“Excuse me, sir. Might I please get a pint of Guinness?”
“In a moment, lad,” he mutters, his shoulders hunched over, his flat cap pushed down in the front, shadowing his eyes.
“Thank you.” I rest my forehead in my palm and dig my fingers through the front of my hair. My thoughts are cloudy. It’s like I’m driving down a dirt road, Charlotte driving the car in front of me. The more I follow her, the more her car kicks up the dirt. Everything becomes obscured, and I have no sense of direction.
My head is near exploding when a full glass of beer is placed in front of me.
“Here you go, laddie. That’ll be five euro. Unless you plan on starting a tab,” the bartender says.
Looking up, I furrow my eyebrows, knowing I’ve seen this man before. A similar look of recognition spreads across his face at the same time.
“Wait a minute. Bern, right?”
“That’s right.” A small smirk curls on his mouth as he chuckles. “You’re a friend of the young woman I took home the other night, correct?”
“Yeah,” I grin. “Charlotte. My name is Mason.”
“Nice to see you again, Mason. How is the poor American beauty doing? I felt terrible for what happened that day. I swore if I ever saw that sorry excuse for a man in here again, I’d give him a beatin’ before delivering him a good kick in the arse on the way out the door.”
My smile falters, and I wrap my fingers around my cold glass. Bringing the glass to my lips, I take a small sip and watch as I place it back down onto the white napkin. I stare at my glass and spin it around with my fingers.
“I appreciate that, Bern. I also very much appreciate you giving her a ride home the other night.” I take a deep breath. For some unknown reason, an unfamiliar feeling spreads across my chest. I can’t form the words or seem to offer Bern an answer to his question.
“Is she your girlfriend, lad?” Bern asks, bringing my attention away from my beer. “She’s a very beautiful girl. You’d be out of yer mind if ye were to ever let that one get away.”
A heavy weight falls on my shoulders, and the longer I stare at Bern, the more I begin to understand my feelings. He’s the second person to assume Charlotte and I are together. Not to mention, neither man had ever really seen me interact with her, so where were they coming up with this idea? Were my feelings for her that apparent on my face? Then as clear as day, I see the writing on the wall.
It didn’t matter who had said it, whether it was Daniel or Bern. It didn’t matter whether I was the biggest asshole in the world or the sweetest man to ever walk on this earth. I care for Charlotte. I’m near hesitant to call it love. The last time I was in love things didn’t pan out so well, so my experience in this department is a little rusty. Not to mention, I’ve only known Charlotte for a few days, and the first day wasn’t exactly the most pleasant of meetings.
But does love even have a limit? Is it possible to care for someone so deeply when you barely know them? I don’t know the answers to my own questions, but there is one thing I can’t deny—regardless of how I feel about Charlotte, there is still the problem of Kyle. Fucking Kyle.
I look into Bern’s eyes, studying the wrinkles surrounding them and sigh.
“She’s not my girlfriend, Bern. She’s just a friend.”
Bern’s mouth opens as if he was going to respond to my remark, but his eyes drift to my left, looking past my shoulder, his hands curling into tight fists on the bar top.
“Looks like my wish is about to come true,” he says through clenched teeth. Backing away from me, Bern starts to make his way out from behind the bar.
Halfway turning in my barstool, I look over my shoulder to find a man stumbling through the front door. His dark green jacket hangs loose around his emaciated, haggard body, his blondish hair greasy and slicked back.
My eyes dart to his jacket pocket, a hot pink wallet halfway hanging out of it. Aside from the obvious reasons knowing it can’t be this man’s own wallet, I distinctly remember seeing it before. I saw that same wallet the day I met Charlotte, the day she stormed over to me, angry at me for stealing her seat at the airport.
My skin flashes with heat, and my blood boils.
“Bar keep,” the disgusting man shouts. “Get me a whiskey. Double.”
“Oh no, ye mangy arse.” Bern’s now on my side of the bar, slowly walking toward the man. “I’ll thank ye one time. You’ll find it in your best interest to hand over the stolen wallet, then turn right around, back through that door.”
