by Sybil Bartel
Myles found us two minutes later, snaked a possessive arm around Sam and eyed me. “Enjoy the show?” He didn’t smile.
Not as much as the company. “Yeah.”
“I’ll tell Carlos you said hi.” Dismissal, Myles style.
“You do that.” I didn’t give a shit that he was pissing in the sand. He should. Besides, my head was already out the door. I kissed Sam on the cheek and walked out.
Chapter Eight
Written
I sped down the highway with my eye on the clock and the speedometer. Pushing the Barracuda, radar detector on, I was racing time back to Ocala.
I thought about the handful of women I could’ve called but I knew none of them would scratch the itch that’d been building all night. I pulled into the parking lot behind the bar twenty minutes before closing and wasted another two minutes trying to talk myself out of going inside.
“Fuck it.”
Sitting on the beer cooler, talking to a guy, Carly turned as I walked in. The surprise on her face was quickly replaced with a wide smile. “Ah, the prodigal ‘not a date’ customer.” She made quotation marks with her fingers as she said not a date.
Completely thrown off my game, I scowled. Who the fuck was she talking to? And was she making fun of me?
Her smile faltered and she went all business. “Sit. You got fifteen minutes. What’ll it be?”
“Surprise me.” I was a fucking idiot for coming back here tonight.
“Hmm.” Her hand cupped her chin, then she smiled like she was up to no good. “Blow-your-mind surprise or regular surprise?”
Good thing I didn’t already have a drink, I would’ve choked on it. Hearing her say blow was a total fucking turn-on, in a bad, taboo, you-felt-up-the-preacher’s-daughter kinda way. Carly was too sweet for that shit.
“Blow my mind,” I said low and quiet, feeling a little more like myself.
Something flashed across her face but she quickly covered it. “Coming right up, Mr. Allen.”
I alternated between watching her and the fucker she’d been talking to. He was watching Carly like a hawk. It wasn’t hard to figure out his game. As soon as she brought my drink, I was going to crush the bastard’s chances.
A minute later, Carly set a martini glass in front of me. A martini glass. Did I look like a fucking banker? I put my hand over hers before she let go of the glass and spoke loud enough for the bastard to hear. “I’ll drive you home tonight.” I said a silent prayer she didn’t fight me on it.
She didn’t. But she did pull her fingers away. “Do I get to drive?”
“Is that what you want?” I wasn’t asking about the fucking car.
“Yes!” She squealed. She actually squealed. Shit. I’d dug myself into a hole.
“I’ll think about it.”
“Nope.” She grinned. “No deal. I drive or I walk.”
Stalling, deciding, I took a sip of the drink. Fuuuck. Salt and fire, it was disgusting. “What the fuck is this?”
“Grey Goose martini, extra dirty, up. Like it?” she asked as if she was suppressing laughter.
Oh hell no. I crooked my finger at her. For the second time tonight, she took the bait and leaned toward me. “I’m humoring you right now but understand something. If it comes in a glass with a stem, straw or fruit, I don’t drink it. Ever. Give this shit to the prick over there eyeing you like a piece of meat. Tell him it’s all he’s gonna get tonight. And Carly? I am taking you home and you are not driving my car.” I leaned back, shoving the drink toward her.
For a second her eyes went wide, and I wasn’t sure how she was going to react. Then she burst out laughing. She took the drink, dumped it and put a beer in front of me. “It was worth a shot.” She put her hands on the bar and leaned close, whispering, “But just so you know, I’m not inviting you up tonight.” She winked.
Flirt away, little girl. “Yeah? Maybe.” I dropped my voice. “Or maybe you’ll beg me to come up.” I smiled predatorily.
“Now why would I do that?” A pretty pink tint hit her cheeks.
Playing it out, I leaned closer and whispered, “Because I don’t disappoint.” I knew sex. If she wanted to play that game, I was all hers. For a night.
“Cocky much?” Chuckling, she sauntered away.
