Seeking Mr. Wrong

by Natalie Charles

  “You’ve been around, I can tell. But not here.” His gaze dipped to my neckline. “I would’ve noticed.”

  Hell. Where was Mindy? This conversation wasn’t making me feel sexy. It was making me feel violated. I glanced back down at my fingernails. “Huh. Thanks.”

  He shifted his chair closer, and I smelled the alcohol on his breath. “What’s your name, sweet thing?”

  “Coco.”

  “Coco?” He arched an eyebrow, because apparently he was smarter than I’d given him credit for. “I’m Zed.”

  I tilted my head at him. “Zed? That’s not your real name.”

  He lifted his chin. “Coco’s not yours.”

  Touché.

  I shifted in my stool to face him head-on. He was actually kind of attractive if I overlooked the missing tooth. What would Dad and Faye say if I brought him to Sunday dinner? I wondered. Dad had approved of James. Probably because he sensed instinctively that James wasn’t the kind of man who wanted to corrupt me. Zed here? He could get freaky. Dad would be showing Zed his gun collection before dessert.

  “So . . . Zed. How’s your night going?”

  “Better, now that I’m sitting here looking at you.”

  Aw, he was such a charmer. I rewarded him by flipping my hair off my shoulders and saying coyly, “You say that to all the women you meet.”

  “Just the ones I want to get to know a little better.”

  He gave me that Swiss cheese grin and edged a little closer. I leaned away, feeling crowded.

  “I’ll bet you do this a lot,” he crooned.

  “What? Have a drink at a bar?”

  “Go out wearing a short little skirt, looking like you’re the kind of girl who wants to have a good time.”

  My skin started to crawl, and I pulled my drink closer to my body. “No. I actually don’t.” And good ol’ Zed was reminding me why.

  I rubbed my eyes and looked up, and who did I see behind the bar but Eric Clayman, his arms folded, his stance wide, his eyes boring right into mine. I froze. Crap. I wasn’t happy to see him, and he didn’t look pleased, either. He looked a little bit, well, angry. With a deep breath, I reminded myself to smile. We weren’t on school time, after all. Then I turned back to my new friend.

  “So. I hope you don’t mind, Zed, but before we go any further I have some questions for you. Don’t panic: I ask them of every man I meet in a bar.”

  I had a conversation cheat sheet borrowed from a women’s magazine in Dr. Bubbles’s waiting room. The article was entitled “Things to Know Before You Take Him Home.” Topical, I’d thought, as I’d ripped it out and stuffed it into my purse. My original plan had been to consult it before Mindy and I left the house, but I’d been busy changing my clothes. Normally I’d never whip out something like a quiz in a bar—even I have a few social graces. But Zed seemed like a special case.

  Zed’s forehead creased, and he leaned closer as I pulled the piece of paper out of my handbag. “Questions?”

  “Yes, it will take a few minutes, but I think it will save us some time in the long run.” I cleared my throat and smoothed the paper onto the table. “Number one: Are you married?”

  “Nope.”

  “See? Easy.” I crossed my legs and inched my skirt a bit higher, playing to the man behind the bar. “Question two: Do you have a criminal record?”

  Zed’s eyes darted right and left, and I braced myself for the truth about that neck tattoo. “Is a criminal record— That means I was in jail?”

  Uh-oh. My back stiffened. “How would you answer the question? I’ll leave the interpretation up to you.”

  “I never been sentenced.”

  The tension mounted in my forehead as I fixed my gaze down at the list. “Never been sentenced” could mean he’d been acquitted of bludgeoning someone to death. It hardly meant he was a nice guy. “Well, let’s flag that one for discussion, shall we?”

  I turned my head slightly toward the bar as I had the feeling I was being watched. Sure enough, Eric was leaning back against the counter, staring at us with his arms crossed, looking like hired security. With a slow sigh, I turned back to Zed. He smelled a little bit like gasoline. Maybe he worked at a gas station. Maybe he set fires. “Question three: Do you have any STDs?”

  Zed folded his arms on the table and glanced quickly over his shoulder before turning back to me. “Sexually transmitted diseases? What, like, herpes?”

