It Will Always Be You (You Series Book 1)

by Tina Ness

  “Hey, Lizzie.” Krystal comes up behind me. “Two spots opened up at the bar. Let’s go chat it up with the cute bartender.”

  “I’m fine right here listening to the music.” I don’t look at her because I know she’s rolling her eyes at me.

  “Liz, we need to get you laid.”

  I scowl. “Jeez, Krystal, you really do have a one-track mind.”

  “And damn proud of it.” She grins. “Now get off your ass before someone steals our spots.”

  She grabs my arm, and we head to the bar.

  The cute bartender has his back to us when we take our seats. He’s engaged in conversation with a couple I’d guess were in their early sixties. As he pours a few pints of beer from the tap, his T-shirt exposes a tattoo of what I conclude to be a cross on his firm bicep. His hair is slicked back with its usual over-gelled shininess, and his blue polo shirt is tucked perfectly into his faded blue jeans, which he fills out very well, all the way down to his navy blue Converse. He turns and gives us a wink before setting the pints in front of a waitress. “I’ll be right with you, ladies.”

  I pull out my lip balm and add a thin layer before hanging my purse on the hook under the bar. I’m hardly even nervous about the idea of meeting a new guy, which is so odd since I can hardly even spit out a full sentence when Marshall is in the vicinity.

  I force a flirtatious smile as the bartender comes to stand before us.

  We order up two big gingers. Krystal talks about some blues tune I know nothing about. Apparently, some guy came in last week and got several of the words wrong, which made her, she says, “cray cray.”

  “Well, Lizzie,” Krystal says before clearing her throat. “Elizabeth”—she winks at me, knowing that I don’t care which form of my name she uses—“is a good singer, although her taste in music is debatable.”

  I hit her on the arm. “Wow, thanks, Krystal.”

  “What kinds of music do you like”—she glances at his name tag—“Peter?”

  Peter grins at me. “I like all different kinds of music.” His answer annoys me a bit. I can tell he’s just trying not to be biased. I find it hard to believe he listens to everything from classical to death metal, but hey, you never know. I just appreciate a man who knows what he likes.

  “How about you?” Peter’s eyes are now on me.

  “Well, I grew up on country music, which I still love, but you won’t catch me turning off the radio when Bruno Mars, Pink, or Pitbull are on.”

  We talk in more detail about the music we love and what we grew up listening to. I’m impressed by his knowledge of music. Krystal is bored with our conversation, so she heads out for a smoke, leaving me alone with Peter.

  “Have you heard of the band Jamestown Revival?” Peter asks, as I squeeze my lime and lemon into the fresh drink he made me.

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “You should check them out. They’re a southern folk-rock duo from Texas with some really great music. I bet you’d love them.”

  “Can I use your pen?” I ask.

  As I’m writing Jamestown Revival on my napkin, a short, chubby guy with a wild comb-over has a seat at the bar a few chairs down from me.

  “Pardon me,” says Peter as he goes to take the guy’s order. The man orders a stout. I notice Peter’s hand is unsteady as he pours the pint. He must be nervous.

  He finishes up pouring the stout and comes back over to me. “Do you maybe want to go get some dinner with me sometime?” He looks truly flustered now.

  “Well, I happen to be off tomorrow night,” I answer too quickly, not sure if it’s the big gingers or that I want to put him out of his nervous misery.

  I can tell he’s in a hurry to wrap this up before Krystal comes back. Apparently, he knows Krystal well enough to realize she would have a heyday with this information. Before Krystal makes it back to the bar, we decide to meet at the Mexican restaurant at 7:00 tomorrow night.

  We finish up our cocktails and make some more small talk, none too interesting. The jam session keeps a steady pace. Most of the performers are seasoned musicians, but as always, the occasional dud mixes in. There are a few who are too nervous to perform well, then there’s the type that tries to fit every guitar note they have ever learned into a three-minute space to impress—I’m not sure—the ladies or the other musicians.

