One Size Fits All

by Courtney Cole

  Adrenaline surged, my heart slowed, and I held my breath—instinctually. A woman. A giggling redhead reached over the bar top and squeezed his bicep playfully. He brushed her off with a teasing shake of his head. She sat back in her stood, clearly annoyed, and his smile grew wider. He was amused by her. The dimples I adored now mocked me, and I cringed inwardly, feeling sick to my stomach. Heat and embarrassment scorched my face. I wanted to kick his ass. Kick her ass. But instead, I continued to watch. Unable to look away. Like a train wreck waiting to happen. I’m such a masochist.

  “What a motherfucker,” I said aloud, having zero self-control at the moment.

  “Excuse me?” a random girl asked.

  I hadn’t realized how loud I was. “Not you. Him.” I pointed to Rory. Who was still caught up in the redhead’s business. I could’ve set off a bomb and he wouldn’t have realized it. I needed to think what my next move would be. I had two options: stand here like a lunatic, or leave with some self-respect.

  Mickey bounded out of nowhere with a tray of drinks for a table. “What a pleasant surprise on a lovely afternoon.”

  I inhaled sharply, feeling my cheeks heat with such intensity, but managed an awkward smile. He looked to the bar, back to me, and again to the bar. My feet started to back away from the spot, slowly inching closer to the table with my bag and phone. I was ready to sprint, but didn’t want to make a scene—again.

  I don’t know what made Rory look up, but he did. His eye met mine. Deep, beautiful, and full of passion. The eyes of someone kind and caring. Ugh, it made it all worse. Shame poured over me like a wet blanket. For the briefest moment, he looked surprised, but analyzed my reaction closely. Then he frowned. Gouging my own eyes out would’ve been less painful. I decided I’d gather all the pins from every store in Manhattan and stick them all into Keira’s face. My very own human voodoo doll. That would keep me busy, happy, and off the streets of Manhattan.

  “Tis no’ wha’ you thinkin’, lass. It’s…” Mickey tried to explain.

  Fuck that noise! I wasn’t staying to listen. It was exactly what I thought it was. He was a player, and played me the fuck out.

  Rory’s eyes narrowed on Mickey, and something quietly passed between them. The redhead turned in her seat, possibly to see what was going on, but I was already moving. Panicked, Rory began to jump over the bar. I picked up my pace and started to run. Poor Mickey got an unfortunate elbow to get out of the way. Guys had their own code: bros before hoes. Mickey probably had tried to alert Rory with silent gestures that I was there. Watching him. Spying. Why else was he panicked? Hopefully not because he was alarmed I was a stalker.

  Ugh, kill me now. I was a mental misfit who was a man-junkie. If I could just manage to evaporate until there was nothing left of me—though, not before killing Keira. This was all her fault. I was happy dying in my bed. She fucked this whole thing up. Why would I listen to that idiot? I’m going to tell her she’s the one with spidery legs and looked anatomically put together by a blind person. That’ll fix her!

  “Georgia,” someone called out. I couldn’t tell who it was, but it didn’t matter. Before I managed to get out the door, Rory caught up with me, grabbing my arm. I turned to slap him across the face, but he quickly stepped away. “You’re no’ going to hit me, are you?”

  “If I have to, yes. Now leave me alone,” I answered and pushed the door open and left.

  He followed. “Why did you come if only to leave?” What kind of question was that? It didn’t even make sense. Or maybe I made no goddamn sense.

  I kept walking briskly. My arms now pumping like a locomotive.

  He kept up the pace and managed to get in front of me, leaving me no other option than to stop. “Why did you come? To see me?” His face was serious, but his eyes were amused. Did he think this was funny?

  I was ready to slap him, push him…something. “Wow, you really are thick, huh?”

  He smiled, enjoying himself. Enjoying this. “Sometimes. It happens. I’m a guy.”

  Ugh, he was intolerable and a sick person. Apparently, I liked sick people, because I was staring at him like a unicorn trotting down 5th Avenue.

