“What are you drinking?” she asks.
“Jack on the rocks.” I hand her my drink.
She takes a sip and smiles. “I like it.”
“Really?” I take it back and add some Coke to it. “Try it now.”
“Oh, this is good.”
“So Jack and Coke. Got it.” We share a taste for the same drink. I wish I’d known that about her. “How about the music? You like this music?”
She cringes, so I know her answer right away. “Well, we’ll try to figure out what you like later, at home.” I shift around to grab another glass when I accidentally spill some of my drink on her.
“Ahhh, you’re getting me all wet.”
I laugh because this is not the first time I heard her say those words. And this time the memory brings a smile to my face.
April
“Oh God, oh God,” I moan into a hard, warm chest. What the hell happened last night?
I can’t afford to forget things that just happened when I’m still trying to remember everything from the past. Feeling embarrassed and confused, I sit up, pinching the bridge of my nose and shutting my eyes. My head feels like there is someone inside my brain using a jackhammer. As I look down, I hear an equally pained groan coming from Matt.
I pull on the long T-shirt I’m wearing—it smells just like the man I was just snuggling with—but I can tell that I’m completely nude underneath it. Then I look down at Matt. He has an arm covering his eyes and the sheets have fallen low on his abdomen. I’m tempted to lift them to see if he’s wearing something underneath. But instead my eyes roam over his bare body.
Tanned, toned, every single abdominal muscle etched out like a Greek statue. I notice that he has a small word tattooed on his side, and I lean down to read it.
Panic, it says.
Moving his arm from his face, he opens one eye and then slowly the other. When his eyes meet mine, he shuts them tightly and groans, “Fuuuuck.”
Well, that’s a blow to my ego.
Running a palm down his face, he sits up and throws his legs over the side of the bed. I can now see he’s wearing a pair of navy blue gym shorts.
“Did something…did we do something last night?” I ask, trying to focus on the memories. Vodka, wine, rum, gin, beer, whiskey. We tried it all in order to jolt me into remembering what other drinks I liked. It did nothing to help me remember and everything to help me forget whatever happened after the white wine.
He looks over his shoulder at me. His face is a mask, and I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Is he mad I’m here? Does he regret us sleeping together, even though I think we didn’t actually sleep together? I wish I could get inside his mind. He’s facing forward now, his head hanging low. There’s a tattoo on his shoulder blade of the scales of justice, the image distorted, making it look as if it’s melting down his back. As I’m wondering what it means, he stands up and without looking back at me says, “Woman, if we had fucked, I guarantee you’d have remembered.”
Woman.
A motorcycle.
Balloons.
I’m smiling deliriously.
I’m happy.
The way he says “woman” does something to me. It’s familiar. He’s called me that before. And somehow that triggers scenes to flash through my mind. Like waking up from a dream you want to hold on to, but when you start to think about it, you can’t really make it out. Just flashes of images.
“But…I don’t remember,” I whisper, mostly to myself.
He stops as he is about to step out of the room and turns to look at me. I think he thinks I’m criticizing his abilities in the bedroom.
“Excuse me?”
“We’ve had sex before. Of course we have. Why didn’t I think about that before?” How can I not even remember that?
He just stares at me, and suddenly I’m furious at his reticence. I’m starting to hate this secretive part of Matt, I know that there’s more that he’s not telling me. I can feel it. “Guess it wasn’t so memorable,” I say snarkily, and walk right past him to the bathroom, shutting the door behind me. But before I can lock it, he opens it and stalks toward me. My heart begins to beat faster and faster, and I take a step back and then another one until my back hits the sink. “You’re back,” he says in a deep voice.
Now it’s my turn to look confused.
He runs his palm sweetly down my cheek and then down my throat and around, until he’s gripping the back of my neck, forcing my head up so that I have to look into his eyes. “This is you. Feisty. Full of fuckin’ sass. I don’t care what you pretended to be back then, but woman, that sass, that shit was all the real you.”
