by Kelly, Hazel
"And don't make that face," she said. "It makes you look like-"
I raised my eyebrows. "Like what?"
"Like you're thinking things you shouldn't be thinking."
"Listen, babe," I said. "You can boss me around all you like, but I assure you it’s not having your intended effect.”
Her mouth puckered like a closed flower.
"If anything I'd say I find it amusing."
"I'm not bossing you-"
"Whatever. You still don't get to tell me what to think."
Her lips formed a straight line and she exhaled, her narrow shoulders dropping. "Maybe not," she said. "But I'm pretty sure it's within my rights to remind you that my name isn't babe. It's Addison."
I laughed.
"What's so funny?"
"You are," I said. "Along with the idea that I might’ve forgotten your name."
She furrowed her brow.
"Trust me," I said, shifting my weight. "I couldn't forget your name if I wanted to."
She tucked her hair behind her ear.
"And after tonight, you'll never be able to forget mine either."
Her eyes flashed wider then narrowed. "Have you always been this arrogant?"
"Depends on who you ask," I said. "Have you always taken yourself so seriously?"
She shrugged. "I have trouble switching out of work mode."
I let my eyes graze her body, lingering on the space where her inner thighs disappeared from view before inhaling through my nose. "Well, you've got the rest of the day to shake it off."
"And if I can't?"
"I'll still be here at seven to pick you up."
She nodded and took a step back towards the door.
"And wear some comfortable shoes."
She raised her eyebrows. "Who's the bossy one now?"
"I know how you city girls are-"
"Oh? And how's that?"
"You all think every situation calls for heels."
"Not all of us are like that."
"Prove it," I said.
"Why does it matter to you if my shoes are comfortable?"
I smiled. "Cause. I like a girl that can keep up."
Chapter 14: Addison
I closed the front door and pressed my back to it, letting my head fall against it.
What the hell had I agreed to?!
A drink. That was all.
And yet somehow accepting his invitation didn't seem nearly as harmless as agreeing to a drink should feel. It was like there was this undercurrent of tension between us that made the forest fall silent.
Which of course it hadn't, but it was only now that I couldn't see him- now that he couldn’t see me- that I could hear the birds again, that I could breathe.
It was like an out of body experience. I mean, I wanted to say no in the moment. Everything in my head was telling me not to go anywhere with him.
After all, between his unruly hair and his muscles, I’d be lying if I said I felt safe around him. I shuddered at the memory of how his abs fought for my attention. Did they have to be on display like that?
Not that I could blame him. If I had his abs, I'd probably have framed pictures of them on the wall.
I shook my head.
I still wanted to say no. I wanted to march outside and tell him I changed my mind. But I couldn't. It was like my feet wouldn't let me, like my body was dictating my behavior instead of my brain, which had never happened to me before.
Nope. There was no doubt about it. It was my body that wanted to go for a drink with Wyatt, and the part that was most interested was the small coil of warmth he'd awoken just behind my belly button.
It was a sensation I hadn't had in a long time, but I recognized it. I’d had it before. Maybe three times.
The first time was when I was sixteen and Ryan Johnson called me by name in gym class when I didn't realize he knew I existed. The second time I got that funny feeling was when I stayed after class one day in college to talk to Professor Grant. There was just something about his hands when he shuffled and stacked papers that made me feel lightheaded.
And then there was Wyatt, who I’d felt uneasy around from the moment I saw that drop of sweat disappear behind his belt buckle.
Worst of all, I could see he thought something more was going to happen. It was written all over his smug face. He didn't even try to hide it.
Which was confusing.
On one hand, it made me feel like I was in some kind of strange sexual danger that excited me just a smidge more than it terrified me. On the other hand, it was kind of refreshing.
It made me feel brave. Like if he was going to be bold, then I could be bold, too. It was the opposite of how I usually felt around guys, which was that I had to pretend to be softer than I was.
Most of the guys I'd gone out with in the last few years- usually just the once- all tried so hard to be gentlemen that they never really said what they wanted. Which was exhausting for me because it meant I was constantly under pressure to think of polite new ways to reject them.
Whereas if Wyatt tried something, I could just tell him I wasn't interested without having to waste my energy coming up with some reason that wouldn’t hurt his feelings.
I could just be like, “it's not me, it's you, and I’m not interested.” Then again, part of me doubted that I would actually be able to say that to his face.