Damn, Carly feisty was a total turn-on. I finished my beer, asking myself for the tenth time if this was a smart idea. Carly wasn’t casual and I wasn’t more. I knew how this was gonna play out and it wouldn’t be pretty. I’d have to find a new bar. The thought made me mad as hell and not because of the inconvenience but because I wouldn’t get to see that smile.
As she closed up, I told myself I was just gonna drive her home.
“Ready?” She popped up behind me.
“Yeah.” No. Fuck it.
I didn’t touch her as we walked out. When she saw my car in the lot, she stopped short and looked up at me.
“You parked here?” Even in the dark, her eyes danced with innocence.
I flashed to another woman looking up at me tonight and I knew there was no comparison. I might have been attracted to Sam but she was right. With Carly, it was more. And it was starting to scare the shit out of me. Without thinking about what I was admitting to, I told Carly the truth. “I was out of time.”
Now she really stared at me. “Huh. All for a beer.”
I didn’t answer. I unlocked her door then walked around to the driver’s side and slid in. Instantly, I was hit with the scent of Sam. Damn it. I hadn’t thought about this. And it bothered me that I was worried about it now. What the fuck did I care? I told myself to let Carly wonder who’d been in my car but it bothered me, a lot. Hell if I was going to explain it.
I drove to Carly’s house in silence. She’d studiously looked out the window the entire way. When I parked, she reached for the door handle, looked back at me to say something, but I cut the engine and pulled the key out.
Her mouth snapped shut.
“I’m coming up. Music, alcohol or door number three. Take your pick.” I got out of the car and walked to the passenger side, wondering how I’d play it off if she said no. Slightly worried, I broke my rule and opened the door for her.
When she got out of the car and tentatively looked at me, I felt like the biggest asshole alive. She looked like she was afraid of me. I was used to this from strangers but coming from a woman I’d seen pretty much every week for a year, it threw me.
“Graham, just so you know...”
Oh fuck no. I stopped her. I was a lot of things, but I wasn’t that guy. I’d never forced myself on a woman and I wasn’t going to start now. Making my voice soft, I did something I’d never done with a woman before. I tried to put her at ease. “I’m not that guy, Carly. I want to come in and hang out but if you tell me to leave, I leave. No questions, no arguments, got it?”
“Yeah, I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t think you... Oh, just, never mind.” She shook her head.
It confirmed everything I already knew in my gut. Carly was anything but casual. “C’mon.” I locked my car and put my hand at the small of her back. This was gonna be interesting.
Carly led us up three flights to a spacious one bedroom with sloped ceilings and turned on a few lamps.
Tossing her bag onto a chair, she called over her shoulder, “Make yourself comfortable, I’m going to change. Help yourself to whatever’s in the fridge.” She disappeared through the kitchen into the bedroom beyond.
I glanced around the living room. The place was crammed full of hundreds of books in three large bookcases. Two couches, a desk with a laptop under a window, an older stereo, and an even older TV filled out the room. I glanced at the few CDs on the shelf by the stereo. Jazz, classical, and some old-school funk. I smiled. Picking one out, I put it on and went to look in the fridge.
The fridge was all fruits and vegetables and some sort of green smoothie shit. There was wine but I grabbed a bottle of water instead.
I was back in the living room, checking out some pictures
of kids on a bookshelf when she came back. Hearing her come up behind me, I waited a beat like I wasn’t interested then turned around. All my blood rushed to my dick.
Worn jeans hung low on her hips. A tight long-sleeved T-shirt exposed a strip of flat stomach and made her rack look amazing. Barefoot, she’d let her hair down. I’d never seen her hair down. Halfway down her back, loose, flowing, it was so blond it almost glowed. She looked ten times hotter than in the short skirts she wore to work.
“I don’t have beer but I have wine. Want a glass? Or maybe a cup? No stem?” She smiled sweetly.
I bit back a smirk and held up my water. “You’re off duty, Carly.”
She laughed. “You can take the bartender out of the bar...” she trailed off and shrugged, glancing at the stereo. “You like jazz?”
So she didn’t know all she claimed she did about me. Interesting. I walked over to the couch and sat. “You could say that.” I nodded to the seat beside me.
Her smile turned pensive. “You’re always so guarded.”