  “Whatever,” I said, dismissing him and moved to walk around him. I needed to get the fuck out of here. He moved right. I moved left. He moved left. “Really?” He was as irritating as salt on a canker sore. My hands fisted, and he took a step back for safety. Good.

  He removed his ball cap, raked his fingers through his hair, returned his hat to his head, and pulled it low, nearly covering his eyes. Even sexier if that’s possible. Not every guy looked good or should wear on. You had to have the face for it. However, there were plenty running around the city with shitty, over stretched, tattered caps. His brim was perfectly arched with the word “Irish” across the front. My gaze lowered, noticing he was wearing low-hanging black basketball shorts. So low I didn’t think he had underwear on. Mmmmm…commando. I decided my best option was to look everywhere but him. Right. Left. Up. Down. I watched a pigeon eat god knows what off the sidewalk, an old lady wheel her laundry by, two men arguing over a parking spot, and finally, a couple making out on the hood of a parked car.

  He crossed his arm. “I can do this all day, Georgia.”

  My foot tapped a mile a minute, and his addicting, masculine soap finally reached my nose. Three…two…one…and my self-control decimated like Naga-fucking-saki. It’s official. I had zero will power when it came to him—his soap, eyes, and now those low-slung shorts. “Yes, I came to see you. However”—I held up my index finger—“you were occupied with your redheaded girlfriend.” I thought I would feel better admitting it to him. I didn’t. It was lame, a waste of time, and it kept me from my new love—my bed.

  His eyebrow’s drew together and he seemed to be puzzling the pieces together in that thick skull of his. Fuck, guys were dense. “No’ my lass.”

  “Okay, no’ your lass,” I repeated, accent and all. “Call her whatever you want. Point is, you were busy flirting with her. Not that it’s any of my business. So you can return and continue.”

  He cupped my face and looked into my eyes. “Tis my baby sister, Georgia. She’s in for a proper visit.”

  “Wait. What?” I asked, as if I needed further clarification.

  “She’s kin.” He continued to affectionately stroke my cheek. I leaned into the warmth of his hand with an exhausting sigh.

  “You guys looked so intimate. I just assumed…” My voice was nearly a whisper. It serves you right, freight train. You’re a fucking idiot. I felt tears burn behind my eyes, not from sadness, but joy.

  “After the other nigh’ I did no’ expect to see you.”

  “Me either,” I admitted. “But I just couldn’t stop thinking about it.” It was the truth. He really got to me, and I finally figured out why. I wanted him.

  “Which part?” His lips brushed the side of my face as he grew closer. His breath was minty, and I wanted to taste him. Explore him. Devour him. But I wanted to apologize for offending him.

  I tried to concentrate and get the words out. The right words. “I’m sorry if I offended you. I feel like I did, and it bothers me.” I made sure to look into his eyes before making my next point. “I really like you, and I don’t want you to think I’m anything like my mother, because I’m not.”

  “So, you do no’ care if I have money?”

  “No,” I answered quick enough there would be no doubt. It wasn’t like I was marrying the guy. I just wanted casual.

  My answer pleased him, because his lips were on mine so quick, I didn’t see it coming. I still had a million questions I wanted to ask. Did he like me? How did he feel about dating or did he just want the easy hookup? But now wasn’t the time. I moaned into his mouth, and I could feel him grin. His hands drove into my hair, angling my head as he deepened the kiss, drawing me closer. I couldn’t stop myself from responding if I wanted to. And I didn’t. On my tippy-toes, I hooked my arms around his neck to pull hi
m closer. His kisses weren’t a drug, but a weapon. And I was about to take my clothes off right here on the street.

  However, he broke away and rested his forehead on mine. “Come with me.” It was a command. He took my hand in his, and I followed him back inside.

  He introduced me to his sister, and anyone could see they were related despite the color of her hair. She was just as tall and had the same pair of stunning blue eyes that sparkled. He had good genes, and I wondered what his parents looked like. I had a long list of questions that I would eventually ask, but for now, they were kept in my mental filing cabinet.

  He led me through the bar to the outside patio, and finally through the same door from the other night. We ran up a long flight of steps and he reached into his side pocket for a set of keys.