  Two big gingers later, Greg comes and puts his arms around our shoulders, leaning in a bit heavy, having downed several pints. “Your chariot awaits, my ladies,” he remarks with a mild slur. Unwrapping Greg’s heavy weight from my shoulder, I grab my purse off the hook under the bar. We turn and head toward the door.

  “See you tomorrow night, Elizabeth,” Peter calls out from behind the bar, and then casts a quick glance at Krystal, who by no surprise stops dead in her tracks, jaw dropped. I laugh at her reaction. She links my arm, and we head out to the parking lot, where a cab is waiting. Greg takes the front seat, so Krystal, Drunk Blond Girl, and I are seated in the back. Drunk Blond Girl informs us that Ben and Anna had walked home because they couldn’t wait to “go home and get nasty.” Her tone is bitter. She must be mad that she hadn’t succeeded in picking anyone up tonight.

  “So you and the cute bartender have a big date tomorrow night?” Krystal asks, happy to share it with the entire car.

  “I don’t know about a big date, but yes, we are having dinner together,” I say.

  Greg turns to face us from the front seat. “He’d better be on his best behavior, or Lizzie will knock him on his ass.”

  The three of us enjoy a laugh while Drunk Blond Girl sits, pouting, with her head on the window.

  I live the closest, so thankfully I’m dropped off first. I stumble on the second step up to the porch of my townhouse, cursing myself for having had so much to drink. Water is the only thing on my mind as I crash through the doorway of my small kitchen, round the granite-topped island, and reach into the cabinet next to the sink for a glass. But as I down my first glass of the cold, wonderful liquid, that familiar surge of longing comes flooding back. My yearning for Marshall, my need for love, my mad desire for sex burns in the pit of my stomach. Why did I agree to go out with Peter? Why would a man like Marshall flirt with me?Am I worthy of being added to the notches on his bedpost? Was he even flirting with me? I refill my glass, anxious to get to bed and clear my mind of all thought for a while.

  Chapter 3

  Friday, May 21

  I awake to my cell phone buzzing on my nightstand. Blinking away the fuzziness in my eyes, I spot my purse tipped on its side with half of its contents spilled out onto my dresser and the floor. I recall having tossed it there last night in a mad dash for the comfort of my bed. I’m still fully clothed, and my mouth tastes dreadful; I didn’t even brush my teeth. Sitting up to reach for my water, I growl at its emptiness.

  I perk up when I remember my date with Peter. The thought of having a man’s attention for an evening for the first time in a long time is exciting. Gavin had been distant for so long I can hardly recall the feeling of a man caring what I have to say or even looking at me like I am worth a shit.

  Between the time Gavin spent at his new job at Sans International Airport and the time he spent with his pilot buddies, I was nothing but a puzzle piece for his perfect-looking life. His interest in me was only for show. Night after night, Gavin would be lost in a book, and I heard “we’ll fool around tomorrow night” more times than I can count. Gavin had turned into someone I didn’t know. He was no longer the sweet, passionate, funny guy I’d been introduced to, the guy with a promising career, the guy who had his own place and seemed to adore me. He had promised me the world only to all but forget I existed after one year as a pilot. Red flags were everywhere, but I stayed for four whole years. He didn’t even seem to notice I was alive near the end.

  One night, we went out to a movie and ran into a group of guys from his flight school. He never even introduced me or even acknowledged I was there until the moment he turned to me and said, “Hey, Liz
, you mind heading home, and I’ll see you later? I’d really like to catch up with these guys. I’ll make it up to you.” He never even waited for my response, just walked away with them and left me standing there. He was always ignoring me by then. He never even looked directly at me. He never made it up to me, either.

  My phone hums again on my nightstand. I glance at it and see five new text alerts. I sigh and take a big stretch. Not bothering to check my messages, I head to the bathroom to brush my teeth and get some water. Stepping to the mirror, I lean in over the sink. My makeup isn’t smudged, but the wicked bed head on the right side shows that I must not have moved at all in my sleep last night. Brushing my teeth feels marvelous. I run my tongue along my teeth to inspect their smoothness.

