Contemporary Nights Volume One

by C. J. Ellisson

  Publisher’s note:

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. It may not be re-sold or given away to others. If you would like to share this book with others, please purchase an additional copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of the author.

  Chapter One

  Emma

  “So he says, ‘We need to talk’.”

  I grab the cherry out of my drink and pop it into my mouth. “Nothing good ever came from a conversation that starts with those four words.”

  “And then he says, ‘So, I’ve been thinking’.”

  “Or those four.” The latest breakup recap sounds all-too-familiar. I grab my maraschino martini and take my time savoring the sweet flavor. “Get to the part where you stabbed him with a fork.” I take another sip and add, “In the eye.”

  Brittany Pearson, my dorm mate and who also happens to be my best friend, rolls those way-too-pretty-to-be-natural-but-are blue eyes that have most men utterly lost and rock hard in a matter of seconds. “I didn’t.”

  “In my version you did. Someone needs to be stabbed in this scenario to really liven up the story.”

  “You’re terrible, Emma Rae.”

  We both laugh and clink our glasses together. I love our girls’ night out. Sometimes others from the dorm join us, but not tonight. Tonight is all about Britt’s broken heart, ridiculously expensive drinks in a trendy posh bar, and scanning for the next contestant.

  Immediately that Nickelback song pops into my head. I don’t say anything or dare hum a bar for fear I’ll be labeled a douche B for even knowing the song. All their songs are about objectifying women in some way, shape, or form. And yet, I can’t stop myself from singing along whenever they come on the radio.

  But I digress…

  At least once a month we go through the motions as Britt blubbers into her vodka cranberry over the one that got away. Each time, I bring my BFF back by giving her a shoulder to cry on. That and copious amounts of her favorite breakup cocktail.

  I throw back the rest of my drink and raise a hand to catch the bartender’s attention. When he swings those gorgeous dancing hazels my way, I lose my train of thought. Damn, he’s hot. Like, oh my God, take me home and make yourself comfortable between my legs, hot. As I give him my best attempt at a little flirty look, he darts his gaze to Britt and her irresistible smile. The grin he’d only hinted at when he looked at me takes full flight. As he shoots Britt a sexy, sideways look, he smiles so wide I see his back teeth.

  And, just like that, I no longer exist. Awesome.

  I shouldn’t bitch. I can hold my own. Well, except against the likes of Bombshell Britt. If Marilyn Monroe had been a size four, with a tight ass and ridiculously perky boobs, they could have been twins in the same time period. Am I jealous? Hells yeah. I want to look like the flight attendant from every man’s wet dream. I want to catch the bartender’s attention without having to raise my arm like I’m about to call out, “Bingo!”

  But it is what it is. Am I model material? Maybe to someone with Photoshop. Or bad eyes. I’m not skinny enough and refuse to starve myself to fit into smaller jeans. My height is average at best. Maybe someone got the calculations wrong on that whole Body Mass Index scale. Regardless, I’m considered above average weight for my height. I think the dickheads who came up with the BMI scale were all shallow assholes with tiny dicks. Why isn’t there some sort of scale to measure a man’s penis?

  I rest my case.

  Moving on. I get a lot of comments on my red hair and hazelish-greenish eyes, but then those comments usually turn into something about my freckles and I’ve immediately made an enemy. Redheads hate their freckles. Ask any redhead. So, to point out something I hate makes me have to automatically hate the pointer-outer. It’s the rule.

  “Oh,” Britt purrs as she locks her gaze on the bartender—her next heartbreak. “He’s cute. Don’t you think he’s cute?”

  Shit, yes. I force my disappointment to join the real world and paste on a smile. “He’s definitely bangable.”

  “I bet he can do things with those lips that will have me speaking in tongues.” Britt sucks her lower lip between her teeth and bites down, her smoldering gaze never leaving the bartender. He hones in on her and the two mentally fuck each other right there.

  “Seriously, Britt? Aren’t we here to mourn the passing of the relationship known as Pritt? Or Braul? How exactly do you blend Brittney and Paul?”