Maybe I could do it if I didn't look in his eyes, which were dark and deep and made me feel like I couldn't trust my knees.
A moment later, I heard him hammer something outside, hard and rhythmically, and for a split second, I let myself wonder what it would be like to let him bang me like that.
I mean, I should at least consider it, right? It was doctor's orders. And I got the impression that he would be up for it, like his taste in women wasn’t all that discriminating.
And then I felt a chill at the back of my neck thinking about the way his eyes had slid up and down my legs, like he already took me for a test drive or something.
I flinched at the sound of the next nail being driven into the porch, but stayed frozen against the door.
It felt good to feel wanted that way. It had been a while since… well there was no need to get specific about it. But an evening of harmless flirtation might be good for me, and he was easy on the eyes.
Plus, it would definitely help pass the time.
But I couldn't give into him. Not like that. Regardless of how persuasive he was or how easy the beers went down or how badly my body was screaming for it, I had to keep my knees together.
He was a freaking handyman. Not that there was anything wrong with a hard day’s work, but what could we possibly have in common?
Holly would never let me live it down. I could already imagine how the joke would never die. It would be revived every time we passed men in hard hats. Then again, who was she to talk? She couldn't keep her pants on around the only guy on the planet she swore she'd never be with again.
And she didn't have to know.
Cause it was only a drink.
I mean, I'd gone for drinks with lots of men and nothing ever came of it. All I had to do was remember how I’d handled myself in the past.
Besides, now that he’d convinced me he wasn’t going to chop my body up into tiny bits and take me fishing, I should probably just try and look forward to it.
But that seemed too dangerous. Because he made me feel like I couldn't trust myself, and that was a very uncomfortable feeling indeed.
After all, I'd been the only person I could trust for as long as I could remember, and it terrified me to think I might forget that because of the greedy eyes of a gorgeous man.
No. It was non-negotiable. My ability to maintain control was my greatest asset. And I wasn't about to give it up for one night with a set of arrogant abs and a head of hair that made me feel like a boy crazy seventeen year old.
But once again, my body hijacked my thoughts, and my breath caught in my throat as I thought back to the way he op
ened that jar. Like it was nothing.
And I feared if I didn’t keep my wits about me, he'd have no more trouble with my legs.
Chapter 15: Wyatt
I was in a trance for the rest of the day. I got a good day's work in, of course, but looking back, it felt like someone else must've been doing it under my nose.
Because I was completely distracted.
Every piece of wood I turned over in my hands made me think of Addison's smooth thighs. Every nail I pulled from my tool box made me wonder what it would be like to pinch her nipples between my fingers. Even when I was power washing her neighbor’s boathouse, the relentless dripping filled my mind with filth.
Needless to say, the time passed quickly.
Which was a strange feeling for me.
I wasn't used to anticipating dates or drinks. Or even asking women out. Not that I didn't know how. Not only did I know how, I don’t think I’d ever had to take no for an answer. However, when it came to Addison, it was pretty obvious I needed to let her think she was in control.
Which was a charade I was prepared to put on if it got me what I wanted.
Still, as I drove home to get cleaned up, I struggled to remember when the last time was that I'd invited a woman for a drink that I hadn’t met in the same bar minutes earlier. But I couldn't think of anyone. Probably because being in a boy band made it stupid easy. Most of the time, I didn’t even have to say anything.
Back in the day, by the time a fan met me, she’d have the fantasy of me built up in her head so vividly that all I had to do was not ruin it for her… which usually meant keeping my mouth shut and letting her screw me. Of course, if I had to say something, I could always rip off some sweet nothings from the hundreds of lyrics that didn't make it onto our last album.
And at the end of a night like that, everybody wins.
The only difference these days was that now I did the screwing, telling women whatever they wanted to hear so I could keep enjoying the one night stands I’d become so accustomed to on the road.
But there was something unfamiliar about the way this evening with Addison was shaping up.
I told her my real name for one.
Which I never did anymore for a whole heap of reasons, the least of which was my reputation. Besides, using a fake name made it easy to keep things from getting real. And when things don’t get real, no one gets hurt.
But I guess I needed to get a few drinks deep in order to lie through my teeth because I told her my real name without even considering the implications.
And she'd insisted on calling me by it even when I told her most of my friends called me something else.
Which was cute.
After all, I didn't want to be friends either.
She was too fucking hot for one. Even the thought of her dark red hair falling over her shoulders was enough to make me want to pound her into submission.
