A second later, her lips are on mine.
19 Zania
The last thing I want is to be thrown out of this dang club because Teale got caught in a fistfight.
That’s why I kiss him.
I swear.
It starts off gentle at first. A quick peck. My mouth covers his. I’m just trying to distract him. Snap him out of that frantic, protector mode before he goes all Hulk on my wanna-be dance partner.
But then he takes control.
It’s no longer my mouth on his. It’s his on mine.
His hand rises. Grazes my lower back. Propelling me forward. Pushing me closer.
He straightens a little.
I stand on the tips of my toes to follow him. A magnet to steel. A flower to the sun. Pure instinct.
He nuzzles my lower lip. Squeezes his fingers over the back of my neck.
My body throbs. Excitement explodes in my chest and stomach. The muscles bunched in my straining calves. Between my thighs.
His hand falls away from my neck. Fingers slide along my waist and release me. He steps back completely. Glances to the left.
“He’s gone.” Teale’s voice is low, husky. The shadows play over his blue eyes.
I wonder what he’s thinking.
Forget it. I don’t want to know.
I suck in a deep breath. “Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
“Mm-hm.” I wrap my arms around my waist. My adrenaline’s through the roof. My heart is beating double-time, faster than the bass thrumming through the room.
I can still feel his mouth on mine.
Still taste him.
If I swipe my tongue…
I do. I run it over my bottom lip. What is that? Tequila?
Every inch of me is still tingling, panging, aching.
I kissed Teale.
Again.
Why do I keep doing that?
He glances at me. His expression is uncertain. As if he’s trying to figure me out too.
Just then, a group of dancers rush to the bar.
He steps into me. Protects me.
I bury my nose in his blazer.
Feel the quivering excitement from being near him stir me all over again.
I. Kissed. Teale.
And the worst part?
I really want to do it again.
20 Zania
Teale takes me home. Or at least, he’s supposed to. I see him taking a wrong turn and sit straight up in my chair. “Where are you going?”
“I’m hungry.”
“Which is my problem… how?”
He smirks. The kind that tells me he’s enjoying himself.
That’s another thing I don’t get about Teale. No matter how harsh I am to him, it always seems to roll down his back.
More than that.
It excites him.
Weirdo.
Maybe I shouldn’t even be in his car.
Correction, I definitely shouldn’t be in Teale’s car.
The last time I claimed this passenger seat was the night of that gala. The night he took my virginity then took me home and didn’t call or text for two years.
He stops the Jag in front of a taco truck. Glances at me. “You like Mexican?”
I want to scold him for bringing me here without permission, just for the principle of it, but I am kind of hungry. “What’s on the menu?”
“Tacos, tostados, salbutes, burritos, panades, tamales…” He rattles it off the top of his head. “If you want authentic,” he points to the window, “this is the closest you’ll get.”
“You sound like you’ve done your research.”
He smiles. Opens his door. “Come on.”
I follow him out into the night. There’s a crowd of people in front of the truck, which tells me that the food is probably going to be good. But that crowd is also looking me up and down like they’ve never seen a woman in club gear before.
One lady shifts her son to her other side and shoots me a disapproving look.
Discomfort tightens the muscles in my shoulders. I back away from Teale. “Uh, I should probably wait in the car.”
“Why?”
I glance at my outfit. It’s another borrowed dress from Chandra. This one is blue and has cute, little cut-outs on the side. It hugs me like a glove and though it’s fairly modest inside the club—where most people have everything hanging out, it’s definitely sticking out here.
Teale gently takes my wrist to keep me from running away. I expect him to tease me about being shy when I, obviously, felt comfortable enough wearing this earlier, but he doesn’t.
He lets my hand go. Slips his blazer off. Drapes it around my shoulders. The jacket is big. It swallows me whole. It’s warm and smells like Teale.
My heart thuds almost as hard as it did when he kissed me.
A tender look in his
eyes, Teale whispers, “Stay with me.”
Is he… serious?
There’s not a glimmer of mischief in his gaze. He means it.
The line moves forward.
Teale moves with it.
I shyly forge ahead, not quite beside him but not far either.
He stops. Turns back.
I peer at him. Flit my gaze away. I don’t know why I’m so nervous.
I hate him.
I… hate him, right?
Teale wraps one arm around my back. Nudges me forward so I’m in line with him. He doesn’t remove his hand when he gets me where he wants me.
I don’t move away either.
He clears his throat. “I didn’t take you for a club girl.”
The comment barrels against my already tight nerves. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“Relax.” He chuckles. “I can feel you getting all tense.”
I push his arm away.
This is the Teale I know.
This is the way I’d prefer feeling about him.
Annoyed. Angry.
“Is there something wrong with going to a club?”
“I just didn’t pin you for the type.”
“Not that it’s any of your business, but I’m not.”
An eyebrow arches. I read the question his lips don’t say. Then why were you there?
The line inches forward.
I go with the flow. Step in front of him. Leave him behind.
Big mistake.
Teale brushes up behind me. His body isn’t pressing into mine physically, but I can sense him anyway. He’s so tall. It feels like he’s sheltering me from the wind, from the night, from everything that would hurt me.
My pulse hammers.
He speaks softly in my ear. “You weren’t there on a marriage date, were you?”
“No,” I croak.
“Good.”
For some reason, that answer pisses me off. I don’t want his approval. “You’re so obnoxious.”
“Thank you.” He grins. Winks.
I glance away. Pretend my heart didn’t just skip a beat. “If you must know, there was a match at the agency recently and the bride-to-be invited everyone to the bachelorette party.”
“You went to a bachelorette party when you didn’t even know the bride?”