“Matt,” I whisper, my mind racing in tempo with my heart and my libido. His eyes are wild and he looks predatory. “I don’t know what that means.”
“It means you didn’t lie about everything.” His face goes from serious to a big dimpled smile that warms my heart. He kisses my forehead before he lets go of my neck. “Makes me damn happy. Damn happy,” he repeats, almost to himself, before he closes the door leaving me alone, confused, hungover, and—damn it—horny.
—
After brushing my teeth and trying my best not to throw up, I pad to the kitchen, where I find Matt downing aspirin. “Here,” he offers, handing me two along with a glass of water.
“What the hell happened?”
“You don’t remember?” he asks, dropping two slices of bread into the toaster.
“Well, yeah. Sort of. We drank too much and we stumbled back here.”
“You needed help taking off your shirt. You said your ugly clothes needed to be burned. And then you sat on my bed and just sort of conked out.”
I cringe, and he smiles. “I wasn’t too far behind you—I fell asleep almost immediately too. It was a fun night.”
“It was,” I agree. “Thank you. I think I needed that.”
“We both did.”
“Can you explain what you meant just now, please?”
He gestures to the chair, and I sit. Just then the toast pops up.
Handing me one of the dry slices, he takes the other one and sits across from me. “I don’t know if telling you this is a good idea, but I’m going to do it anyway. I met you at my club, and the short version of the story is that we started dating. I fell for you hard. Like…” He shakes his head as if he’s trying to banish something from his mind. “Like I’ve never fallen for another woman. Except you told me your name was June Simpson and you were a pharmaceutical rep. For the better part of a year that is what I knew about you. You traveled for work, but when you weren’t traveling we were mostly together. I thought you felt the same about me. In fact, you told me you did. Then one day you just disappeared, and I didn’t see you again until a week before you were attacked. When we had a nasty fight.”
The small gnawing feeling in my head quickly turns into a locomotive ramming into my skull. “What? I disappeared? June? I don’t…I don’t understand.”
“Damn it,” he curses, quickly walking around the table and kneeling next to me. He grabs my hands and looks me in the eyes. “I didn’t want to upset you. Maybe I shouldn’t have…”
“No, no, please. Tell me. I need to know.”
“April—”
“Matt, please. Tell me. Keep going,” I plead. “I don’t know who I am, and now you’re giving me a different name and a different profession, and it’s just confusing me so much. Please.”
“Okay, okay.” He takes a breath, pulls the chair close to me, and sits back down, then grabs my hand again. “I don’t know the entire story or your version because—I’m not going to lie—I was an asshole when I saw you again, and I refused to listen. But apparently you were an undercover cop.”
“I knew that about myself already. Dean told me.”
“But you were working my club. Your information is what brought down my father.”
I let go of his hand as if it’s a live snake about to bite me. I stand up, pushing back the chair as I do. “Wha
t?”
“My dad, he’s in prison.”
“In prison? For what? For how long?”
“The charges were drug trafficking, conspiracy, and racketeering, and he’ll be in there for the rest of his life.”
“Oh. My. God,” I exclaim, running my hands through my hair. “I had your father arrested and given a life sentence?”
“No, not exactly. He doesn’t have a life sentence, but he’s old and the reality is he’ll probably die in there.”
“Why are you being so blasé about this?”
“I’m not. I’ve been angry, sad, then back to angry for a year now. I’ve had time to process it. You haven’t.”
“And it was me? I was the one that did this? You’re sure? No wonder you hate me.”
“I don’t hate you.”
“You should,” I exclaim. “I want more information. Why would I do that to you? That’s so…so…cruel.”
He doesn’t say anything back. I’m guessing he agrees with this statement. “I’m sorry,” I say at last.
“You can’t apologize for something you don’t remember having happened.”
