One Size Fits All

by Courtney Cole

  We were all accustomed to formalities in the social scene. While etiquette was highly regarded, we were a colorful bunch of girls. Reserved was for the weak. We pounced when we wanted something. However, I prided myself in being at least graceful about it. After all, I was a dancer.

  The foreboding dark angel’s eye quirked in amusement. Not one to squander an opportunity I stepped closer to him. “And you are…?”

  “Rory.”

  I wanted to ask if it was his first or last name, but his eyes were too busy ravaging my legs again. I snapped my fingers, wondering if he realized how obvious he was. His smirk grew, and right then and there I knew he was dangerous. A handsome guy with a smirk is my weakness. I both hated and adored it. However, it seemed Rory enjoyed making me feel uncomfortable. My heart fluttered, and my pulse sped up. There was no apology in his smirk, but more of a promise of something to come. That’s what worried—and excited—me.

  I wasn’t in the market for love, drama, or any other bullshit. Just fun. It was pure and simple. Maybe this raven-haired Irishmen was the appetizer to the summer entrée. A proper way to kick off the summer.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Georgia.” I extended my hand to shake his. However, he took my hand, brought it to his lips, and kissed it. I squirmed, nearly losing my panties. But all I could think about was my sweaty hand now touching his lips. Ugh, clearly I inherited my nerves from my father’s side. My mother wasn’t afflicted with anything external like sweating nervously. If she was, all the Botox she’s had injected in her had probably killed it off by now. Besides, her misery was internal. Even in that, she was a selfish bitch.

  He didn’t release my hand, but held it firmly, using it to pull me closer to him. I gasped at the sensations running through me. He chuckled again, and this time, it annoyed me. Poke the bear and she pokes back.

  “What’s your malfunction, Rory?” I removed my hand and planted them on my hips, making my statement.

  His mouth twitched until a full, confident smile touched the corner of his lips. “That sass o’ yours is my…as you say…malfunction.”

  I struggled not to smirk. His voice. His accent. His face. They did things to me and I needed to regain equal footing. This guy made my knees weak. This was not good. “Well, I have honed that quality for years.” I winked, giving as good as I could. “And I have a horrible mother who keeps me in practice,” I added.

  “Aye, you’re not the only one who has offensive family. We should stick together. Have a pint with me?”

  I silently prayed he didn’t mean a pint of whiskey. While I chewed on his request, I looked to my girls for approval. Two of them seemed occupied with Mickey’s juggling routine and playful banter. However, Laney wasn’t. She was quietly listening to our conversation. No doubt, trying to figure out what I was going to do with the giant.

  “You should go,” she finally said, giving me the green light to explore the evening. We had a code. After all, this was New York, and a girl couldn’t be too careful…no matter how badass you thought you were.

  “Sounds good to me,” I ultimately answered.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Was it Patio or Paddy O’?

  He folded my hand into his and led me to a small cobblestone outdoor patio. It had a lovely fire pit with sofa seating around it. New York wasn’t known for having any backyard real estate. Sure, there were rooftops, but a yard? Nearly impossible. It wasn’t big, but it was a little slice of heaven, and he was sharing it with me.

  Little fairy lights hung from a few small trees giving it a quaint old world vibe. “Wow, this is stunning.” I rolled my eyes at myself, wondering if it were possible to sound any lamer.

  “It’s no’ much, but tis mine,” he stated proudly as he guided me to a round, cushioned seat.

  A young, lanky guy appeared just as I crossed my legs. Rory, without taking his gaze off me, said, “Conner, two pints.” The beautiful boy smiled at me, and retreated to the bar. I couldn’t help but wonder how many girls he brought out here.

  Connor returned with two pints of dark liquid capped with froth. I was no stranger to the bar scene. St. Patrick’s Day was often celebrated with green beer and other Irish libations, but I never drank them. I preferred cocktails or an occasional martini. Never had a taste for beer, let alone a brown pint of anything.

  “What’s that?”

  A dimple dotted each cheek and I wanted to kiss each one…or was it lick? I hadn’t decided yet. “No real Irishman drinks anythin’ but Guinness,” he said, offering me my pint before taking his own.

  “Is that a fact?”