  “It was Peter,” Britt corrects.

  I stop playing with the stem of the cherry from my drink. “This wasn’t Paul?”

  “No.”

  “Wasn’t there a Paul in there somewhere?”

  “Like four breakups ago, Emma. Try to keep up.”

  “Sorry,” I offer as my attention wanders. Britt is back to attacking the bartender with her hungry eyes so I scan the crowded bar for someone, anyone, to have my own mental sex with. Not seeing a single prospect worthy of a second glance, I sigh and drop my gaze to my hands in front of me, still playing with the cherry stem.

  A tingle whispers across my neck and I reach up to rub it. Why do I suddenly feel the heat of someone watching me? I catch steely dark gray eyes indeed watching me, but they aren’t what have my heart beating faster and an odd hunger I didn’t even know I had in me spark to life. The owner of those eyes is so not my type. Why would I even notice him? The guy takes the nerd look way too far. He has thick glasses perched on his nose, taped in the middle and all. His plaid button-up shirt is just that, buttoned up. All the way up. And is he sporting a mullet?

  Maybe he lost a bet and had to dress that way. Or did it on a dare. The Pi Beta Deltas do shit like this all the time to their pledges. Of course, it isn’t rush week, so that rules it out. Still, I need something to explain why I find myself attracted to who could possibly be the least attractive guy in the bar.

  He’s sitting at a table with three other guys, all about ten points higher on the hotness scale. Yet something about him holds my attention. And then, as I’m about to come to my senses, he nails me with an intense look that has my stomach flopping and an odd sensation growing everywhere else.

  I don’t turn away. Neither does he. The corner of his mouth pulls up into a lopsided grin that has me ready to beg him to take me—in every sense of the word.

  But then he lifts his beer and drops his attention into it, hiding behind it. One of the guys catches him watching me and the asshole laughs, which I don’t much appreciate. Typical Delta dick. From the way Mr. Steely Eyes sets his jaw, he doesn’t much appreciate it, either.

  The bartender steps into the line of sight, blocking my attempt to give the guy a glare from hell, which is probably for the best. I’m not very good at them.

  “Vodka cranberry and one maraschino martini. Enjoy, ladies.” His gaze lingers on Britt and she soaks it up like a thirsty sponge.

  “He’s really cute,” Britt sighs as the bartender turns to wait on others gorgeous enough to be worthy of his attention.

  “Yep,” I snap back, irritated that I can’t stop sneaking glances at Mr. Steely Eyes. Clearly, I’ve either had too much to drink or not enough. Or I’m exceptionally lonely. This guy doesn’t even rate on my first date scale.

  And yet, I can’t stop staring at him.

  When he slams his gaze into mine, I quickly pretend to recognize someone at the door behind him. I nod casually and even raise my refreshed drink. The guy at the door frowns at me and I shrug, a humiliating smile plastered on my face. The burn in my cheeks must be turning me six shades of red. Sweet shitting Jesus, I could die right now.

  Of course, Mr. Steely Eyes is watching me make a fool of myself with keen interest. Oh, this night just keeps getting better and better.

  Britt frowns at me. “What are you doing?”

  “I, uh, nothing.”

  Britt stretches her neck as she
looks off in the direction I just turned from. “Who is he?”

  “Who is who?”

  “You’re not fooling anyone, Em. You’ve got that ‘Project Em’s Way’ look again. Why do you do this to yourself? You find a guy who’s like the exact opposite of your type and then try to fix him. First it was the guy from the sixth floor. Then that one from the twelfth floor. Then those two on the lacrosse team. Lacrosse. Like that’s even a sport.”

  It’s a pretty ridiculously cool sport, actually. But Britt wouldn’t get it so I say nothing.

  “Did it ever occur to you that maybe you should start going for guys your own type?”

  I hate how well she knows me. “Maybe I like a challenge.”

  “I think you just like having an excuse to stay single.”

  “That, too.” I grab a handful of the bar mix snacks in the wicker basket between us and toss a few morsels into my mouth. “Besides, tonight isn’t about me. Remember?”