A large, scraggly laugh erupts from the man’s throat. He leans back and stumbles, gripping the back of the nearest chair for support.
“You can’t refuse to serve me, barkeep. Plus, this wallet’s mine. The bitch left it on the counter, free for the taking. I said I wanted a whiskey—“
The man isn’t able to finish his sentence before my fist meets the side of his face. It’s not like I’ve never been in a fight before. Considering Sam and my small age gap, we’ve been known to have our fair share of fist fights growing up.
But there’s something to be said about laying your fist into someone so deep and so hard, out of pure hatred. I’ve never held so much animosity toward someone in my life. It’s this moment, the moment I deliver the third blow to the man’s face, I realize I’ve fallen for Charlotte. So fucking hard, I’m afraid it’ll ruin me.
I’m kneeling over the bastard when I rear my arm back again, ready to give him one last hit. A hand wraps around my elbow, stopping me.
“Mason, my lad. Stop.”
I turn to look up at Bern standing beside me. He has Charlotte’s wallet in his hand. I’m confused when he was able to grab it, but I don’t think on it too long when Bern lifts me up by my arm.
“Go home, lad.” Picking up my coat from the back of my barstool, he shoves it and Charlotte’s wallet against my chest. “Go home to her, Mason.”
My breathing is erratic and heavy, I can barely think, and that cloud of dust is returning to fog up my mind. The man I just beat is now bent over, blood pouring from his mouth, wiping his chin with the back of his hand. He hasn’t said a single word. I haven’t knocked him out, and I’m thankful for Bern stopping me before I took it too far. The old men I saw when I had walked in are now standing around the man, holding him back.
“Mason?” I break my eyes away from the man and face Bern. He starts pushing me toward the door. “Go home. Now,” he repeats.
Nodding, I don’t argue. I push open the large wooden door and run back to my car, my bloody hand clutching Charlotte’s hot pink wallet. When I make it back to my father’s car, I don’t hurry home, taking the opportunity to slow my breathing and gain my bearings.
What the fuck just happened?
I’m beginning to wonder why my life seems to be a constant string of ridiculous coincidences. How was it possible for the same man who stole Charlotte’s wallet to stumble into the bar at the exact time I was there?
I’m thinking of all the possibilities when I finally pull into my parents’ driveway. It’s now dark, nearing ten o’clock. I shut off the car and make my way up the pathway leading to the front door. As I near the front door, every light inside the house is off except for the one at the very top, coming from mine and Charlotte’s room.
My heart beat picks back up. The anticipation of seeing Charlotte pierces itself into every part of me. I can’t help the way she makes me feel, but along with the excitement of seeing her since our kiss, I’m also terrified. I don’t want her to see my bloody hand and have to explain what caused it. I’m hoping she’s asleep and simply left the light on for my benefit, so I didn’t come home to complete darkness.
I’m in no such luck as I step through the small door leading to our room and find Charlotte sitting on the edge of the bed. She’s wearing the same outfit she wore the first night she stayed here—her small tank top and shorts.
She has one leg resting over the other as she squeezes a small mound of lotion into her palm, then smooths it across h
er thigh. She looks up the second I cross the threshold. She must know something is awry because she immediately stands up and meets me halfway.
“Mason? What happened?” Her hands wrap around my face, her palms pressing into my cheeks. I hadn’t noticed it until now, but I’m soaked. It must have been raining when I ran back to the car from the pub. The last hour has been a complete blur.
Her eyes frantically search my face, then my body before they finally settle on my right hand. The one holding her wallet. She brings one hand to her chest, her breath suddenly escaping her, her eyes darting back up to mine.
“Where did you get that?” she whispers.
A tear slides down her cheek. I lift my hand and swipe the stray tear with my finger. The warm liquid seeps into my thumb as I slide my fingertips across her skin, tucking the loose strands of her hair behind her ear. My eyes dance across her face to her pale pink lips, my thoughts of her consuming me.
I’ve kissed those same lips.