  “Tis true,” he said before taking long sip of his beer. “I’m no’ a saint, Georgia. I have sinned, but I promise you will savor it.”

  Oh, Jesus. Really? “That’s some line. And by the way, I’m not that girl that’s going to fall for that kind of bullshit.” It was a flat out lie, but I didn’t care. He didn’t need to know that. The more he smiled the harder I squeezed my legs together. Time to change the subject. “Ugh, the beer’s warm.” What I really wanted to say was it tasted like piss, but I kept that to myself.

  “Aye, it’s how it’s served.” His brows pulled together pensively. “Its no’ a line of bullshit. But if speakin’ the truth offends you, I’m sorry, lass.” His hand reached over and wiped my upper lip with the pad of his thumb. “You had some head on your lip.”

  My eyes widened. Either he was truly dense in his choice of words, or he was a total wiseass. I chose to ignore him and give him the benefit of the doubt. However, I couldn’t ignore the way his nearness made me feel. So, I decided to be polite for a change. “Thank you.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” he said as he inched closer to me. Now, this was heading back in the right direction. My lips were tingling and my body humming. Just one kiss.

  I swallowed another gulp of the shitty beer. At the end of the day…alcohol was alcohol. “So, Jugs & Stokers…this doesn’t look like a biker bar to me.”

  He laughed, nearly choking on his beer. “Cause tis no’ a biker bar, lass. My brother named it. Tis an inside joke that stuck.”

  Now I was interested in two things: who was his brother, and what was the meaning behind the inside joke. I’d decided to ask the latter. “What’s the joke?”

  He finished his pint and placed it on the marble edge of the fire pit. His hand brushed over his five o’clock shadow and then his chin in contemplation. “I’m going to be a gentleman. Tis too early to ruin the evening with a lass as enchanting as you. And I no’ lookin’ to be slapped.”

  Hmm, I had to appreciate his honesty. Yet a thrill ran down my spine smelling a hint of filthiness. His gaze shifted to my lips and I thought he was about to kiss me, but Connor walked in with two more pints. Connor needs a kick in the ass, I contemplated. With every movement, Rory’s delicious scent lingered—a mixture of soap and light cologne. I wondered if he used Irish Spring. I decided to ask without being so obvious. “What kind of soap do you use?”

  “I can tell you I don’ use girly soap,” he stated, sounding very macho. “Tis a personal choice I take seriously,” he added with a hint of sarcasm. Bottom line, he wasn’t going to tell me. He downed the rest of his pint in one gulp.

  It was then my competitive nature kicked in. I didn’t want to appear prudish when it came to alcohol. Yes, I was a dancer. Which required a certain amount of grace. But I could hold my alcohol and keep up with him.

  He reached over, grabbed a curl, and pulled it.

  “Hey…” I said lightheartedly.

  He enjoyed teasing me. He drove me mad. The type of madness that’d lead me into doing something incredibly stupid. His handsome features grew serious and his eyes shifted back to my lips. I needed to kiss him, and I wasn’t going to wait for Connor to make another appearance. You didn’t get anywhere in life by playing it safe.

  Another look at his blue eyes crumbled what was left of my composure. Who was I kidding anyway? He had me at the f
ucking door. He seemed to sense my inner dialogue and moved in, seizing my lips. My stomach pitched, but it was welcomed. It had been far too long since I’ve been with a man. Dance took up all of my time, and I was tired of missing out.

  I leaned into him as the last of my poise crumbled. His kiss started soft, for just the briefest of seconds, but quickly turned hungry. My mouth opened, giving into him—welcoming him. His hands were in my hair, on my cheeks, and finally, holding my neck. I wanted more, more of him, more of this sensation that pooled in my stomach. A deep moan erupted from his throat as my fingers ran through his hair, and my eyes opened. His eyes were closed, inky lashes fanning his tanned skin as his lips expertly moved over mine. Perfection. This emboldened me, made me feel powerful for the first time in a long time.

  He moaned my name against my neck as his lips trailed a path down my collarbone. I was a sucker for collarbone kisses. They drove me wild. My head tilted back, giving him access. His rough palm grazed my hip, and his fingers skirted the hem of my shirt. I leaned back, desperate to feel his hand on my skin. Motherfucker, I could hear a pair of heels coming our way.

