Chapter 11
Jesse
LANDON ROBERTS?
OF all the guys in town, Mara goes to dinner with him?
I can’t believe anyone would go out with that hooker clown.
Apologies to all clowns and rugby players.
He puts the prick in the PRC: Pitkin Rugby Club.
He doesn’t just play a hooker on the pitch.
I stop short on the sidewalk at the thought of Mara fucking a guy like Landon.
Sometimes, okay, majority of the time, I don’t understand women.
How many times do you see a beautiful, smart, funny, interesting woman with a scumbag? Too many to count. Sure, sometimes money or power trumps a personality disorder, but the statistics are too high to ignore.
I’m a nice guy. We’ve established this.
I save people for a living. How much nicer can a guy get? I’m nice when I’m not being paid. Hell, I bought her a helmet. I have a dog.
Landon showing up at the beer garden surprised me, and yet it didn’t. He can sniff out fresh blood like a Great White.
The man has the same dead eyes and cold heart of a shark.
Yet Mara goes to dinner with Landon. Maybe he’s her type.
If that’s the case, explains why she acts like we’ve never met before. The details of that night came back to me when we ran into each other at the market. Her rambling charm is one of a kind. How could I ever forget her kiss?
Back at the restaurant, I decided to kiss her to see if it would help her remember.
Isn’t this how kisses always work in fairy tales?
Hell if I cared we had an audience. The same chemistry I felt two years ago is still there. After hesitating, she kissed me back, full tilt.
Yet she still acts like she doesn’t remember me.
I could be dodging a major crazy woman bullet.
Hiding my take-out bag behind me, I step up to the counter to pay for my movie ticket.
“I know you’re bringing in contraband food, Jesse.” Thea stares at me when she hands me my change. “You know we sell food at the snack bar.”
I give her a grin. “Yes, but you don’t have Nutella and banana crepes, do you?”
“No, we have popcorn and Raisinets like a typical movie theater.”
“I wanted dessert.”
“At least this time you’re not bringing in an entire large pizza.”
“Everyone loved me.” It’s been a long standing tradition for me to bring my own snacks to the movies going back over twenty years. I don’t like popcorn.
“Next time bring some to share.” She peers over her glasses at me like she used to do when she worked as the receptionist up at the middle school.
I’m still smiling as I take my usual spot in the middle, two rows from the back of the small theater. The lights dim as I settle into my seat, unwrapping my crepe.
It’s still warm and the chocolate drips over the side. I suck a spot on the side of my hand. Forget fancy dinner with candlelight, crepes are street food meant to be eaten without a fork or knife.
The trailers are still playing when the door to the lobby opens and a woman walks in, her hat familiar as she takes a seat directly in front of me.
Going to see an action movie after a bad date wouldn’t be my first choice, but I’m not a girl. I’m surprised I’m happy to see her. Maybe I’m the crazy one.
Mara takes off her coat and hat, then reclines her seat. I spy a bag of popcorn tucked next to her on the chair and hold back a gag.
Without thinking, I lean forward so I’m close to her head and whisper, “You can do better.”
She startles, but doesn’t punch me. Thankfully. Her shriek echoes around the theater as the sound quiets between trailers.
“Jesus, you scared me!” She twists in her seat to face me.
“It’s Jesse. I can see how you can get the names confused.” I pick up my stuff and move to sit next to her.
“What are you eating?” She points at the mess of chocolate in my hand.
“Nutella and banana crepe.” I take a bite.
“At the movies? You’re weird.” She eats a handful of disgusting popcorn.
“Don’t knock it until you try it. I’m guessing your date imploded before you had time to order dessert.”
She ducks her head away from me. “I can’t believe you witnessed everything. I’m now a spectacle for town gossip. On a date with one guy and kissing another at the hostess stand.”
“Hey, look at me.” I wait for her to turn to face me again. “You’re not a spectacle. People do crazy stuff around here all the time. Anyone who’s lived here long enough knows Landon and his reputation. If anything, people might feel sorry he duped you into thinking he’s a nice guy.”
“When I first met him, I thought he could fit the profile of a serial killer.”
I bark out a short laugh and get shushed by an older couple closer to the front. The movie hasn’t even started yet.
“You thought he might murder you and you still went to dinner with him?”
Mystery solved. She has terrible taste in men. My theory about nice women dating assholes is proven right. Feeling self-satisfied, I finish off the crepe in two bites.
There’s no way I’m admitting we made out a couple of years ago. It’s not worth the drama or awkwardness if she’s into hooker wannabe bad boys.
“I’m trying to be more open and adventurous. I told myself I’m going to say yes to everything, within reason. And I really like crepes.”
“Including eating French food with a potential killer?”
“I wouldn’t have gone if I really thought he was a psychopath. Or even a sociopath.”
The movie begins and we’re forced to halt our conversation. I’m not even paying attention to the plot set up because I’m too busy stewing over her admission about Landon.
The question is no longer if she’s crazy.
It’s about how crazy she is.
She munches away on her popcorn, oblivious to my annoyance.
I can’t figure her out.
She’s a vet, so she’s obviously smart and driven.