  From my bedroom, my phone blares “Hey, Soul Sister,” and I know my twin sister, Rose, is calling. I run to my nightstand and have a seat on the side of my bed before answering.

  “Hey, Sis, what’s up?” I try to sound more chipper than I feel.

  Oddly enough, it’s Rose who yawns. “You planning to ignore me all day?”

  “Of course not. I answered, didn’t I?”

  “I texted you a bunch of times about going to Home Décor today.”

  Rose had asked me to help her pick out some new decorations for her living room in the new house she and her fiancé, Derek, just purchased. It’s only a half mile away from our childhood home, where our parents still live with nearly the same décor from back when we were kids. Rose and I tried to make slow and subtle changes to our childhood home, so we wouldn’t freak out my mom. She has never been a fan of change. We decided to reorganize the basement TV room to surprise her on Valentine’s Day one year, and you would have thought she walked in on a crime scene, although she did try hard to pretend to like it. After my mom had started changing things back, it became obvious that it drove her crazy, so we switched it back.

  “Oh, crap, Rose. I totally forgot. I had one hell of a day yesterday and stayed out a little too late last night with Krystal and a few of her friends.”

  “What am I then, chopped liver?” Rose laughs like she often does. She gets her easygoing attitude from our father, which is why she has become such an adored second-grade teacher. I have always envied the two of them for their temperament.

  “I wouldn’t say chopped liver. More like a redheaded stepchild.” When Rose and I were kids, I often told her she was adopted, even though we are identical twins. Her hair is lighter than mine, often passing as blond instead of red.

  We both laugh.

  “Oh, crap, it’s ten already.” I hadn’t even noticed my clock when I reached for my water glass. I rarely ever sleep past seven, even when I work the night shift. “Can I grab a quick workout and a shower first?”

  “You? Quick?” She chuckles.

  “I have to pick up my car at the Brewhouse. Krystal is dropping me off on her way to work within the hour, and then I plan to run Lakeside Trail.”

  “All right. I’ll pick you up at one.”

  I toss my phone onto the bed and begin putting the disheveled mess spilling from my purse back into its orderly fashion. The balled-up napkin with the band name Peter recommended makes me wonder what music Marshall listens to, if he sings to his favorite songs, if he dances, and what it would feel like up against his body, swaying to the same rhythm, his hands pulling me in close.

  ***

  My eyes closed tightly, face tilted up to capture the sun’s warmth, I inhale a deep breath of the cool lake breeze as it dances off the vast body of water before me. The waves crash up on the rocks in a peaceful rhythm, willing me to sway slightly, mimicking their song. Lakeside Trail was peaceful today and my run invigorating. Thankfully, I’m left with enough time to perch upon my favorite rock along the lake’s shore and daydream. I welcome the coolness of the rock upon the backs of my legs as I sit cross-legged, mindlessly swaying to the lake’s harmony.

  A shadow falls upon me. Startled, I open my eyes and gaze up toward the statue standing to the right of me. I can only see a silhouette since the sun is to its back.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you.” It’s a man’s voice.

  I raise my hand to shield my eyes, but I still can’t make out who it is.

  “What a beautiful day for a run.” From his heavy breathing, I can tell he has also been running.

  I shift in my cross-legged position on the rock, still trying to catch a glimpse of the man standing next to me. “Can’t beat it,” I say.

  “Of all the cities I’ve visited, this is one of my favorite places to run.” His voice seems vaguely familiar.

  “It’s great, unless the breeze blows in the wrong direction, and you get a nose full of the paper mill, which can ruin a good run.”

  He laughs. “I suppose it can.” He takes a few steps forward.

  I gasp quietly. It’s Marshall Roderick.

  I sit up a bit taller, inhaling a deep breath through my nose, and direct my eyes back to the lake. Come on, Elizabeth, don’t make a fool of yourself again.

  “You mind if I have a seat?”

  I release the breath I’ve been holding. “Of course, by all means.” I direct my hands to the other side of the rock for him to sit, realizing then I have invited him to sit right next to me even though there are hundreds of other rocks. I feel my face begin to flush. I’m jolted with an awareness that I am going to be sitting uncomfortably close to Marshall Roderick and that I have been sweating like a beast.