  “Ahem…” Keira’s voice was full of surprise. We broke away, but the moment wasn’t gone. He wanted me as much as I wanted him. “Just making sure you’re good.”

  “Perfect,” I replied sarcastically.

  “Great. We’re ordering some food if you’re hungry. And by the looks of it…you are.”

  “No’ to worry, Keira. I will take care of Georgia. She’s in good hands,” Rory answered swiftly.

  “Very large hands by the way,” she added unnecessarily. “Which is a good thing.” She smiled, and I thought about how a swift throat punch would shut her up. “Okay, we’ll be inside if you change your mind.” She turned on her designer heels and left. But not before mumbling, “At least someone’s getting some action tonight.”

  Embarrassed by her statement, I sat up straighter, hair still mussed, and began to reach for my pint.

  Rory stood, running his fingers through his hair in an effort to comb it back into place, “I’m going to put in an order. Do you trust me?”

  “Sure.” My stomach growled in response at the mention of food. I couldn’t remember the last time I ate. I didn’t eat much, and always watched my weight. As beautiful as it was, dance was all flesh and bones. Meals were frowned upon, and if you did eat, laxatives were your dessert. Gross but a necessary evil in my industry.

  A few minutes later, I nearly finished my pint. He returned with a plate of various fruits and cheeses. It surprised me, because he didn’t seem like a cheese platter type of guy. He looked more like a cheeseburger and fries type. However, I had a bad habit of profiling unfairly. I blame that on my upbringing…my mother mainly. She was a judgmental bitch, and as much as I hated her, I could see parallels between us. Stockholm syndrome, maybe? On some insane level, it was a betrayal to my mother to even entertain Rory this evening. I’d never be allowed to date someone who owned a bar. A man who didn’t come from some kind of fortune. A family of wealth, and at the smallest glance, if I had to guess, Rory would hold no value in her eyes. So, dating him would never work.

  Rory handed me a small white plate filled with fruit and a few cubes of cheese.

  “This is really very nice of you. You didn’t have to go through the trouble. I could have joined my friends.”

  He shook his head. “No trouble at all. Tis my pleasure. Call me selfish, but I get to spend more time with you on such a beautiful night. I’m no’ ready for it to end. Are you?”

  Relief washed through me at his confession. “No not at all,” I whispered and he sighed while reaching for my hand.

  His dimples made another appearance, making his smile irresistible. “I really like you, Georgia, and I look forward to getting to know you better.”

  I put my plate down and covered his hand with the other. “I feel the same way.” I inched closer before delivering my next statement. “My mother is an ugly, vile creature spawned by Satan. My childhood was no picnic, and her selfishness knows no bounds. In my family, blood isn’t thicker than water—it’s thinner.” As I spoke, he nodded, listening carefully. “She’s driven by money and men. Unfortunately for me, I live under her roof and she pays my tuition. She has certain standards she expects me to hold.”

  “And they are?” he asked, and his eyes grew with intensity.

  I swallowed, not realizing how painful the truth was. How ugly it sounded, and how sick it made me even speaking it. Stranger or not, I couldn’t escape the unpleasantness, but carried on deciding the ugly truth was better than a merciful lie. “Umm…” I desperately searched for words to lessen the impact—or maybe lessen my embarrassment. “To socialize with people from a good family.” I was pleased by my choice of words. However, he didn’t seem to be.

  “So, your mother is a barracuda who preys on young flesh?” He looked disgusted. My stomach flipped, and bile started to climb up my throat. He pulled his hands from mine and reached for his pint.

  The hostility of his words cut me deep. Fuck, the truth hurt. What hurt worse was his immediate withdrawal from me. His face no longer held the same warmth. A callous mask slipped into place, and it hurt. There was no denying his words, so I embraced them. “Yes.”

  He stood, thrusting his hands into his pockets and produced a small, silver lighter. Then he walked over to a wooden humidor that sat on a small marble table to the right of the outside door. After removing a single cigar, he clipped the end and proceeded to toke until a perfect round cherry sparked to life.

  My mouth opened and closed a few times, searching for a complete sentence to utter to fix the distance my words put between us. “Look, I’m not in a position to offer you anything anyway.”