I didn’t respond. It was one of my favorite pastimes. I figured out early on that the less I said, the more other people rushed to fill the void.
She sat down two feet away, crisscrossed her legs and took the water from my hand. Gulping half, she offered the bottle back.
Slow, like I had all the time in the world, I reached for the bottle and let my fingers brush over hers. She jerked slightly and I remembered what happened in my car the other night.
“I’ve seen your band a few times.” She shoved her hands between her crossed legs and smiled like the cat that ate the canary, her expression contradicting her body language.
Outwardly I didn’t react but her comment surprised me. “Yeah?” Why did she flinch when I touched her?
“Yeah.” She nodded slowly. “Myles is pretty amazing.”
The canary look. Shit. She liked Myles. I should’ve known, every chick went for him. “He outplays me on my best days.”
“I didn’t say that.”
She didn’t have to. I glanced at her books. “What’s with all the books?”
“I’m a writer. I like to read. Know what my favorite song was?”
A writer? Now I was intrigued. “What do you write?”
“Stories. I heard it the last time you played at 701. You don’t play it at every show.”
701 was the club Myles, Neil and I owned. She was at our last show? “What kind of stories?”
“Fiction. Wanna know the song?” Her eyes danced with amusement.
Not really. “What kind of fiction?” I hadn’t seen her at the show.
“Young adult, contemporary—depends on my mood. It’s a really great song.”
Young adult, what the fuck was that? “I want to read something you’ve written.”
“I want to tell you my favorite song.”
We stared at each other.
I caved. “Go for it.”
“‘Break.’”
It was one of the few songs I’d written. It was about my piece-of-shit mother. No one knew that except Myles.
“I knew it,” she said quietly. “You wrote it. I knew it.”
“Myles writes the songs.”
“Not that one.” She smiled knowingly.
How the fuck did she know that? “What story am I gonna read?”
“Who’s the song about?”
Oh hell no. “Are you published?”
“No, but not for lack of trying. What genre do you like?”
Genre? The Carly genre. Fuck, I didn’t even know her last name. “Does it matter?”
She laughed. “No, I suppose not. I only have what I have. Do you have an ereader?”
“No.” Did I look like I had a fucking ereader?
She got up, grabbed a tablet off her desk and sat back down. “What’s your email address?” She didn’t look up, so I told her. Thirty seconds later, she put the tablet on the coffee table. “There you go.” She settled back into the couch. “So who’s the song about?”
My phone vibrated in my pocket and I pulled it out. Sure enough, an email from Carly S. I opened the email then opened the file she’d sent. Lightning Strike by Carly Sullivan. I scrolled down and read the first few lines but Carly grabbed my phone out of my hands.
“What the fuck?” I looked at her, incredulous.
“No way. Who’s the song about?” She tossed my phone on the coffee table.
“What makes you think I know?” I leaned forward, snatched my phone and put it back in my pocket.
“Because.” She sighed dramatically. “It was written by you.” She spoke like she was talking to a five year old.
“You’re right,” I admitted, wondering what the hell I was doing.
Happiness spread across her face. “I knew it! Told you I knew!”
“Yeah, how’d you know?” I kinda liked that she did. If I’d been using even half my brain, that would’ve been my cue to walk the hell out. But I wasn’t. I was staring at pretty blue eyes and stupidly thinking I deserved this moment with this girl.
Carly’s face went soft and when she looked at me, it felt like it was the first time a woman had ever looked at me.
“Because your voice is all over it,” she said quietly.
My whole world stopped, like in a tunnel while the world speeds past your peripheral vision. I was standing alone, staring at the one thing not moving in front of me. And she was staring into my soul. Somewhere, somehow, I spoke. “My voice?”
“The other songs are lighter. Actually, not lighter, just a different perspective. More man, woman. ‘Break’ isn’t a boy-meets-girl song, it’s about another relationship.”
I sat up straighter and cleared my throat. “It’s about a woman.” She could take that any way she wanted to. I wasn’t going to tell her it was about a woman I wanted to break, a woman who broke me.