  He’s wearing black running shorts with two white stripes down the sides and a pale gray sleeveless shirt, although little of it is pale gray anymore; most of it is soaked and dark with sweat, forming beautifully to his clearly chiseled pecks. He is also sporting a pair of bright orange running shoes.

  He steps down between two rocks, pausing to wipe the sweat from his face with the corner of his shirt, giving me an eyeful of tanned, toned abdominal perfection. He then eases himself next to me on the rock and pulls up his outer leg, draping his arm up over his knee. His easygoing manner eases a bit of my tension but does nothing for the excitement building between my thighs.

  “Elizabeth from Beacon Pointe, right? You look different with your hair pulled back and not in uniform.”

  “Yes.” I’m pleasantly surprised he remembered but become increasingly aware that I may smell of sweat and yesterday’s perfume.

  “You run this trail a lot?” he asks.

  “Weather permitting. It can be pretty chilly near the lake, so most days I work out at my place.”

  His shoulder brushes mine, and I’m inadvertently offered the sweet smell that is Marshall Roderick. How can he smell this good having just finished running? My eyes wander to the bulge in his shorts, and I can’t help but wonder how the two of us would smell tangled up in sex and sweat. I would love to know how he tastes, his neck, his lips, and his smooth, hard manhood in my mouth. My eyes shoot up when I realize I’m staring right at his crotch, caught up in my fantasy. He is staring at me with a devilish smirk; clearly he’d seen where my eyes had been. I feel my face flush, but grin at the thought of him watching me as I think about him naked with his cock in my mouth.

  “Do you live close to here?” He stretches his arms up and back, then drapes his arm back over his knee.

  “Not far, about five miles. How about you?”

  “I live in Minneapolis, not too far, only about 150 miles.” A big smile crosses his face. He gives me a wink.

  I begin to fidget, spinning my ring as I always do when I get anxious. I can tell he notices too. If only I had his confidence, my eyes would be traveling the length of him, making sure he noticed my interest.

  “Just a couple miles then?” A larger-than-necessary smile crosses my face. “What brings you to Duluth?” I pause. “If you don’t mind me asking.”

  “My buddy Parker and I own the Abberline Distillery here in town, as well as one in Minneapolis.”

  “A distillery of what?” I ask, but worry I may be a bit too nosy.

>   “Have you ever heard of absinthe?”

  Shit, I’m not sure what it is. I have a vague recollection of it from one of the many romance novels I’ve read. Reluctantly, I shoot him a confused expression.

  “Many people haven’t. It was banned from the U.S. for one hundred years. People once believed it could cause you to hallucinate.”

  “Sounds pretty heavy-duty.”

  “It’s relatively strong, but if you know how to drink it, the flavor is supreme.”

  “I bet it is, or you wouldn’t make it.”

  He laughs. “Very good point.”

  I reach into my running shirt pocket for my phone. It’s nearly noon already. I have to be ready at one, but I don’t care to leave this rock, this conversation, or Marshall Roderick.

  “I bet you have to get going.” He puts his leg down and rises to his feet. “You working tonight?”

  “Nope. I get the night off.” Oh, please don’t go, Marshall. I stay seated, hoping he will sit back down. Why did I look at my phone?

  “Well, maybe you could join me at the Blackwater Lounge tonight for a tasty absinthe cocktail.” His voice goes deeper to emphasize the “tasty absinthe cocktail,” causing both of us to grin.

  “That sounds great.” My voice squeaks, sounding a bit too anxious. Uncrossing my legs, I slide my body down the rock until my feet hit the ground, but I find my footing unstable and begin to fall forward. Marshall reaches for my arm and misses. Down I go onto my hands and knees, grunting loudly as I land.

  “Elizabeth!” His hands find the sides of my ribs as he positions himself to help me up. “Are you all right?”

  I freeze, taking in the warm touch of his hands on my sides. I will them to travel forward to my breasts. My nipples harden at the thought.