How can I have done this? It’s so heartless. Did I lead him on? Did I really love him? I mean, he obviously loved me, but I can’t remember how I felt about him. And if what he’s saying is accurate, I may not have loved him back. I was just playing him. God, I’d hate me too. The nausea I was fighting roars back. “Oh, God,” I cry, gripping the edge of the table. “I—I…” I can’t finish the statement, and I run as quickly as I can to the bathroom before I throw up. I can’t think of anything but the way I feel. Confusion. Embarrassment, Sadness. When I’m done, I blindly flush the toilet and lay my head on the cold tile floor, which feels like the only good thing in my life at the moment.
Strong hands pull me up from the floor. “Come on,” he says once I’m on my feet. He hands me my toothbrush with paste already on it, and once I’m done, he gives me some 7-Up. “Slow sips.” I stand there waiting for my stomach to settle, and even though it eventually does, my emotions by no means do.
“I—I—” A sob escapes my lips. “I’m so sorry. I know you don’t want to hear it, but I am.”
Chapter 13
Matt
She doesn’t know what she did, yet she is still apologizing. I’m not sure how I feel about that. I do know I feel like an asshole that I told her. Maybe it wasn’t fair of me to do that. “I remember a little,” she admits, catching me off guard.
“What?”
“Not everything, but I remember going into a bar or something like that, and you being mad. I don’t remember the details—I just remember the feeling, sort of. It’s part of the dream I keep having.”
“Yeah,” I say, running my palm down my face. “I was mad.”
“You had every right to be.”
“You don’t even know what you’re talking about.”
“Are you defending me now? You understand why I did it? Because honestly, Matt, I don’t. I don’t understand why I’d do something like that.”
“It was work. Your career. Can I really blame you for that? From the first moment I saw you I wanted you. That’s never changed. I didn’t exactly make it easy for you to walk away.” I stalk toward her. Sleeping with her every night is hard, but sleeping with her while her defenses are down and she’s had one too many drinks—that was harder. Last night she snuggled closer to me, little moans escaping her lips as I brought her firmly against my chest. And now, with her wearing just my T-shirt, her long lean legs on display, my eyes roam from the tips of her toes up to the hem of that shirt. I know she’s wearing a pair of baby blue underwear because when she moves, her plump baby-blue-covered ass peeks out from underneath. I so want to pull those panties to the side, or rip them off, or slide them down, or…
She leans a hip on the vanity and crosses her arms over her chest, which lifts the bottom of the shirt higher and pushes her tits up. A groan escapes my lips, and I don’t even try to pretend it didn’t. I want this woman. I want April. And the way her lips turn up as she watches me watching her…I think she wants me too. “Is that some sort of cocky way of telling me that I had no way of resisting your charms?”
I shrug. “Are you telling me that you don’t feel the same way I feel? Fuck what happened before. Now, right this moment. You and me. Matt and April. You don’t want me? I don’t think I’ve kept it a secret. I may have fought it, but when you’re in my bed and my cock is pressed hard against you, there’s no hiding it.”
She pushes off the vanity and steps toward me confidently. I remember this. This is April. This is one of the parts of April that would peek out of June. Confidence. Which is sexy as fuck, and I don’t think I’ve ever wanted her more than I do now. Not even then.
She rests her palms on my chest. “I know how attracted I am to you now. I may not remember much, but I’m sure back then it wasn’t any different.” Her nails rake softly down. “We sleep together every night. Yet we pretend we don’t. How long are we going to keep pretending, Matt?”
“When I wake up before you, I stare at you for far too long. The way you automatically move toward me, seeking me out, even in sleep. The way your hair falls over your eyes and the soft little incoherent whispers you say in your sleep. You’re so soft and at peace, and it’s taken all the willpower I have not to kiss you.”
She moves in closer. Her body is now pressed to mine and she’s looking up at me. “Why are you exhausting all that willpower on such a stupid thing?”
“If I kiss you, April. I may not be able to stop at just that.”
“Who said anything about stopping?”