  Not a promising response. “There are a few different types, yes.”

  “Nah. I’m clean.” He drummed his fingertips on the tabletop and bobbed his head as a Rolling Stones song started playing.

  I’d decided long ago I was not going to have sex with this guy, but I didn’t know what else to talk about. So I continued with the questionnaire. “Just so my records are complete: Do you remember the date of your last STD test?”

  “C’mon, baby. What’s it matter? I’ll wear a condom for you.” Zed reached out and put a hand on my knee.

  “Heh.” I uncrossed my legs and shifted away from his touch. “Maybe another time. I don’t really know you.”

  Zed’s eyebrows did a little dance, or possibly he had a twitch of some sort. “We could get to know each other.” He edged closer, this time moving his hand higher up my thigh. “Wanna go somewhere more private? I know a place—”

  My face scrunched up and I recoiled from the contact. “Ew. Get your hand off me!”

  A man’s figure stepped between us. “Is this guy bothering you?”

  Oh no. His profile came into focus. Eric. My boss was coming to my rescue in a bar. Dammit. I watched the scene unfold through my fingers and thought about tendering my resignation on Monday. “I can handle it. It’s fine—”

  “What’d I tell you about coming around here, harassing women?” Eric’s voice was a low growl. He towered over Zed, who was leaning away from him.

  “I wasn’t doing nothing. We were just talking.”

  “It sure looked like you were bothering her,” Eric growled. “Why don’t you go talk to someone else.”

  Zed fumed for a moment, but then stood and headed back to his table. I exhaled when he was gone, but Eric’s eyes were narrow as he turned to me. “Everything okay?”

  “Yes. You didn’t need to do that.”

  A shadow fell across Eric’s face. “You don’t know that guy. We’ve had problems with him before.”

  I combed my fingers through my hair nonchalantly. There was no need to give him a reason to thump his chest. I gestured to the stool Zed had just vacated. “I have a free seat. Want to sit?”

  His brows pulled closer. He was wearing a black button-down shirt, sleeves rolled to his elbows, and jeans. Simple, and very sexy. But he scowled at me as he took a seat. “Please tell me you didn’t invite him over. I thought you had taste.”

  I feigned confusion as I glanced around the bar and leaned forward. “Oh, is this your jurisdiction, too? Because it doesn’t look like an elementary school. So I don’t think I have to answer that question.”

  Eric clenched his jaw and set one large hand on the table, close to me. “He’s a creep. Not your type.”

  “Zed? He seemed nice enough. Before he got grabby.”

  “Zed? His name is Darren.”

  “Huh. Funny.”

  “And he was arrested a few months back for beating the shit out of his girlfriend. The charges are pending.”

  “Is that so? Interesting.” I took a sip of my drink. “You know, it was nice of you to get concerned, but I can take care of myself.”

  “Didn’t look that way.” Eric leaned back on his stool. “I wasn’t supposed to come in tonight. I’m glad I did. Saved your night from Darren.”

  I smiled sweetly. “My hero.”

  ERIC GRABBED a vodka from the bar and we got to talking. He was two years older than me and had a master’s
in education administration. I groaned. “That sounds horrible.”

  “A little bit.” He laughed as he lifted his tumbler. “Have you started your courses yet?”

  All teachers in Connecticut are required to obtain their master’s degree. I’d been chiseling away at mine, taking a class here and there, mostly over the summers, and only electives that sounded interesting. I was going to be left with a bulk of unpleasant requirements to fulfill before it was over. “I think at this rate, I’ll have it by the time I retire.”

  “Such dedication.”

  I could see from the crinkle at the edges of his eyes that he was teasing, but I still couldn’t resist delivering my own jab. “You can’t judge me. Let’s talk about dedication to teaching: you still have a bartending job.”

  “It’s mostly my buddy’s bar, but I’m part-owner. I have an interest in making it work.”

  Now this was intriguing. Eric had ownership in Bar Harbor? Mindy joined us, breathless and smiling, before I could ask him a follow-up. “Hi, Eric. Fancy meeting you here.”

  “He owns the place,” I mused, and swirled my drink around in my glass.

