Run
By Amanda K. Byrne
Chapter One
I’d lost my mind.
The bar parking lot was less than half full. That wasn’t necessarily an indication of how crowded the place would be, once I got inside. People could have walked. Carpooled. Taken cabs. I stood next to my car and studied the place. Flickering neon signs for Budweiser and PBR graced the scratched and scarred windows. The exterior might have started out white, or off white, but its current grungy non-color reminded me of a woman stood up one too many times, her shoulders slumped in defeat at ever getting lucky.
Maybe not the best place to find a one-night stand. Then again, a bar was as close to a sure thing as I could get, wasn’t it?
I needed a distraction. I needed a hit, a fix, something. I’d drunk myself into a stupor the first few months until I’d woken up with one too many hangovers. I’d never developed a taste for pot. Sleeping pills scared me shitless. Yoga helped, to an extent. My flexibility had grown to downright circus freak proportions.
There was something about the mindless rush of hormones, the sweat, the groans and whimpers and gasps that made me think sex would quiet the chaos inside. Something to lose myself in, even if it didn’t end in orgasm. I’d read somewhere that most women couldn’t climax during a one-off hookup. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t be able to find release. It just might be a different kind. Or I’d use my hand.
I rubbed my damp palms on my jeans and headed for the front door. Last chance, McKenna. Last chance to turn around and not do this.
The door opened and the scent of stale smoke drifted out, along with a guy in battered jeans and work boots, his hand cupped around the end of a cigarette. Light glowed briefly between his fingers, then went out.
I felt like that all too often these days. Bright and happy and fierce for minutes, mired in the swamp for hours. He stared as I walked past, gaze going to my head to my bare arms, and I swallowed a sigh. I’d picked Texas because no one would think to look for me there. I’d picked Austin because I’d thought I could still blend in. Apparently there was no blending when your hair was bright purple and people were constantly squinting at your arm, trying to decipher your ink. If this guy’s reaction was any indication, maybe the bar wasn’t as much of a slam dunk as I’d thought.
The room was dim. It hid the age and wear of the place well. I liked it. One step above a dive. An old jukebox in the corner playing Bob Seger, and a long bar ran the length of the back wall. Tables were scattered here and there, but almost no one was sitting at them. No, this was a place you bellied up to the bar and drank, shooting the shit with the person next to you.
There was an empty stool in the corner. It was probably vacant because the bartender tended to ignore it. I didn’t care. I could see the room, not have to worry about anyone at my back, decide if there was anyone worth pursuing, and if there was, I’d have the alone time to work up the courage.
Oh, and figure out how to ask for what I wanted. Because I was fairly certain walking straight up to a guy and asking him to fuck me would only endanger me more.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I set it on the bar and slid onto the stool. I tugged at the bottom of my tank top, then tried to discreetly tug the top part up farther. Not that I had much in the way of cleavage.
While I waited for the bartender to meander over, I scanned the other patrons. There was a clutch of older growly-looking men on the opposite end, hunched over on their stools, half-empty pints in front of them. Every single one of them had a hat laid out on the bar. A couple sat a few stools over, their heads together and bottles of Bud in front of them. There were a few patrons who were clearly on their own, scowling at bottles or picking through the baskets of pretzels.
A group of four men were closest to me. All tall, nice to look at, broad-shouldered and shaggy haired. None of them had bothered to shave that day, and two looked like they hadn’t shaved in a few. They weren’t drool-inducing handsome, but like I said. Nice to look at.
When it came down to it, I really only needed to be moderately attracted to the guy. I wasn’t after a screaming orgasm. I didn’t want to know his name. I wanted this evening to be as safe as I could make it, otherwise I’d have just hit up an ad on Craigslist or something.
Though this wasn’t much better.
Shit. What was I doing? Obviously. Mind lost. I’d go home, do an hour of yoga or something. Maybe try alcohol again. Pain speared my temple at the thought of another hangover. The thoughts and memories and jitters were tumbling together and building, though. I had to have something. If not tonight, then soon.
One of the nice to look at men caught me staring, and I averted my gaze, grateful for the dim light. It would cover my burning cheeks.
