Thirty Days: Part One (A SwipeDate Novella Book 1)

by BT Urruela

  “I guess in her world, it does,” I respond, laughing over how crazy the experience was. I’m still baffled to have been through it, and it makes me want to reevaluate how I’ve been going about this challenge. I refuse to take part in another date like that.

  “So, what did she find? What will I find when I Google you right after this?” she asks, and I narrow my eyes on her. She’s trying her best to keep a straight face, but a smile is pulling at the corner of her mouth. “I’m so kidding.”

  “I don’t believe you.”

  “I mean, if you tell me, I won’t have to do my own research. Help a girl out here,” she says.

  “She read both my books in one night… before our first date.”

  Her face freezes, her eyes reading my eyes, and it looks like she’s trying to tell if I’m serious or not.

  “No way,” she mutters.

  “Yes, way. She read both my books in one night, admitted to it at the beginning of the date, and then proceeded to lecture me about the content.”

  She bursts out in laughter, her hands meeting her mouth, and her head shaking. Her hands drop back to her side and there’s a look of disbelief on her face. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to laugh. That’s just so creepy.”

  “Yeah, and it was pretty much downhill from there.”

  “What else? What else?” she asks anxiously.

  “There wasn’t a whole lot more, really. There was this incident back in high school. A buddy died and she brought it up. Like, judging me.” My eyes fall to the table, a new nervousness taking hold.

  “Oh my, I’m so sorry I asked.”

  “No, it’s fine. I don’t mind talking about it. It’s just the way she came at me with it. And the timing. We made it through one damn frame before she brings all that shit up.”

  “Some people’s children,” she says, shaking her head. “I hope you left after that.”

  “Oh, I did. But not before her. And not before tearing her a new asshole in the middle of the bowling alley.”

  “Good,” she responds, killing the rest of her whiskey, and sliding the glass to the center of the table. “Sounds like she deserved it.”

  “You want me to grab you another drink?” I ask, motioning my glass toward hers before downing the last of my beer.

  “Hmmmm.” She taps a manicured nail against her chin a few times, and then asks, “are you hungry?”

  “I’m always hungry.”

  “Okay, so there’s this meatball place not too far from here. You can literally order a bucket of meatballs.”

  “Are you shitting me? How have I not heard of this?”

  “You’ve been missing out,” she says with a cocky little shrug. She snags her Grandpa’s bomber jacket from the chair back as she stands. Attempting to put her jacket on, she gets tangled up in the sleeves above her head, which gets me laughing way too hard.

  “Don’t laugh, you shit. Help,” she says, continuing to struggle, but letting out a laugh of her own.

  I stand and pull the coat over her shoulders, and keep my hands there for a moment, straightening the jacket out. Her face is just inches from my own, her intoxicating scent causing a complete lack of control over my body. We stand there for a moment, smiling, my hands still gripping her jacket, and her eyes flitting toward the bar.

  “Shots before we go?” she asks, and my immediate thought is that’s the last thing I need, but this girl has already shown me up twice. I need to man up this go-round. I give her jacket two light tugs before releasing it, and I put a hand out for her to go first. She slips by me, brushing lightly against me as she does, and it sends a shiver down my spine. As I follow behind her, my eyes tracing the curve in her ass, my thoughts are caught up somewhere between meatballs and rough sex… and I’m just so confused.

  A short cab ride later, we get out in front of The Meatball Shop, and I throw the driver a ten. We head into the shop and grab two spots at the bar. I’m both surprised and afraid to discover this place is pretty much a bar that serves meatballs. Whereas, in my head I saw a little corner mom and pop type place; stiff, brightly-colored particle board seating and all. Instead, it’s back with other twenty-somethings on the edge of drunkenness, and that polished, retro feel you get in most newer West Village bars. More alcohol is the last thing I need, but she seems intent on continuing the party.

  “Do you come here often?” I ask, scooping up the menus and handing her one.

  “Not this one, but I go to another one uptown from time to time. It’s my happy place.”

  “I can see why,” I say, motioning to the bucket of meatballs the couple next to us is munching on.