  “Partly. Trust me, it’s not that impressive.”

  Mindy took the empty stool and set her handbag on top of the table. “So what happened with the hot guy with the neck tattoo? No good?”

  Eric snickered and shook his head, taking another sip of his vodka.

  “It wasn’t a love connection,” I explained.

  “Too bad. He seemed promising.”

  “Not so much,” I said, and exchanged a glance with Eric. We shared a smile. “I’ll fill you in later.”

  Mindy reached into her bag and pulled out her phone. “Shoot. Looks like Chase called. He wants to hang out. Do you mind—?”

  I waved her off. “Go. Invite him here.”

  Mindy slid off the stool and was calling Chase before she’d even left the table. I looked at Eric. “He’s a friend.”

  “Ah.” He tapped his fingertips against the tumbler and stared at the table. “You’re a puzzle, you know.”

  “Sorry?”

  “Writing children’s books. Picking up guys with neck tattoos in bars.”

  “It was only the one.”

  “Still. You can’t tell me he’s really your type.”

  I thought about asking Eric what he thought my “type” was, since he seemed to be the expert. But instead I changed the subject. My love life and my types were topics for therapy, not chitchat. So we talked about other things, and it turned out we had a lot in common: we were children of divorced parents; aside from our teaching degrees, we graduated college with liberal arts training that had little practical application outside of a classroom (him, history, me, art with a focus in painting); we had older siblings (he was a middle child with one younger brother and an older sister); we enjoyed craft beers; and we pretended to dislike rainy days, while secretly believing they were a great excuse to be lazy.

  Pretty soon Mindy and Chase were chatting off in the corner over a plate of hot wings, and I made a quick mental note to follow up with her. But by the time I’d finished my second martini, I only had eyes for the gorgeous man sitting beside me, and we’d both started to lose our heads and get flirty.

  “Thanks for saving me from Zed.” I reached over to tug at the rolled-up bottom of Eric’s shirtsleeve. “I told him my name was Coco.”

  His eyebrows flashed, and he raised the tumbler to his lips. “Did you now.” It wasn’t a question. “You gave me a false name, too, if I remember correctly.”

  “I know what I’m doing.”

  Yes, two drinks in and I was cool, confident, slightly flirty Coco, and Eric was . . . so damn sexy. His shirt was unbuttoned at the collar, and one button below, and I kept looking at the patch of T-shirt beneath and thinking about slipping a hand in there, just to feel it. I wanted more than anything to be able to touch him and not worry about him pushing me away. And I wanted to lick his neck because he smelled nice, like fresh lemons.

  “I think you do know what you’re doing.” He watched my mouth, a sleepy smile on his own. “Hey, what was that piece of paper you were showing him?”

  “What, my questionnaire?”

  “You bring questionnaires to bars?”

  “Do you know a better way to get to know someone?”

  “Yeah. Talking.”

  “Pshaw. Everyone should have a checklist. Here.” I removed the paper from my handbag and unfolded it. “Let’s see how you do.”

  “God help me.” With a tilt of his head, he finished the rest of his drink. “All right. Shoot.”

  “Question one: Are you married?”

  “Do wives in other states count?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then no.”

  So self-satisfied, that smirk.

  “Okay, hotshot. Question two: Do you have a criminal record?”

  He chuckled quietly. “You really ask people this? Complete strangers?”

  I turned to face him head-on. “Look, it may seem silly to someone who’s six-foot-two, but to someone who’s five-foot-six, it’s necessary. So, what’s the answer?”

  “No. Of course not. I’m an administrator in an elementary school.”

  “See, this isn’t that hard. You have a perfect score so far. Congratulations.” I paused as I came to the next one. “Uh, question three: Do you have any sexually transmitted diseases? There’s a follow-up that asks when the last time you were tested was.”

  “Jeez, you don’t hold back, do you?” He swept his hand across his cheek and shook his head. “No STDs. Haven’t checked for a while. Nothing’s changed in a while.”

  Our eyes met, and we held each other’s gaze for a beat too long. My body began to tingle with awareness. I looked back down at my list. “Okay. Question four—”

  “How about you?” He folded my paper in half. “How long has it been?”