  Once the door was opened, he invited me in. It was small but neat. A dresser with a TV along one wall, standing floor lamp beside it, and a king-size bed in the middle of the room taking up most of it. There was a small bathroom at the far end and a window opposite with a thin curtain. A black and red comforter pulled back with crisp white sheets, and all I could think about was that bed. He stood, silently watching me, waiting for a reaction. Don’t be stupid—again.

  The last thing I wanted to do was come off like a bratty socialite. “I didn’t realize you lived above the bar.”

  He shrugged and dropped his keys next to the TV. “Makes life easy.”

  “Very sensible.” It did make perfect sense for a pub owner, but the image I painted in my mind was a bit more dramatic. He carried himself well—cultured. Naturally, I pictured him living in a loft in Chelsea. Better yet, maybe hotel living? There were many beautiful hotels all over New York, and location truly is everything. I leaned that at an early age. Perhaps, West New York, which was within walking distance of anything you'd want to do in Manhattan. A few blocks from Grand Central Station, Rockefeller Plaza, the Theater District, many charming restaurants and world-class shopping—including all the major stores. Hell…Museum Mile and Central Park were right there depending on which hotel you stayed at. The Museum of Modern Art a few steps away, and I imagined him sipping coffee while strolling.

  “Come here,” he said, reaching for me. This was it, there was a bed and we were alone with no one to interrupt us. A thought of making this—me—too easy for him shot across my mind. However, I mentally tucked it away. We weren’t kids anymore. Adults didn’t judge or worry about absurd notions of whether it was too soon or not. Or the fact that we basically just met. This was about baser needs, pure and simple. And it was going to be sublime…

  CHAPTER SIX

  A magic-fingered Leprechaun

  Piece by piece, my clothes hit the floor until I was naked. I was more than happy to do it, but that wasn’t an option. He seemed delighted by my nakedness, and I started to squirm as the intensity grew. Suddenly, I wondered if he’d locked the door. Anyone could walk in, and I would be standing completely naked like an art exhibition. He slowly circled me, examining me from every angle, and then placed his hands over my breasts, giving them a gentle squeeze. My nipples hardened and I naturally arched, wanting more. He drew his hands away. I almost cried, but I didn’t utter a word. Maybe this is what he got off on. He was behind me now, his breath at the back of my neck. With one arm around my stomach, he pulled me flush against his cock. He was hard. I moaned and any kind of composure was long gone. His right arm caged me against him. While his fingers drew tantalizing circles on my stomach until my toes curled in angst. His palm travelled lower until he hit my pubic bone. I leaned back, my arm reaching out behind me, finding his waistband. I need his shorts off now.

  “Stop tryin’ to get in my shorts,” he commanded lightly.

  “You can just take them off yourself and save me the effort.”

  My request was ignored, but his left hand reached out and tugged my chin until he found my mouth, invading it with his tongue, and then sucking mine. His kiss was fierce and possessive. My clit throbbed and ached for some attention.

  “Rory, please,” I cried between kisses.

  “Shh,” he silenced me softly, his fingers slipping into my wet lips. “Tis whatcha’ want, lass? My fingers in your pretty pink?” he asked in a measured tone.

  I honestly hadn’t a fucking clue what he said, but my mouth knew the answer. “Yes.”

  I was soaked, but there wasn’t a morsel of shame in my body. He hissed when his first finger dipped in. All thoughts vanished and it took everything in me not to scream out in pleasure.

  “Christ, you’re so tight.” He moaned softly, adding a second finger. In and out his fingers continued to pump, his thumb rubbing lazy circles over my clit. The erotic sound of wetness created a sexual tempo, and my legs started to feel like jelly.

  My hand reached down to his, pushing him deeper. He groaned while grinding himself into me. I pushed back, loving every hard minute of him, wishing he was on top of me, in me. His arm tightened, securing me against his chest, and my legs tremored. Rory’s fingers continued to weave their magic by moving faster and deeper. My hands snaked up my body, grabbing my own breast, and then traveled up to pull him into another kiss. He accepted my tongue into his mouth, sucking it, and it was the hottest thing I ever experienced. He was steady, controlled, and measured. I was purring, moaning, and soaking wet.