And I liked her pouty mouth and the ridiculously defensive lines that sprang from it. Her feisty personality was refreshing.
Plus, she seemed like a challenge, and as I drifted into the fast lane on the highway, I let myself anticipate the thrill of the chase.
Cause there would definitely be one. Even getting her to go for one measly drink was tougher than I’d expected, but hopefully she’d relax with some lubricant. I wasn’t trying to get her sloppy or anything, but her stress level that morning was tangible.
And I had to believe she had another side. Cause no one could be that much hard work all the time.
Not that I was afraid of hard work.
What I was afraid of was finding myself with one more woman who was so hungry for a fuck that I was bored before I even made a move. The only thing worse than that was a woman who was easy but felt compelled to tell me that she wasn't five hundred times.
I knew it was just something women said to make themselves feel better about sleeping with someone they just met, but I’d never been comforted by too much talking, especially when it was nothing more than the woman repeating that she “doesn't usually do this sort of thing.”
Gimme a break. If a woman meets a guy a bar, and he’s fucking her in her apartment two hours later, she should do herself a favor and stop insisting how out of character the whole thing is for her.
Cause he doesn’t give a fuck if he’s already inside her.
Plus, the more a woman goes on about not being "that kind of girl," the more it makes it sound like she thinks I'm that kind of guy. And maybe I am, but I don't go home with women and fuck them to be judged. If I wanted to be judged, I'd stay in the bar, use my real name, and tell people why I really left the band.
But that would only make me feel fucked in a way that was far less enjoyable and infinitely more complicated.
So I couldn't let that happen.
Still, wanting to get laid was nothing to be ashamed of.
But my short conversation with Addison made it clear that she wasn’t going to be my typical target. Tonight I would be the one thinking, “I don't normally do this kind of thing.”
Not that I’d ever say it.
But it was true. Impressing such a difficult woman was going to be tricky. Even the mildest flirtation that morning seemed to give her a chill.
And I was eager to give her a lot more than a chill.
In fact, every time I blinked, some sexy part of her flashed at the back of my eyelids- her lips- her hair- her thighs- the hint of pale cleavage between her breasts.
I wanted to know what every single part of her tasted like, and I didn't want to stop there. I wanted to know what shade her nipples turned when I touched them, when I sucked them, and when I kneaded them.
Cause I swear to god I needed them.
And I knew what she needed, too.
She needed the ground to fall out from under her as she stood on quaking legs and mumbled my name in a whisper so soft she didn't recognize her own voice.
She needed to be knocked down a peg or two until she was on her back naked and begging for it, unable to remember anything except for the fact that she was mine for the night.
And I couldn't wait to give her what she needed.
Anything to see her smile.
Chapter 16: Addison
I took a deep breath and tried to tell myself it was just like any other meeting.
Except I knew I was kidding myself.
For two reasons.
The first was that I didn't normally have meetings with guys like Wyatt, guys who acted like they had nothing to lose. It was an attitude that put me on edge and made me feel even more tightly wound than usual.
I wished I could relax for once, let my hair down, and have a good night, but I’d have to settle for the hair thing. At least it looked nice the way it fell around my shoulders, flicking up at the ends on its own.
But that was all I really had going for me. That and a black sundress I wished were a little shorter.
I knew it was just Holly's voice in my head. She was always trying to get me to show more skin, but I usually let my desire to be taken seriously by my male colleagues dictate my shopping purchases.
And along with keeping my hair back and my make-up minimal, I rarely had trouble getting the respect I deserved. But here I was layering on another coat of mascara and wishing my dress was shorter.
What was it about this guy that made me want to parade around like a bird of paradise?
It was so strange. I wanted to be put off by the fact that he undressed me with his eyes, letting them linger over my private parts till my mouth went dry. But if anything, I hoped he would objectify me some more.
What the hell was wrong with me?
As I leaned into the mirror to make sure my mascara hadn't come off in doll-like marks around my eyes, I considered the second reason this wasn't like any other meeting I'd ever had, which was that under normal circumstances, I would never walk into a meeting without knowing my objective.
Sure, maybe the only thing we needed to accomplish was to successfully
have a drink together, but I couldn’t stop thinking there might be more to it.
I mean, he'd joked so casually about making me scream, wondering aloud if I liked it rough and ignoring the fact that I found his vulgar sense of humor obnoxious.