  “Do you want another shot?” she asks, wiggling her brows, and my stomach churns in response.

  “Sure,” I say weakly, my eyes falling to the menu. “Let’s get some damn meatballs though.”

  “Oh hey,” she says, putting both hands up. “I don’t want you to overdo it. I can go solo this time.” She smirks, and half-heartedly tries to hide it.

  “Whoa, I agreed to another shot. I’m good.” I nod, trying my best to look convincing.

  “You really hate the fact that I can outdrink you, don’t you?” she asks as the bartender approaches.

  “No way. I already told you I’m ready to hand over my man card. I have one more shot left in me and then I probably will have to accept defeat, though.” I point to the menu. “How about the standard balls… uh, standard meatballs?”

  “Standard balls work for me,” she says with a laugh before turning to the bartender. “And two shots of Woodford, please.”

  He nods, taking the menus, and typing the order into the computer.

  “Can you make that face again?” she asks, and I tilt my head.

  “What face?”

  “That face you made when I said Woodford.” She giggles, pointing at me, and covering her mouth with her free hand. “Yeah, that one right there.”

  I cross my arms, my bottom lip slipping over my top, and I shake my head in defiance. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

  “Yeah, we’ll see about that when the shots come, killer,” she says, removing her jacket and passing me a wink as she folds it over her knee.

  “You’re really trying to kill me tonight, aren’t you? My ego at the very least.”

  “Hey, you had a shit day, I had a shit week, and neither of us has to be up early. Why not get a little crazy?” she asks just as the bartender returns with two full shots. I can hear her giggling as my eyes are locked on the incoming shot glasses, and I breathe out a heavy sigh.

  “You’ll be okay,” she says, nudging me with her elbow as she grabs the shot glass with her other hand. “One more and we’ll put some balls in our mouth.”

  “You know…” I say, laughing and grabbing my shot, the Woodford spilling over the edges of the shot glass, coating my hand. “I knew when I met you… I said, girl’s wearing a dress in forty-degree weather, wears a fucking bomber jacket, drinks coffee like a grunt in the middle of World War I, and she’s Italian… there’s gotta be a wild side.” I raise the shot glass, spilling more whiskey on my hand when she clinks hers against mine. “It’s nice to meet you, wild Megan.” I down the shot and she does the same. I nearly choke on the Woodford as it’s going down, and she stays straight-faced. Not even a flinch.

  “You are a fucking champ,” I say, clearing my throat, and wincing until the taste subsides.

  “A Sicilian family of predominately men, remember,” she says as the bartender returns with a steaming bucket of meatballs in his hands.

  As he sets the bucket down in front of us, he asks, “Would you guys like another shot?”

  “No!” I reply instantly, my voice jumping in volume. I hear her giggle again, and the barkeep gets in on it this time as he sets two plates and utensils down in front of us. Once he departs, I narrow my eyes on her, and she just smiles, a little red in her cheeks now that lets me know she’s feeling pretty good herself.

  “You just had to get the
bartender involved in my neutering, didn’t you,” I joke, blindly grabbing for the utensils.

  “I’m always better with an audience,” she responds, her focus shifting to the bucket. “Now, shush… meatballs.”

  She’s not nearly as bad as she made herself out to be. I even slow my normal pace down to not look like too much of a glutton, but she certainly impresses. If you can’t enjoy the little things in life, like shoving meatballs down your gullet at nine o’clock on a Wednesday night, there’s something seriously wrong with you. Especially meatballs this fucking good.

  After finishing up most of the bucket and boxing up the rest, I pay the bill and we work our way outside. It’s becoming clear the meatballs aren’t soaking up as much of the whiskey as I had hoped. I’m not stumbling per se, but I’m not walking straight either. She reaches her arm out for me, curls her hand in the nook of my bicep, and pulls me closer as she shivers.