“A stroke of luck,” I whisper back, finally able to answer her question.
She looks back down at her wallet, but concern spreads across her face when she wraps both of her hands around mine, holding it between us. Red splotches and a few small scrapes cover my knuckles.
“You fool,” she gasps, taking her wallet and placing it on top of the dresser. “What did you do?”
“I’m sorry for what I said at the Cliffs. I was an arse,” I whisper, looking down at my abused hand, praying she’ll forgive me.
She looks up and gives me the smallest of smiles.
“Let’s get this cleaned, you eegit.”
I smile at her attempt to sound like a local, but when she tries to step away, I don’t move. She searches my face, tears still lining her eyes as she slowly and gently runs her finger across the backside of my hand.
“Do you still love him?”
She snaps her head back up, looking into my eyes.
“What?”
The last person I want to be talking about at this moment is Kyle, but I can’t stop thinking about kissing Charlotte. I haven’t stopped thinking about it since I stepped into this room and saw her sitting there in that fucking outfit. I need to know whether she still loves him. If she does, I have to let her go. I can’t do this with her even if Kyle’s the biggest douchebag to ever grace this earth. The only feelings that matter are hers.
“Do you still love Kyle?” I ask again. She breaks her gaze away from me, turning her attention back to my hand. “I’m only asking because I don’t think I can do this anymore. I can’t stop thinking about kissing you, Char. I want to touch you. I want to touch you so bad and more than just place my lips on yours. I want to feel all of you, in every way possible. But I can’t do that without knowing whether you still love him, and I can’t do that knowing you’re still with him.”
She looks back up to me as her mouth spreads into a small smile.
“I haven’t loved him in a long time. We haven’t been a couple in a long time. It can’t be a relationship when neither person wants to be in it.”
“Oh,” I whisper.
The small lamp on the bedside table fills the room with a warm glow. It’s as if Charlotte radiates, standing in the middle of the room, and I don’t think I can fight it anymore.
“I’m going to kiss you now.”
“Okay,” she breathes. “You better not stop this time.”
Shaking my head, I smirk before finally closing the gap between us. My lips firmly press against hers. Her body relaxes against mine as I wrap my arm around her back and press my bruised hand against her cheek. She tilts her head back, allowing me to leave a trail of kisses along the soft skin of her neck. She moans and drapes her arms over my shoulders, wrapping her arms around my neck and digging her fingers in my hair. My skin tingles and ignites as her fingers grate against my scalp.
I begin walking us backward, blindly leading us to the bed.
“Ow!” Charlotte squeals.
I pull away from her, but keep my hands resting on her waist when she brings her hand to her back, massaging it with her fingers.
“Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Are you okay?” I hadn’t realized it, but I had walked her backward, directly into the dresser.
“I’m fine,” she giggles. I smile, relieved I hadn’t hurt her. Grasping onto the fabric of my shirt, she yanks me back, bringing her lips back to mine.
I lift her up, grabbing onto the back of her thighs, wrapping her legs around my waist. I’m already hard for her as she presses her body more deeply into mine. I pin her body against the dresser for support.
Sliding her arms between our bodies, she grabs the hem of my shirt, lifting it to remove it. I move my hands from her hips to help her along, but the moment I move them and jerk my hips to keep her wrapped around me, the dresser jolts and slams against the wall.
“Sssh,” she laughs. “The guests might hear us.”
I laugh with her as she slides her legs from my waist, pulling my shirt over my head, discarding it on the floor.
“This room is so small,” I whisper in the dimly lit space.
“Come here.” She wraps her hand around the back of my neck and pulls me down to her. I grip her waist and grab the strap of her tank top, sliding it off her shoulder. Gently biting down on her skin, I feel it prickle against my teeth, then drag my tongue across her collarbone. With my fingertips, I slide the other strap off her shoulder, exposing her breasts. I feel the pressure building in my jeans by the minute and sigh in relief when Charlotte reaches forward and frees me.