“What’ll you have?” The bartender slapped down a cardboard coaster in front of me, a basket of pretzels sliding to a stop near my elbow.
“Um. PBR.”
“Tap or can?”
“Can.” Step above a dive or no, I wasn’t sure I trusted the glassware.
He popped the tab on a can and set it on the counter. “Three bucks,” he said, hands braced on the bar. This must not have been the kind of bar that let you run a tab. I dug into my pocket for some cash and threw a couple of bills on the bar. He scooped them up and turned away, and I snuck another peek at the men near me.
The same guy caught me peeking again, the corner of his mouth kicking up. I gave him a faint smile and shifted my attention elsewhere, resisting the urge to smooth my hair, fiddle with the hem of my tank top, bite my lip. Nerves flared under my skin. This was stupid. Dangerous. I’d drink my beer and go. I’d scored some Lunesta in the last town I stayed in. I’d heard it wasn’t habit forming. I could try it.
My stomach cramped at the thought.
Bob Seger gave way to Led Zeppelin, and I smiled. “Ramble On” had become my theme song for the last year. I tapped my fingers on the side of the can, matching the beat, wishing Kerry or Beth were here with me. We’d have started singing along.
“What’s the tattoo on your neck mean?”
I jumped and almost fell off the stool. A hand closed around my elbow and steadied me, and I sucked in a breath, hands clutching the edge of the bar. “Um. Wisdom. It’s Gaelic. For wisdom.” I’d been worried its placement on the side of my neck would prevent me from getting a job after grad school, but it surprisingly hadn’t been an issue.
The hand at my elbow disappeared and I glanced over. It was the same man I’d noticed earlier. The scruffy look was a good one for him. Made him more interesting. As did the low light of the bar. Dark hair flopping over his forehead, stubbled jaw, worn, faded t-shirt stretched over those broad shoulders. He had a good mouth. No, a fantastic mouth. Full but not feminine, his lips looked soft enough to be enticing, firm enough he’d probably be a damn good kisser.
The evening was looking up.
He shifted around and faced the bar, bracing his forearms on the battered wood. I stared at his arms. Large hands. Lean, defined forearms. Shit. If this didn’t go the way I hoped, I was going to be very, very disappointed.
“Wisdom, huh?” He lifted his chin at the bartender. “Interesting choice.”
The bartender plunked a pint glass of amber colored beer in front of the guy. “Better than your stereotypical Chinese character.” I picked up my can and drained it.
“What about that one?” He ran a finger along the outside edge of my left forearm. “In the new century, I think we will all be insane.”
“Angels in America. It’s a play. A very long play. Two part play. They made it into a miniseries a few years ago.” I dropped my hand to my thigh and rubbed my palm over it. “I have more,” I blurted.
He did that lip quirking thing, and my breathing hitched. “More tattoos?” he asked. I nodded
. I had six all together, two more than when I’d left Bend a year ago. “They all words?”
“No. Those are the only two.” Dammit. Missed opportunity. I should have invited him to find out.
“What are the other ones?” He swallowed beer, licking foam from his upper lip, drawing my gaze to his mouth. Should have licked that off for him. I was so not cut out for this.
I pulled my left leg up and settled my heel on the stool. I pushed my pant leg up. A thick vine of roses wound its way up my calf. His hand hovered over it. “You can touch it,” I whispered. Calloused fingertips brushed over the design, tracing the thorns and petals. My skin prickled with awareness, hypersensitive. Easy, so easy, to imagine that hand elsewhere. I cleared my throat. “There are three more.”
His hand fell away, and I tugged my pant leg into place. “One on the inside of my wrist, another on my hip, and one on my back.” The one on my back was huge, had taken what felt like forever, and was the most recent addition to my ink collection. I’d gotten it before I left St. Louis. The edges of it peeked out from my tank top.
He nodded once and gestured to my empty can. “Want another beer?” His eyes never left mine. I couldn’t tell what color they were. Not dark. That’s all I could say. They focused on me like I was the only person in the room. It was a little disconcerting.