  “So cold,” she says, throwing two fingers up to hail an oncoming cab with her free hand. I take in the feel of her grip, the smell of her hair as it brushes past my shoulder, and the mischievous look in her eyes every time they fall on mine. The cab jerks to a stop before us and I open the door for her. She gets in and I slide in after her, hitting her with my ass as she doesn’t initially move, and I don’t pay any attention. She bursts out laughing while scooching in to give me some room. I shut the door behind me and shake my head at her.

  “You’re too much,” I say, and I can feel the cabbie’s eyes on me in my peripheral.

  “Where you going?” he asks, pulling away from the curb slowly. I look back toward Megan as she composes herself a bit, and she stares back at me without a word, a little tilt to her head.

  “What’s that look?” I ask, scrunching my brow.

  She shrugs. “You got anything to drink at your place?” she asks, and it catches me off guard.

  I take a thick swallow and a moment to collect my thoughts before responding. “Not what you’re used to, but I have a few options.”

  She only nods, her bottom lip slipping between her teeth.

  “Yo bro, I don’t got all day here,” the cabbie says, reminding me he’s in the front seat and that the car is moving.

  “Yeah, sorry, 115 Bleecker,” I reply, without looking at him. My eyes are on Megan and I impulsively move my hand to her knee. She pushes it against me, biting her lip again, and I just can’t help myself. I take my hand from her knee and set it softly against her cheek. Her long lashes bat like it’s a practiced routine, her eyes flitting from me to the small space between us and back. I close my eyes and connect my lips with hers. They’re as soft and supple as they look, and her tongue glides in unison with my own. No jousting, no darting frog tongue, just the passionate union of two mouths made for kissing.

  The cab slows and then stops while we’re still tongue-tied in the backseat. We stay that way a few more moments before the cabbie clears his throat loudly. Our hot breath intertwines as we pull our lips apart. I open my eyes, dropping my hand to the seat cushion. I admire her while I can before she opens her eyes, too. She smiles, doing that sexy lip biting of hers again as I dig into my coat pocket to retrieve the loose twenty I left there; my eyes never leaving hers.

  “Keep it,” I say, handing it over to him and opening the door. I slide out as he thanks me, and wait for her, my knees wobbly and weight shifting back and forth from one foot to the other. She exits the cab and shuts the door behind her. As he speeds away, we stand there looking at each other, but saying nothing.

  She eventually looks around before asking, “Well, are we just going to hang out here all night, or you going to let me inside?”

  I shake off my momentary fogginess and motion to my brownstone just a few steps away.

  “Yeah, sorry,” I say. “Follow me.”

  “Yes sir.”

  Entering the loft and shutting the door behind us, Megan immediately backs me against the wall, her lips crashing into mine, her hands meeting my cheeks and her nails digging in just a little. I nudge her away with one last kiss and move my mouth down near her ear.

  “I love the tough girl act out there, but in here… not so much,” I whisper, pulling my head back and waiting for a response. She looks at me for a moment, a smirk taking up her face as her eyes seem to read me.

  “Why don’t you do something about it then?” she whispers, and the words alone send a surge of blood to my cock. I grab her arms. Pulling her hands from my face, I quickly spin her, so that it’s her back against the wall. I take her chin with one of my hands and grip her arm against the wall with the other before kissing her hungrily. It’s been so long since I’ve kissed a woman, let alone a drunk makeout session, and I’m quickly reminded of what I’ve been missing.

  My cock is fully erect now and pushing the limits of my jeans as we stumble our way up the stairs to my bedroom, briefly making out every few steps; kicking off shoes and tossing jackets in the process. I throw her onto the bed and she lands awkwardly, which brings an uproar of giddy laughter from her, causing me to do the same. It’s only momentary, though, and the insatiable urge to taste every bit of her returns. A deep-rooted, aching desire begs to be relieved. Her stunning body sprawled out on my bed and waiting gets my feet moving quickly. I fall onto her, without grace, but without much concern from either one of us either. We kiss, and hands wander aimlessly about, grabbing for clothes, and hair, and flesh.

  Anything.

  She bites my neck, painfully, and I grimace, which only seems to egg her on. In the darkness, our bodies writhe, lips tangle, and hands strip clothing off, one piece at a time.