  “I can’t believe you’re eating that shit. Not only is it full of germs from everyone else’s hands that have been in there, but it’s like nothing but empty carbs.”

  “And those empty carbs are now filling up my empty stomach.” I smile sweetly to cover my irritation at everything that’s happened since stepping into this bar. “So, now that Peter is out of the picture, what’s your next move?”

  “I want to meet a celebrity.”

  Britt never ceases to amaze me on how fast she moves on. She’s heartbroken one minute, only to move on in record time, like now. “That was totally random.”

  She looks off into the distance. “I’m thinking Channing Tatum.”

  “Married.”

  “Matthew McConaughey.”

  “Also married.”

  “Fine. Matt Bomer then.”

  “Plays for the other team. And I think he might be married, too.”

  “Come on!”

  I put my hands up when Britt shoots me with that look. “What? You’re just listing the names of the actors from Magic Mike.” I proceed to pick out all the peanuts from the mix and munch on them.

  “Will you please stop eating that crap?”

  “I’m hungry.”

  “I can’t believe you’re eating that.” A deep voice rumbles behind me, heating me like a flame, licking and teasing me with a warmth reserved for things that happen behind closed doors. Hell, for that voice, I’d do him right out in the open.

  I turn on my barstool, hopefully a playful smile on my face. Finally, I’m the one getting a little attention. As soon as I spot Mr. Steely Eyes standing there staring at me through those thick glasses, the smile melts from my face. When I swallow the last of the peanuts, I choke and clear my throat to cover it up.

  “It’s food.”

  He nods at the snacks with a fierce, square jaw that doesn’t fit the rest of his features. His hair is in his eyes and he’s constantly pushing it aside. At least he isn’t doing the Bieber flip. That would be a deal breaker.

  What am I thinking? His appearance alone is a deal breaker.

  He pushes his hair out of his eyes again. “If you want food, maybe I could, uh… Maybe you’ll want, um… Maybe… Holy shit. You’re really talking to me.”

  I find his obvious discomfort oddly appealing. Still, I refuse to flash him a smile. “Was there a coherent thought in there?”

  The guy colors clear to his ears. “Sorry. I’m just not used to such a beautiful girl—uh, woman—talking to me.”

  He jumps up a few pegs on my scale with that comment, but still not enough for me to give him the idea that he has a chance. “And now I’m done talking to you.”

  “Did you know those things are full of germs?” he asks me, like I care.

  “That’s what I told her,” Britt adds. I shoot her a look.

  “I happen to like germs.” I stop myself from rolling my eyes at the lame comeback.

  “That’s not what you said in chem today.”

  “Uh… What?”

  “I’m in chem with you. Last year it was English. And a few other classes.”

  I stare at him, not really sure I believe him. Did I just meet my first stalker?

  “We both go to Bainbridge,” he adds.

  “We do?” I seriously do not recognize him. At all.

  I don’t miss the disappointment that clouds his expression. “We do.”

  I feel like shit that I don’t have a clue who this guy is. But, then again, Bainbridge University has almost as many students as the University of Washington. The difference? We have our own island. BU wins.

  His smoky gray eyes have a wicked glimmer to them despite the obvious disappointment, accented far too perfectly by his dark blond hair. I even temporarily forgive the mullet. When he leans his elbow onto the bar and flashes me a full smile, I have to admit, he isn’t bad looking. Well, in a weird, nerdy sort of way. And he just keeps smiling. So, I smile back.

  “Those are some white teeth.”

  Oh, my God. Seriously? That’s his pick up line? I drop my smile in the hopes he gets the hint and goes away. I even turn my back to him.

  “How do you get them so white?”

  I roll my eyes at Britt and she gives me a cute little crinkle of her nose. That’s her signal she’s not going to do a damn thing to get me out of this. Spinning on the stool, I nail him with a glare.

  “Was there anything else you needed? Or did you come all the way over here to compliment my teeth?”