I tucked a stray lock of hair behind my ear. Stay or go. Stay or go. How was I supposed to play this? Ask him if he wanted to get out of here? Stick around, drink another beer, then ask him? The longer we spoke, the likelihood of me talking myself out of this increased. The chance of learning his name increased. I didn’t want either to happen.
No more beer. It was time to make a move, a big one, and if he backed away, I’d leave. Find a different not-quite dive bar the next time I tried this. Austin was big enough I’d never see him again.
I spun my stool toward him and stretched out a hand. The stubble on his jaw was rough under my fingertips as they moved toward his mouth.
But it was his sharp indrawn breath that stopped me. Surprised was etched on his face. Wrong move. Definitely the wrong move. I dropped my hand, slid off the stool, and edged around him.
I couldn’t get outside fast enough. Heart thudding in my ears, I fumbled in my pocket for my keys as I hurried to my car. I’d do some yoga, try the Lunesta. I’d find something else to stop the screams rising inside.
My hands shook as I stabbed at the lock, keys falling to the ground with a clatter. I crouched down in the shadows and groped. I found them as footsteps approached, and I shot to my feet.
He’d followed me out. That was…not good.
I swallowed. “Hey.” Metal dug into my fingers. Escape. I had to get out of there before I embarrassed myself further. “Um. Sorry. I don’t know what I was thinking. Just a minute ago.” I forced my mouth into a smile. It was difficult. It didn’t stay up for long.
I ducked my head and found my car key on the ring. Not like it was hard to do. I had three keys on the ring. I dropped them again trying to fit the key in the lock. Instead of bending down and searching for them, I leaned against my car and shut my eyes.
A rough touch skated along the back of my arm, and my eyes popped open. My body went rigid. I spun around. There was enough distance between us I could get away if I needed to. Smart guy. Dumb guy. Good guy? I had no idea. That had kind of been the point. The not knowing. Another check in the stupidity column for me.
“You left this.” He held out my phone.
I took it from him, fingers grazing his, the heat shooting sparks up my arm and through my chest. “Thanks.”
He took a step forward. Then another, and my heart thudded against my ribcage. “You want something, darlin’?” Funny, he hadn’t had much of a drawl in the bar, but on that one word, darlin’, he rolled out the full on Texan.
I shook my head. “No,” I whispered for good measure.
He studied my face a moment longer, then nodded and took a step back. He stooped, picked up my keys, and handed them to me. “Drive safe.”
He turned to go back to the bar, and I snagged the back of his t-shirt. “Wait.” The evening might be salvageable after all. He hadn’t come out here and forced himself on me. He hadn’t tried to do anything, really. Just the same touches he’d given me in the bar. I wasn’t blind; he was interested. Whether he’d go for what I was offering or not, I didn’t know. What I did know was he’d given me space, waited for my move.
I just had to make it.
I pulled him back to me, searching his face, seeing the question there. Cupping his jaw with my free hand, I rose up. Leaned forward. Pressed my lips to his.
Warm. Soft. Firm. It always amazed me how something could be both, and his mouth, this kiss, was better than most. Had the potential to be the best.
He broke the kiss and cradled my head in his hands. More. Please, please more. There had to be more. He backed me up against my car, dipped his head, and kissed me again. It was better than the first one, longer, harder, more certain. Then his tongue darted out, traced over the seam of my mouth, and I was done for. I opened for him and he took my invitation. God, he had a talented tongue. He took control of the kiss, asking for more, giving it back, the heat of it rising between us, his long body strong against mine.
It was wet and delicious and I wanted to keep doing it, right there in the parking lot. I wanted to keep going until there was nothing between us. No clothes, no boundaries, nothing but wild abandon.
But he eased away, keeping himself against me. “That what you were looking for?” he asked softly.
I could have left it there. I couldn’t. He’d broken through that wall. “No names,” I whispered. I kissed him, hard and fierce, stopping him before he could speak. “No names. Your place, mine, I don’t care, though I’d prefer yours. You don’t want to, that’s fine, you turn around and walk back into the bar, and I get in my car and drive off.”