  I’m awakened by the sound of traffic, but my eyes remain closed. There’s a throb shooting from my shoulder blades, up my neck, and throughout my head. My throat feels like sandpaper and there’s a thick film on my tongue. I rub a hand into my temple, slowly opening my eyes only to be blinded by the incoming sun. Sitting up, I rub my palms into my eyes in an attempt the stifle the burn. I let out a loud groan, my stomach twisting and turning with the movement.

  Turning away from the sunlight, I’m able to open my eyes enough to see I’m lying butt naked in my bed, the comforter of no use beneath me. My headache rages as my vision adjusts, and when it does, I notice long brown hair and tan shoulders peeking out from beneath the comforter beside me. My mouth gapes and I rub out my eyes again to make sure I’m not seeing things.

  Nope. That’s Megan. In my bed. Naked.

  And I don’t remember a goddamn thing.

  Thirty Days is closest to my heart out of all my books for one very simple reason: I lived Gavin’s life. The pizza and ice cream gorge sessions, only to feel worse after all of it is gone and the depression remains. The desperate need for change and happiness when it seems so out of reach. An unwavering love that isn’t returned, even when you need it the most. The best thing to happen in my life was finding a way past all that. For ten years now, I’ve been a man on the road to recovery… Gavin’s road.

  I would’ve never found my way through the darkness without some truly incredible people.

  My readers… the happiness you give me when you read and support my work, and when I get to meet and talk with you at signings, is completely unlike anything else in this life. You are the best community I’ve ever known! Thank you for having my back and for believing in me. Thank you for changing my life!

  My best friends… Rob, Krotch, Honey Bear and Redneck, y’all are the real deal. You’re as much family to me as my own blood and I surely wouldn’t be where I am today without your support and encouragement.

  My family… Pops, Britto and Bradford, I love you guys so much! You’ve been with me from the beginning, seen me at my lowest points, and never wavered in your support of my recovery. I would not be here today, living out my dreams, if it weren’t for your love. Thank you!

  My surrogate family… Michelle, Joanne, Joe (RIP, buddy), Jake and Kay, there aren’t words to describe what having you in my life means to me. You could’ve let the p
ain keep me at a distance. Instead, you opened your arms, your hearts, and your family to me, and I’m so very thankful for that. I truly believe it was the Lord who brought us together and I thank God every day, though he had to take one of his best to do so, he brought you all into my life.

  Mama Joyce and Big Ern, I love y’all. You were the first to ever make me feel like I was a part of a family, that I had people watching my back while I was going through the worst of it. I’ll never forget the spaghetti dinner on my 21st, the many nights you opened your home up to me when I just needed to get away, and the love you’ve always shown me, regardless of how much of a knucklehead I was (am).

  Kathy, you treat my babies as your own, knowing I hate leaving them so much while traveling. It’s one thing to have someone who watches your dogs. It’s another thing entirely when they love and care for them as much as you do. Thanks to both you and Mark for all your help!

  My book Tribe… Golden, Eric, Mikey, Harper, Felicia, Shauna, Panda, Kathy, Tessi, Shane, Amy, Jess, CJ, Gideon, Jenn, SD, David, Daryl, Matthew… Nothing but love for each and every one of you. The times we’ve shared together are incomparable. Thanks for being such amazingly genuine, kind and loyal people.

  My team… Cara and Cat, your help is beyond measure. I can’t thank you enough for all your hard work over this past year. Without you all, and Jen and JWoo, watching my back, these stories would never become what they are. Thank you so, so, so much for believing in me and for always pushing me to be better! Laura, you’ve been with me from the beginning, always giving, and always helpful. I can’t thank you enough for being such a great friend. Love all of you ladies a whole hell of a lot!

  Barb (with a silent b)… you’re the most amazing person I’ve ever met. I can’t believe how fucking lucky I am to have met you, to be able to call you mine, and to know this whole, crazy journey was for a purpose. It led me straight to you. This is it, lady. I hope you’re ready for the ride of a lifetime. I know I am.