  He winced, as if I verbally slapped him.

  “What I mean to say is…” I corrected. “I just want to have a good time. Keep things light and casual. Is there anything wrong with that?”

  He responded immediately. “No’ at all.” A plume of cigar smoke left his mouth and floated up into the night air. Fuck.

  I got up, effectively excusing myself. I didn’t see a way to bridge the gap between us, so I bailed. “Thank you for sharing a pint with me. It was nice meeting you, Rory.” And kissing you.

  He placed the cigar in a crystal ashtray and blocked me from leaving. His shirt pulled tighter across his chest as his arms folded in a determined way. “I thought you said you wanted a good time…keep things casual?”

  “I did.”

  “So, why are you leaving?” His eyebrows furrowed as he awaited my answer.

  I almost snorted, but didn’t. Okay, I’ll bite. “What did you have in mind?”

  He walked closer to where I stood and spun me around so my back was flat against the brick. Cold brick. “This…” He leaned in and kissed me gently on the lips. No pressure, no hands, just a feather-soft touch that lasted for several delicious seconds.

  I slowly opened my eyes and blurted, “Thank you.”

  His tone was now serious. “I wanted to kiss you the way I should have kissed you the first time.” Fist time. Next time. Every time. Who cared? As long as his lips were on mine I was good.

  He took my hand and nodded to a separate door a few feet from where we were standing. Maybe this night wouldn’t be a total waste after all. I followed as the knot in my stomach dissolved. He opened the narrow white door and led me into a dimly lit hallway. He abruptly stopped me with his body trapping me against the wall. There was no escaping—not that I wanted to. His hand softly stroked my cheek while he used the other to cage me in.

  “Tis no’ always bout money, Georgia. Sometimes it’s about the man standing in front of you. What you feel. What’s in here.” His hand moved over my heart. Not only did his words carry meaning, but the placement of his hand, nearness of his body, the intent in his eyes.

  The sweet scent of cigar hit my nose and I inhaled, enjoying it. I never like smoking of any kind. It was
a disgusting habit. However, I didn’t mind him smoking. I was surprised how sexy I found it. My nipples hardened under his touch and I became needy for anything he was willing to give. The demand of his pent up passion pressed firmly against my hip and a flame roared to life.

  Demand. Passion. Hunger. Excitement.

  He looked into my eyes a moment longer and whatever uncertainty he had melted away. His head lowered and captured my mouth. This time, soft and supple flew out the window. It was replaced with desire. There was no mistaking the hunger conveyed by his kiss. If there was a bed nearby, I’d be happily underneath him. But a hallway?

  His fingers slid around the back of my neck and curled into my hair, his other hand now at the small of my back pulling me deeper. I hadn’t realized how much I missed the touch of a man—a real man. He was here, holding me, his hands planted on my lower cheeks, lifting me against the wall. My arms wrapped around his neck. I was needy and desperate for more.

  “Rory,” I whispered in a half pant, desperation clawing at me as his lips continued to move over my neck. He caressed it with his tongue, nipped as the scruff of his beard scraped against my tender flesh just under my ear. Fuck, everything began to fade away when his teeth hit the arc of my shoulder. I moaned, enjoying the tantalizing sensations. He never offered a spoken word but responded by continuing his assault on my body. He was powerful. Confident. And something else I couldn’t put my finger on. Hope flared inside me. I didn’t want this to just be for one night. Maybe I could keep him. His kisses didn’t feel like a guy ready to say goodbye.

  “Stop overthinking, Georgia. Learn to be present. Enjoy yourself,” he said, meeting my eyes. If anything, he was able to read me perfectly. Which bothered me to no end. I prided myself on my impenetrable armor.

  “Get out of my head, Irishman,” I responded, but it came out more as a half whimper than a warning.

  His rough chuckle incensed me further and a tiny spark of realization began to protest in the back of my mind. Was he playing me?

  He took full advantage of my inner-turmoil, not giving me another moment to object. Instead, he spread my legs farther. His muscled body wedged deep into my cleft. It didn’t help that I opened easily for him and wrapped my legs tightly around his waist. Two can play at this game. Maybe I’d leave him wanton. Give him something to remember me by.