A low, almost feral groan vibrates through me.
I take her face in my palms and do exactly what I’ve wanted to do for a year: kiss my woman. Kiss her hard and soft. Sweet and roughly. All my feelings pouring out with just a kiss.
“I missed your mouth so much,” I tell her.
I know she can’t repeat the sentiment, but she doesn’t have to because I can tell she’s enjoying this as much as I am. Whether she thinks it’s our first kiss or the hundredth, this—this is perfect. We kiss there, in the middle of my bathroom, for far too long. I’ve never spent so much time kissing a woman. Slowly and softly I explore her mouth and she sucks on my tongue and nips at my bottom lip. “I like doing this,” she says, eyes smiling back at me.
I take her hand and lead her to the living room so we can get comfortable and kiss some more when I hear someone knock on my front door.
I throw my head back against the couch. “Go away!”
“I hope everyone’s dressed,” I hear Nick say as he opens the front door. Of course, the motherfucker decides today is the day to use his spare key.
“No. We’re naked. Go the fuck away.”
I hear another man’s chuckle, and then I’m watching Nick and Fox walk into the living room.
“Thought you’d like your bike back,” Nick says, dangling my keys in front of me. I search my memory bank and remember we had to come home in a taxi last night. I put out my palm and he drops the keys.
“You mind if grab some coffee, boss?” Fox says, making himself at home. This is the first time he’s ever been here.
“Yes, I mind. Get out,” I say, but of course he and Nick are already filling a couple of mugs while I feel April’s shoulders shaking next to me. “This isn’t funny,” I whisper.
“Yo, April, how are you feeling?” Nick asks as he strolls his ass back to my living room and plops himself on one of the recliners.
“You guys were wrecked last night,” Fox says, making himself comfortable on my other recliner.
“What is going on right now?” I ask incredulously, pointing to the two men in front of me.
“Nothing, brother. Just visiting. Had to bring someone to take me back to the club, since I had to drive your bike back here. Fox was available.”
My eyebrows knit together as I look at Fox. “Why were you at the club so early?”
“Yeah,
why were you at the club so early?” Nick asks.
“Ooh, I know, I know.” As April finally speaks, she raises her hand like she’s in class. It’s cute as hell.
Nick laughs and points at April. “April for the win.”
“It’s because of that shy bartender, right? The one who was there last night. The one that made those Buttery Nipples.” She makes a gagging noise, and I recall the shots we downed last night.
“Dude, Lola?” Nick says with a glance at Fox, and I remember that Lola is on shift today, which means she’d be in early to prep her station. “We already talked to you about that. Leave her alone.”
“But she keeps rejecting me,” he says, as if it’s the most preposterous thing that’s ever happened.
“So take a hint.”
“How can she reject me without at least going out on one date?”
April shrugs. “Maybe she’s not attracted to you.”
He looks at her, his eyes wide, as if it had never once occurred to him that someone would just not like him.
“Babe, I think you broke him,” I whisper to April, and she laughs. Fox just continues to look perplexed.
“Seriously, man, she’s new, she’s shy. Just let her do her work. You don’t have to hit on every single female who walks into the club. In fact, it’s against the rules. We could—and probably should—fire you for that.”
“Like not attracted to me physically? Or to my personality?” he asks April, still on the topic of Lola possibly not being into him.
“Either. Both,” April says matter-of-factly.
His eyes get even larger.
“She’s so pretty, though,” he says, and it’s the first time I notice that he may genuinely like her. “And sweet. The other night, when it was pouring outside, I walked in, drenched, and she saw me and handed me a shot of bourbon to warm me up.”
“She did that for John and Raul too,” I say, talking about the valet guy and the other bouncer.
“What?” he yelps incredulously.
“We’ve talked about this longer than I ever wanted to. You two, out. You”—I point to Fox—“stop hitting on Lola.”
Make Me Stay: The Panic Series Page 19