  He had me right where he wanted.

  His free hand met my nipple and with one slow finger roll, my body began to tremble into an orgasm. A few more pumps of his fingers and it rocketed through my body.

  “Fuck!” I cried, and had he not been holding me, I would’ve fell to my knees. I would have been fine with that. Instead, he lifted me up, walked me over to the bed, and set me down gently. First thoughts, then words, and finally, full sentences slid back into place.

  Sucking in a deep breath, he ran his fingers through his hair and looked positively feral.

  I rolled over on my side and patted the bed. “My turn.”

  “Stop trying to get me in bed.”

  “You say that like it’s a bad thing,” I said looking up at him. If he was able to give me two of the most wickedly, eye-crossing orgasms with a pant seam and two fingers, just think of the possibilities of having him horizontal.

  “No’ a bad thing. Just no’ today,” he said, cupping my chin. He tilted it up so he could see my face, giving me a breathtaking view of his. I felt adored, but nervous about what would happen next. This was it. My chance to work him up to the point he couldn’t walk away—again.

  Then, in a split second, his lips were on mine, and I forgot what my objective was. His tongue moved in slow, gentle circles around mine, consuming my mind, my thoughts, my being. He was everything I wanted. I moaned, loving how warm and deliciously wet it felt. Fuck, he was good at this, good at shutting me up. I decided as long as his tongue or fingers were anywhere in me, I had no complaints.

  My mouth became more insistent when he started to pull away with a chuckle. However, I managed to grab a fistful of his shirt before he got away, reaching down between his legs and squeezing his cock. “I’m not letting you go.”

  “Best news all day.” He smiled, but grew serious. “It’s no’ that I don’ want you, love. It’s abou’ hurtin’ you.”

  I let go and sat up straighter. “Hurting me?” The sound of my own voice snapped me out of my post-orgasmic haze. It hadn’t dawned on me that this was a size issue. Who’s the dense one here? He was being sweet and caring, unlike these other schmucks. However, all I could think about was the hurting. He was big, but not unusually big. Though, I’d have to reserve my opinion until after I saw it. I wondered if he was a grower, or a shower.

  While I pondered all the utterly bliss-tastic possibilities, he grabbed my clothes off the floor and handed them to me. I got dressed quickly, and exhaustion set in. It had been nearly two days without any real food and my emotions were a huge part of the equation.

  “Listen, you look tired, and I have some thing
s to do,” he said, taking his phone out of his shorts. “Stay. I’ll text you when I’m done.” He handed me his phone, and I remembered what Keira said: He was going away for a long weekend. I quickly glanced around the room for evidence. No bag, dry cleaning, or toiletries. I decided if he didn’t mention it, I wouldn’t.

  “Okay, I’ll stay.” I wasn’t ready to go home, and my eyes fought to stay open. I keyed my number into his phone and hit save. Done and official. He gave me two orgasms, and I gave him my number…

  ***

  “25 West 40th Street, Bryant Park Grill,” I called out to the cabbie after slamming the door closed.

  Every chance we had, the girls and I got together for Sunday brunch at one of the loveliest outdoor spaces in Manhattan—Bryant Park Grill. Parisian café meets Gotham charm served garden alfresco style at its finest. The culture of brunch in New York was deeply woven into the city’s social fabric. Magical, stylish, and utterly New York. Keira and I got there first and sipped on mimosas until Summer and Laney arrived.

  “It’s refreshing seeing you smile, Georgia,” she said, reaching across the table to squeeze my hand affectionately.

  “What are you talking about? I always smile.”

  “Not like that. Your face must hurt from all that grinning,” she added, opening the menu. It was true, and my face did hurt. Kiera’s menu met the table with a loud thud. “I take back my earlier words. If you continue to grin like an idiot, I’m leaving. People are starting to point.”

  “Oh, please, they are whispering about your legs.”

  “My legs! What about them?” She kicked them to the side of her chair to inspect.

  I leaned in closely. “Something about looking similar to an arachnid.” I laughed. She did not, but continued to glare.