“I’m sorry.” Her big blue eyes caught mine.
“For what?” I snapped. I didn’t need her fucking pity.
Carly dropped her face and pulled on the hem of her shirt. “I didn’t mean to be intrusive.” Her voice had turned small with hurt.
Goddamn it. I counted to ten. “You’re not being intrusive. There’s nothing to tell. It’s just a song, Carly.” I wanted out of this conversation.
Inhaling, she lifted eyes that no longer sparkled. “A really great song but there’s no chorus.”
Shit, I hated that I’d hurt her feelings but I wasn’t going to sugarcoat who I was. “Life has no chorus. There’s no neat little package you can repeat when you forget your lines.” I reached to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. I wanted to see her face. I wanted to put the sparkle back in her eyes but when I touched her, she flinched again. “Pretty,” I whispered, dropping my hand.
She inhaled sharply and moved a fraction of an inch back.
Damn it. “Carly.”
“Hmm?” She wouldn’t look up.
“Look at me.” When she didn’t, I tilted her chin up and she jerked back. There was no mistaking what I saw. Fear. Something inside shifted, and for the first time in my life I didn’t want someone to be afraid of me. “I’m not going to hurt you,” I whispered. “I just wanted to look at you.”
She stared at me like she was too scared to move.
Slow, I raised my hand and hesitated. When she didn’t pull back, I ran the backs of my fingers across her jaw and slim neck. “God, you’re beautiful.” Pure, honest, she was too beautiful.
Heat touched her cheeks.
I couldn’t stay here another second. I’d do something I’d regret.
“I have to go.” I risked a kiss to her temple and quickly stood.
She scrambled off the couch and followed me to the door. “Graham—”
I cut her off. “Thanks for the story.” I yanked the door open and fled. The fear and confusion on her face haunted me all the way down the stairs. I was dialing one of the numbers in my contact list before I’d reached my car.
Answer, goddamn it. Pleas
e. Fucking. Answer.
Chapter Nine
Guilt
I got home just before dawn. I was exhausted and I felt like a total prick, as if I’d cheated on Carly. The thought pissed me off. We had nothing between us and I didn’t owe her shit. Except for the first time in a long while, it wasn’t Carly I’d thought about while having sex. I couldn’t. That unattainable, taboo, you-can’t-have-what-you-want, driving-you-mad, think-about-the-girl-not-in-your-arms fantasy? It was no longer working for me. I’d moved past unattainable. I was dead center in fantasy. I hadn’t thought about Carly until after I’d had sex. If I had, I never would’ve been able to get it up. I’d had to block her out. But now I was paying for it. I wanted Carly. I wanted her more than I’d ever wanted a woman.
Once, just once, I wanted to be good enough to have that kind of innocence under me, wanting me, consuming me. Fuck. I heard her in my head again, telling me my voice was all over that song, like she knew me. I felt guilty about last night all over again. In a fit of anger, I picked up my cell and deleted the slut’s number from last night. Double standard, I knew, but I didn’t care. I was pissed and I just wanted a shower, bad.
When I stepped out of the shower, my home phone was ringing. I stupidly picked up.
“I’ve been calling you for twenty minutes,” my dad said.
“I was in the shower. What do you want?”
“She showed up again. She knows about the band, she knows about your next show,” he said in a guilty rush.
Fuck. “So?”
There was a pause, then my dad sighed heavily. This time when he spoke, his voice did something it rarely did. It turned sympathetic. “She’s gonna show up, son. She isn’t well.”
You know how many times I’d heard that excuse when I was a kid? She’s sick, she’s tired, she’s not well. No, she was an abusive fucking drunk. She’d beat the shit out of me then go for the bottle. He’d come home from work, she’d be drunk and I’d be hurt where he couldn’t see. Then he’d put her to bed and tuck her in like she was his prize fucking possession. I didn’t give a fuck about any of his shit excuses anymore. The familiar rage and hatred that I knew better than my own reflection surfaced and I embraced it. “And you’re telling me because you’re too spineless to do something about it?” I kept my voice low and controlled. Raised, it was a liability; controlled, it was a weapon.