He locked those intense eyes on mine. “You sure about this? What happens if I say no? You gonna go to another bar, try and get some other man to do the same thing you’re asking here?”
“No.” I wasn’t lying. If he said no, I was heading straight home. It was him or nothing.
He stroked his thumb over my jaw. “Just so I’m clear what my role is. You’re wanting to get laid?” I nodded, unable to tear my gaze from his. “Playing with fire there.” He rubbed his thumb over my lower lip. “You can follow me. I’m about ten minutes from here.”
He gave my lip a final stroke and walked away.
Thirty seconds later I was following his truck out of the parking lot.
Chapter Two
His apartment was nicer than mine. Pretty much anyone’s apartment would be nicer than mine. He flicked on a table lamp, illuminating the small living room. Blue. His eyes were a darker blue than my own. “You want something to drink?”
I stepped around the couch, pulse skittering. I wanted to get down to it. I didn’t want small talk. I didn’t want stupid getting to know you questions. I very much wanted to wham, bam, thank you ma’am. Before I lost my nerve for the thirtieth time.
He snagged my hips and I stumbled into him, winding my arms around his neck. “No drink,” I murmured, trying not to let my voice wobble. I so badly wanted to wobble. Wibble, wobble. Like a top losing momentum. “Just you.”
He smiled. He had sexy mouth creases. Lines that showed he laughed and grinned and did it often. “Say no anytime, darlin’. Preferably before I get my pants off. Might have a hard time stopping at that point.”
I chuckled. “Duly noted.” I stroked a hand through his hair. “Can I kiss you now?”
“Don’t need my permission.”
Yes, yes I did. I needed a million signs this would work, that it would give me oblivion, that I could walk out that door knowing I’d quieted the demons for a while. Long enough to find a better, healthier, longer term solution.
I started soft, tentative, rubbing my lips over his. Kind of amazing, what mouths can do. Speak, t
ease, calm, damn, incite. The first flurry of need spun through me as the pressure deepened and changed. My tongue darted out, flicking over his lower lip, seeking entry.
The clamoring in my head began to subside, the first whisper dying when his tongue curled around mine, long, sure strokes I wanted to feel everywhere. His hands snuck under the hem of my tank. They crept up, a rough, hot brush of skin on skin, and stayed there.
I waited to see what he’d do next. Dip his fingers under the waistband of my jeans? Stroke up along the line of my spine? He didn’t move them. Didn’t push my shirt up and out of the way. He splayed his hands over my back and pressed me closer. The sweetness of it tripped my heart up, and I was very, very grateful I hadn’t asked him his name. I wouldn’t see him after tonight. I didn’t need to complicate matters by imagining feelings that didn’t exist.
Another whisper quieted.
My nerves settled and my mouth moved to his throat, smiling as my teeth scraping over his skin drew a groan. I wanted slow, and thorough, and heat. I’d take the tenderness if he wanted to give it. But I didn’t need it. Not tonight.
He let me tease him. Let me trail kisses along his jaw. Let me close my teeth around his earlobe and tug. His fingers dug into my back, but they didn’t move. They were a brand, a sign of possession, and my heart tripped again.
I could hear now, past the guilt. How the street outside was quiet, and how his breathing was not. Little catches, soft susurrations of fabric as we shifted against each other.
His shirt came off. I walked my fingers up his sternum, his skin hot enough to burn. Lean muscle, a faint dusting of hair, those wicked broad shoulders I needed to see braced above me. He dipped his head and claimed my lips.
Still no rush. He kept the kiss slow and thorough, exploring every inch of my mouth and turning my knees and brain to mush. God. Whoever landed this man was going to be one lucky woman.
His hands finally moved from my back, sliding down to grip the hem of my tank top. He drew it up, his gaze tracking the progress, and for a brief moment I wished for the dark. No one needed to see protruding hip bones or rib cages. He traced the line of my hip to the waistband of my jeans, but kept his mouth shut. Then he reversed his path, stopping when he reached the tattoo of Lady Justice peeking out of my jeans. He tugged on the waistband. “Interesting place for justice to hide.”
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