I grab the top of her shorts, tightening my grip around them, standing back, far enough to look her in the eye. She’s breathing just as heavily, and I can see the desire behind the golden specks of her eyes. Her eyes are on fire—a fire burning only for me.
My grip tightens on the edge of her shorts as I quickly slide them over her hips and down her thighs.
“These shorts drive me crazy, you know that, álainn?”
“Then mission accomplished,” she smirks, stepping out of them. Without another word, she steps forward and removes my jeans.
Clicking my tongue, surprised at the woman in front of me, I give her one last smile before lifting her up again and laying her back against the bed. Her legs hanging off the edge, I bend over her, caging her with my arms. The thought of her teasing me all this time only fuels the already growing fire in me. It’s incredibly infuriating and sexy. She’s absolutely gorgeous, spread out on the bed in nothing but her creamy skin and chestnut hair.
I lean down and press my lips against her forehead, her cheek, then her other cheek. She breathes out softly, smiling.
“Do you have any condoms?”
“Shit,” I sigh, resting my head against her shoulder. “No,” I groan.
Suddenly her body shakes beneath me as I feel a giggle escape her throat.
“It’s okay, Mason. I’m on birth control,” she laughs.
“Char, don’t do that to me.” I kiss her once. “I want you so fucking bad, I don’t know what I would have done if we couldn’t do this tonight.”
Pressing her hand against the side of my face, she runs her thumb below my eye, her eyes searching my face.
“I want you, Mason.” She arches her back and whispers, “I need you. Right now.”
Nodding, I pull my hips back and slowly slide into her. Her hands gripping the back of my head, she tilts her head back, feeling me fill her completely. I rest my forehead against her shoulder, taking a second to gather myself. She feels amazing. As her fingers rake through my hair, I make my movements quicker, and her legs wrap around my waist.
The more I pick up speed, the more the bed creaks. Suddenly, the distinct sound of metal rubbing against metal fills the room. Suppressing a laugh, Charlotte covers her mouth.
“Oh my God, Mason. The bed!” she mutters between her fingers. Her eyes widen as I continue to push myself in and out of her, the squeaking growing louder. Unable to hold back, I laugh with her. This is the
craziest, most enjoyable sex I’ve ever had—not to mention, hilarious. I lean down and press my lips to the back of her hand, holding back another laugh.
“I’m trying to be sexy here, Char. Quit laughing.”
Slowly, removing her hand, she grins.
“I never said you weren’t being sexy, Mason.”
Pulling my hips back, I push into her one last time, feeling her fall apart beneath me. Watching her makes every punch, bruise, and squeak of the bed worth it.
Charlotte
SUNLIGHT IS COMING THROUGH the small window in wide streaks of gold in our cozy little room. There’s a heavy hand on my stomach, holding me against a firm chest. I let out a little sigh at how perfect I feel right now. Safe. Wanted. Cherished. I tick off the feelings because I don’t want to forget them. Not now. Not ever.
Mason stirs behind me, and the firm hand moves up to cup my breasts. I blush as he squeezes, then kisses my ear.
“Mornin’.” His husky, warm voice sends chills down my arms.
Last night was beyond anything I could have hoped for with Mason, but I hadn’t thought past the first time with him. My breaths are coming in and out in little gasps, but I’m not sure if Mason notices. I try to look over my shoulder to see him.
“Hey,” I whisper. Real smooth. Like a freaking pro.
I blush at my response, but Mason just chuckles and moves his hand lower until it’s between my legs. I inhale sharply and wait for him to touch me. I want him to touch me, but the morning breath and after sex smell… it’s enough to make me want a shower before he gears up for round two, but I know men don’t work like that. Knowing Mason wants me and likely doesn’t care about the rest, I try to relax and press back into him.
Mason inhales sharply. He leans forward, his hand in between my legs and ever so slightly, slowly starts moving his fingers. I let out a small gasp while his talented ministrations start tugging an orgasm from me. Mason shifts slightly and positions himself until he’s about to enter me. I keep pressing backward, craving the extra friction, needing him to fill me.
What are the Chances Page 11