She moved to a new state and small town by herself, so she has some self-confidence and a sense of adventure.
I stare at her out of the corner of my eye. She’s put effort into her appearance tonight. Her curls are tamed and smooth. Gloss or lipstick darkens her lips, but not in an over the top way. In the dark I can’t pick out the color of her eyes, but from memory I know they’re a deep blue like a high alpine lake. Underneath her coat, her curves fill out her jeans and the black top I spotted at the restaurant. She’s beautiful in a natural way. I catch a whiff of vanilla and fresh raspberries that is all her. I lean closer as a heaviness settles in my cock. I’m not insta-hard, but certain parts of my body definitely remember the feel of her touch.
She clears her throat, and I realize I’ve been caught staring.
She leans close until we’re a few inches apart and whispers, “What did you mean I can do better?”
When I said the words earlier, I meant with the popcorn as a movie snack, but now I mean in her decision making and taste in men.
“You can do better.” I keep it simple.
This time our fellow movie-goer turns around and glares at us. I glower back because it’s an action movie and a string of explosions fills the screen. There’s no dialogue being missed by our quiet conversation, no key plot twist about why the cars go fast and sometimes crash.
Instead of enjoying senseless violence on the screen, my mind wanders back to the first night I met Mara.
My movie buzz is ruined. I shift uncomfortably as I try to deal with my body’s reaction to being close to her. I kissed her tonight and flipped a switch inside of me.
Whether or not she remembers our crazy night together, I still want to get to know her.
If she’s going to be dating anyone local, fuck Landon.
She should be with me.
Chapter 12
&
nbsp; Jesse: Two Years ago
PICKING SOMEONE UP in a bar is as easy as falling down on skis. If you strap on skis, at some point you’re going to fall. If you go out during ski season, hooking up with someone is inevitable.
A glance, a stare, maybe a tilt of the head, and a smile.
It’s a mating game as old as time. I bet those biblical guys used the same tricks. Loose robes and sandals weren’t doing any of them favors.
For all my years playing the game, I’ve never had a woman fall into my arms.
Until tonight.
Rescuing people is part of my job description.
It’s also a stated goal for me to enhance guest experiences and initiate contact. My interpretation of my work guidelines extends off the slopes. I’m an ambassador for the ski company.
Jesse Hayes, at your service.
The night started typical enough. The guys and I stopped by Annie’s to watch the playoff game while splitting a pitcher and wings. Filled with mostly locals, Annie’s is always the warm up before the main action over on Hyman Avenue.
Tonight, Easley suggests we start at the Onion because it’s still early. Known for their Jell-O shots, the Onion also encourages female patrons to dance on the bar. I’m sure the two have something to do with each other.
The place is packed when we arrive and the line out the door means they’re already at capacity.
“I’m not waiting in line.” I stop a few feet from the door.
“Who waits in line?” Easley barrels through the crowd. “We’re locals.”
I stand back while he chats up Chad, the bouncer. He plays rugby on the same semi-pro team as me and a bunch of the other guys I hang around.
Easley pats Chad’s shoulder before giving me a “told you so” grin.
“Thanks, Chad,” I say as I pass him.
“No problem. Always room for two more assholes.”
I’m sure he means it as a compliment.
Inside, the crowd cheers for a group of women dancing on the bar. It’s not even ten o’clock, but the games have already begun. In the mountains, people start partying at après ski and crash early to hit the fresh powder in the morning.
A group of women dance and laugh on the bar, singing along to a Katy Perry song. Their antics and moves remind me of a float in a Mardi Gras parade. The only things missing are beads. A blonde in the middle bends at the waist and flashes a lot of boob at the cheering guys watching the show. If there were beads, she’d have earned a lot of them with her move.
Just another Wednesday night in Aspen during ski season.
I squeeze through the crowd, hoping people are distracted enough I can get a drink from the bartender without waiting so long I dehydrate.
I’m about five feet from the bar when the blonde with wild curls gives a loud whoop and stage dives into the crowd. On instinct I raise my arms to prevent her from face planting. I catch her and hold on to her squirming body as she wiggles and laughs above my head.
“Easy there,” I grunt out the words as I try to keep my balance before she sends us both sprawling backward. In this crowd, it would be like a domino effect if we tilt over. We could easily take out at least twenty people.
I manage to shift her weight and slide her down my front. Before I can set her on solid ground, she wraps her legs around my hips and kisses me.
Not a peck with closed lips.
She’s sliding her tongue in my mouth with everything she’s got.
Normally, this would be weird.
But she’s an amazing kisser, so I go with it.
The crowd around us yells about getting a room and I’m sure there’s going to be a video of this posted on social media somewhere within minutes.
She releases her legs and dangles in my arms for a moment before I set her back on her feet. When she’s standing, I realize she’s at least half a foot shorter than me. Now that we’re no longer locked together by our lips, I can get a better look at her.
Blond curls. Small nose. Her full, pink lips are swollen from our kiss. Short. Curvy like a mountain road. Her dress barely contains her breasts and strong thighs reveal themselves below the short hem.