  He laughs, a slow and deep rumble that centers in his impressive chest. Damn if it doesn’t make me want to go home with him. Hell, I’d even take him home with me. Britt could leave with the bartender.

  What’s the matter with me? I don’t go for nerds. I go after the tall, dark, and delicious. I like guys with an air of mystery about them. I doubt this one has a single secret.

  “Can I, um… What’s that you’re drinking?”

  “Maraschino martini.” I sip my drink and lick the remnants off my lips.

  He stares at my mouth. “A cherry syrup martini?”

  “Maraschino.” I make sure to say it nice and slow since he obviously missed it the first time.

  “That sounds like a lot of sugar. I mean, um…”

  “Good thing I have a sweet tooth.”

  “You have a sweet everything.”

  I set my drink down and swing around to fully face him. Once I settle, I fold my hands in my lap. “How disappointing. With all the lines at your disposal, that’s the best you come up with? First you comment on my teeth and then on my sweet everything?”

  He thrusts his hand through his messy hair and dances from foot to foot. He won’t meet my eyes, instead staring at the floor. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean… I mean… You’re just putting a lot of pressure on me.”

  “How?”

  “You’re so beautiful. I can’t even think straight. I can tell you that my—”

  “Whoa!” I put my hands up like a traffic cop. “Stop right there. I don’t care what part of you is straight at the moment.”

  He lifts a playful eyebrow as his gaze rests on me, and then he chuckles, deep and low. Heat whispers across my skin at the sound. His laugh just gets better and better. How does that even happen? And why do I find him so arousing?

  “Sorry. I’m not very good at this.”

  “That explains the stuttering.”

  He gives me a slow and steady once over, that hard gaze licking at my skin and driving up my heart rate. Nothing makes sense with him. Only players are this direct with their body language. Aside from the lack of eye contact, this guy has all the actions of a player. Yet his words tell an entirely different story. I want to know why.

  Damn it! No, I don’t. I don’t go for nerds. Period. Yet when the king of the nerds hits on me, I’m ready to bear his children. I grab my martini and bring it to my lips.

  “Can I buy you a cherry?”

  I snort into my drink. “Excuse me?”

  He colors even darker. “Oh, shit. I mean I want to cater
to your sweet tooth.”

  “Strike two, Romeo.”

  He drops his shoulders and blows out a breath. “I just want to be your friend.”

  Wrong answer. Too bad. He had such potential. I set my drink down and give him my best ‘are you shitting me’ look. “Never tell a girl you only want to be her friend or you’ll never get her number.”

  “Really?”

  “Really really.”

  “So, can I have your number?”

  This guy is something else. And clearly clueless. “No. Time for you to move on.” I turn to face Britt and mouth, “Is he still there?”

  She nods and I groan. Then she pulls out all the stops and pushes her brow up into that cute little look she gets whenever she wants me to do something for her.

  Knowing we’ll never get through our second drink in peace if I don’t do something to send Mr. Steely Eyes away, I swing back around and force a smile. “What’s your name?”

  “Harold. My friends call me HP, as in Harry Potter, since I’m a wizard at computers.”

  Wow. Just when I thought he couldn’t get any weirder. “Now it’s time for you to head back to Hogwarts, HP.”

  Did that make me just as weird since I knew the name of the school?

  “But you looked at me.” The way he drops his gaze as he talks to me bothers me. He doesn’t even stare at my boobs. He just keeps staring at the floor.

  Shit. I should have never smiled at him. “I was looking for someone…”

  “Else,” he finishes and flinches as if I just physically slapped him. “I get that a lot.”

  Way to make me feel like shit, HP. “Sorry, but you’re not my type. I’m sure you understand.”

  He rubs the back of his neck and for some reason, I find the gesture kind of cute.

  “Sure,” he says and gives me a quick nod. “I understand.”

  Snickering catches my attention. I glance across the bar to see the Delta dicks sitting at the table HP escaped from, all laughing at him as he crashes and burns. He turns an even darker shade of red as his shoulders slump.

  “Why are you with a bunch of Deltas?”

  “Because I’m a Delta.”