  Now that sounded like he could’ve been asking about something else. I swallowed and brought my hands to my lap. “A long time. I’m clean, by the way. Not that it—I just thought . . .” I trailed off as he started laughing, a deep, throaty laugh that set my neck burning. “Fair’s fair.”

  As he reached out to touch my fingertips, electricity darted up my arm. “I’m a fair kind of man,” he said.

  I wanted him. I wanted to tear that shirt off his body and run my hands all over him. The new Aletta had a lust buzz that made it difficult for her to think of consequences. But the old Aletta was ever aware of rules—and how dangerously close we were coming to breaking them. We worked together, after all. “It’s probably wrong for us to be here, like this.”

  “What, having a drink? We’re two adults. Colleagues.”

  “But you’re my superior—”

  “I wouldn’t be if, you know. Things changed.” He glanced up at me slyly, and I saw the desire smoldering in his eyes. “We’d have to disclose our relationship, that’s all. I wouldn’t be allowed to supervise you.”

  My heart was thundering in my chest, threatening to escape. “You’re right.” I pushed my empty glass to the side and set my hand on his knee. “Two friends having drinks. Seems harmless.”

  His muscles tensed beneath my fingers, and when I saw the intense look in his eyes, I knew that it wasn’t harmless, and it wasn’t just two friends having drinks. Whatever I was feeling, he was feeling it, too. It sort of scared the crap out of me.

  I pulled my hand away, but he grabbed my wrist and tugged me closer to whisper, “Was that guy really your type, Lettie? Do you want a bad boy?”

  Our faces were inches away. I don’t know what it was, if it was the alcohol, or my hormones, or the intoxicating way he was holding me in place, but my head was buzzing. I was fully present in that moment. I wanted him to take care of me, right then. To do whatever he wanted, if only he’d do it immediat
ely. It was so wrong, but right at that moment, he was exactly the right Mr. Wrong.

  “Yeah, that’s right,” I whispered and felt my breath bouncing off his cheeks. “I want a bad boy. Do you happen to know one?”

  Something passed over him. There was a shift. His neck tensed, and he tightened his grip on my wrist and pulled me even closer. “Come here.”

  I leaned in and expected a kiss, but he stood, still clutching me. He was in charge. I slipped off my stool and obediently followed him. I didn’t signal to Mindy. I didn’t even see her. It was like the entire room had vanished, leaving me and Eric and my need for him.

  He led me down a hall to a door that opened to a small office. There was a small desk with some papers on it. He pushed them aside and lifted me to sit on top. Then he turned away, and I heard a click as he locked the door.

  My breath halted in my lungs. He returned and pried my legs apart, then shoved his fingers in my hair and pulled my head back to kiss me. His tongue was fast. Determined. As we kissed, I reached forward to grab his shirt and draw him closer. After a few minutes, we broke apart and he whispered, “Do you want this?”

  His voice was tight with desire, and I could barely find the breath to reply, “Yes.” I wanted him. More than anything. “I—I’m on the pill,” I whispered.

  “Perfect.”

  He got right down to business, hiking my skirt around my waist and then dropping to his knees to nip at the thin layer of lace that covered me. I moaned and dug my hands into his thick hair, pushing him closer and wrapping my legs around his head. He gently bit the fabric and then pulled it aside to explore me with his tongue. When I started to moan, he wrapped one hand over my mouth and said, “Shhh.”

  Torture, to keep silent when he was working magic down there, rousing me from my coma. I came suddenly, almost violently, feeling waves of heat and cold roll across my skin. Before I had time to recover, I heard the click of metal on metal as Eric unfastened his belt. His erection. It was darn impressive.

  “Turn around.” Eric helped me onto my stomach across the desk. I moved some ballpoint pens out of the way and then tried to relax. Remember to breathe. He entered me from behind slowly and grabbed a fistful of my hair as he plunged in and out rhythmically. “You feel so good, Lettie,” he groaned against my ear, and deepened his thrusts. I would’ve returned the compliment if I’d been able to think straight.