My hands rest against her round ass. I spread my fingers to cup more of the soft flesh as I think about lifting the hem to skim the skin where ass becomes leg. I don’t know if the area has a name, but it’s always been one of my favorite spots on a woman’s body. The border between decent and forbidden.
She pushes me away and lurches in the direction of the front door. I see her wobble on her heels as she tries to cut through the rowdy throng. She’s either repulsed by me or going to be sick. Neither bodes well for getting her into my bed tonight.
Doing the gentlemanly thing, I shove my way in front of her and take her hand to navigate our escape. We lose contact as people surge in the opposite direction.
“Fuck this,” I mumble mostly to myself. This is like trying to drag a sled through sloppy afternoon slush. I grab blondie around the waist and hoist her over my shoulder. “Come on, Tiny Dancer, let’s get out of here.”
She giggles. I think she asks if I called her Tony, but the noise and her head near my ass make it impossible to hear her clearly.
Chad salutes me as we exit. “Going full caveman tonight, Hayes?”
“He’s rescuing me from the zombie hordes,” a voice says behind me.
“What the lady said.” I turn so he can see her face.
“Carry on. Don’t forget protection!” He steps aside to let us out.
I flip Chad the finger over my shoulder.
Outside, I slide blondie to the ground, making sure she’s steady before releasing her. “Better?
She sways for a second as she shakes her head no, then nods.
“Are you going to be sick?” I take a step away.
“Probably not. At least not right now. I don’t think.” She brushes a strand of hair off the flushed skin of her forehead.
I take a step away just in case. “You put on a big show back there. Are you a professional?”
Her eyes widen. “Like a pole professional? Did you just call me a stripper?”
Fuck. “No, not if you think it’s a bad thing.”
Embarrassment makes my neck itch and I can feel my skin heat. “You’ve got moves. I meant it to be flattering. Take it as a compliment. You were the best dancer on the bar tonight. And hella brave, too, with the crowd dive. You’re either crazy or trusting to expect someone to catch you.”
I stop talking and she keeps staring at me with a funny frown on her face. “I’m sorry for inferring you’re a stripper. No harm, no foul?”
She blinks back at me a few times but doesn’t answer. I realize she’s staring at my mouth. Maybe she’s thinking about kissing me again. I’m up for anything involving her mouth.
“I’m Jesse, by the way.” I stick out my hand in greeting like we’re about to conduct a job interview.
Nothing. If we were in a cartoon, she might be hallucinating me as a steak right now from the hungry look in her eyes.
“Hey, you okay?” I wave my other hand in front of her face. “Hello?”
Her eyes finally meet mine. “Sorry. I was thinking about cake and Canadians.”
I chuckle at the non-sequitur. “Makes sense why I lost you for a while.”
She grips my T-shirt and sighs happily. “I’m a little tipsy. Sorry.”
“For the petting or drinking too much?”
“I’m so sorry, sorry. Sorry.” She emphasizes each apology with a pat to my pecs. Blush colors her face when she realizes what she’s doing. As she steps away, she says “Sorry,” one more time.
If this were a drinking game and I had to take a shot every time she says the word, we’d both be drunk. As it is, I’ve had only two beers and I’m feeling more sober by the minute.
“Hey,” I still her hands, “I didn’t say I didn’t like it.”
Her eyes flash up to mine before she stares at my chest. “It’s really nice.”
She shivers. In only her party dress, no coat to be seen, she has to be freezing. “Where’s your coat? Please tell me you aren’t running around in winter without a coat.”
“I need to go find my friend.” She’s still speaking to my chest.
“Dark hair? Tall?” I hold my hand to my chin. “About this tall.”
She mimics the height with her own hand. “The spawn of a supermodel and a giraffe?”
“Yeah, I remember her. She was yelling at you as I carried you through the crowd.”
“I hope it was about my virtue.”
A laugh rolls through my chest. “Not exactly. More like not to bring you back until morning and you have condoms in your purse.”
She presses her forehead against my chest. “I need new friends.”
“Sounds to me like you have the best kind of friends. The kind who have your back but don’t judge you.”
“Pushy pusher people.” She lifts her head and a small crease forms between her eyes as she stares at my mouth.
Feeling self-conscious, I rub my lips together. She must take this as an invitation for round two because she arches up as tall as she can get and kisses me again.
No, I’m not complaining as she presses her soft curves against me. Her feet tangle with mine and she stumbles. I hold her hips to steady her. Taking my touch as encouragement, she shifts closer and rubs herself against me. It’s completely hot, but I attempt to shift away, fully aware we’re standing outside a bar with an audience.
Her laughter breaks our kiss. I brush my lips against her cheek and whisper in her ear, “What’s so funny?”
“It’s too ridiculous.” She grips my glutes like a pair of grapefruits she’s testing for ripeness. “You’ll think I’m a pervert.”
Too late. “You’re grabbing my ass and you already petted my pecs. I think your pervert status is established. We’re making out and you don’t even know my name.”
“You don’t know mine either.” Her posture straightens and she sounds defensive.
“I tried to introduce myself and you stared at me like you were starving and I was a cheeseburger.”
Crazy Over You (Love with Altitude #2) Page 9