Damn, but it’s been months since I had sex, and I want some. With him. The sooner the better.
We sit down at a quiet table in the bar area and I consider what to order. When he asks for a scotch on the rocks, I say I’d like the same.
“Scotch, huh?”
“Not always.”
“Why tonight?”
“Why not?”
He leans forward a little, folding his hands on the table between us. “You sure like answering questions with questions, huh?”
I’m about to say, Don’t you? when I realize that would be answering another question with a question.
“Hazard of the trade,” I say with a shrug.
“So you’re a reporter for the Seattle Sentinel.”
“Can’t wear the title of Ms. Seattle Sentinel otherwise.”
He grins and—fuck me!—those dimples. And also…fuck me. I mean it. Please.
“Are you from Seattle?”
I shake my head. “Nope. Delaware.”
“Roots there?”
“My parents. My sister.”
“Get back much?”
“Once or twice a year. I love them and I love visiting, but Seattle’s my home.”
He nods like he gets it. “Came west for a job?”
“No. For college,” I say. “I went to Evergreen State.”
“No kidding!”
“No kidding,” I say. “Communications major.”
“Right. Journalism.” His eyes narrow. “Hm. So, what’s your interest in the bears?”
Dare I tell him that my original interest in Sitka had nothing to do with bears? That it was a last-minute story idea I’d pitched after ogling his personal ad? That my true interest in Sitka was actually…him? Now, get in my bed, spread your legs and prepare to take my load. My cheeks flush as I recall my initial thoughts after reading his ad.
I’m saved from looking him in the eyes or responding to his question by the waitress, who reappears with our drinks.
“Here ya’ go, Luke. And here ya’ go…” She squints her eyes at me. “We haven’t met yet.” She shifts the tray to her side and offers me her hand. “I’m Francine. You’re…?”
Now, I know Sitka is small, but this is unreal. Does everyone know everyone? Is that even possible?
“Amanda McKendrick.”
“Well, hi there, Amanda McKendrick! A friend of Luke’s is a friend of mine. You visiting?”
I nod. “Uh-huh. From Seattle.”
“And how do y’all know each other, now?”
“We met through—”
Luke cuts me off. “We went to Evergreen together.”
I’m surprised I don’t get whiplash when I jerk my neck from Francine to face him.
“Is that right?” she says. “So we got a little college reunion going on here, huh? Well, I’ll be…”
“Hey, Fran, you got any of those pretzels?” asks Luke.
“For you and your school friend? Of course. No charge! I’ll go grab you a bowl.”
I’m still staring at Luke as she heads back to the bar. “Did you actually go to Evergreen?”
He nods. “Yep. Class of 2002.”
I laugh, shaking my head at the coincidence. “Class of 2006.”
“So you’re…thirty-two?”
“Exactly.”
He grins at me, lifting his glass. “Omnia Extares.”
I smile back at him, translating our school motto from Latin to English as I clink my glass against his. “Let it all hang out.”
We sip our scotch, our eyes locked together over the rim of our glasses in a look so intense neither of us notice Francine is back until a bowl of pretzels appears between us. Thankfully, she hurries away to another table, giving us some privacy.
As Luke pulls his glass from his lips, he sucks his lower lip between his teeth for a second, still staring at me, and I swear to God, that’s all it takes to start getting me wet. I cross my legs, lowering my own glass and taking a deep breath to calm my racing heart.
“So,” I say, placing my glass on the cocktail napkin and taking a handful of pretzels, “did I detect a slight note of panic in your voice when Francine asked how we met?”
He sits back in his chair. “I didn’t place that ad.”
“What do you mean?”
“My sister, Bonnie, placed it. Didn’t ask for my permission. For the record, I wouldn’t have said yes.”
“Huh. So how’d this—” I waggle my index finger between us. “—happen?”
He shifts in his seat, thinking over his answer. “I didn’t think I was ready yet. Turns out, I am.”
“Ready for what?”
“To meet someone.”
I don’t know what he’s looking for, but I’m the sort of girl who prefers to lay her cards on the table, and I’m definitely not looking for anything serious.
“I’m only up here for two weeks. Not long.”
“You, being a journalist, I figured,” he says, holding my eyes as he takes another sip of scotch.
Okay. Phew. So, we’re on the same page, right? We’re both looking for a fling. For some hopefully awesome, meaningless sex. I relax a little in my seat.
“Your sister’s—” I’m about to say got some balls, but he finishes the sentence for me.
“—the best,” he says firmly, laying his forearms on the table and clasping his fingers together. “I mean, I don’t always agree with her methods, but I know she has my best interests at heart. Wendy—my, um, my wife—she died a couple of years ago, and it’s been hard getting back out there, you know?”
“I don’t. Not really. I’ve never been married. I’ve never lost someone so close to me.” I lean forward a little, playing with the straw in my drink. “But I’m so sorry. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through. How did she—I don’t mean to pry, but—”
“She was in a car accident. Snowy night. Oil tanker coming from the other direction in the dark. Neither driver was really at fault. Both lost their lives.”
It’s not that I mean to touch him, but I feel so sad for him, suddenly my hands are over his, covering his, without permission. His eyes flick down, then quickly up.
“Sorry,” I whisper, pulling my hands away and lifting my glass to take a sip. When I do, I look up to find him staring at me.
“I don’t mind.”
Invisible filaments of electricity snap and crackle between us, and even though I can’t see them, I feel them. The air is wired, like the atmosphere before a lightning storm. And I don’t need to wonder if he feels it too. I can see it on his face—in the darkening of his eyes, in the tightening of his jaw, in the almost imperceptible flaring of his nostrils.
Want.
Desire.
Attraction.
I feel it too. Every tremor. Every vibration. Every tiny quake of energy between us.
It makes my inmost muscles coil, longing for something thick and hard to squeeze onto.
“Just to be clear: I’m not looking for anything serious,” I blurt out. “Just—just someone to hang out with while I’m up here doing the story.”
“I get it.” He nods once. “I’m game.”
We haven’t talked about his kids, but for whatever reason, I feel like they should be mentioned. “You’re a father.”
“I’m a man.”
Fuck, yes, you are.
“Are you getting over someone?” he asks me.
“Yeah. How did you know?”
“Sensed it.” He shrugs. “I wonder if we both came here tonight hoping to find a rebound.”
I know I did.
There’s something reassuring to know that we have this in common. Our motive for meeting is the same, which means there shouldn’t be any confusion or hurt feelings. It’s comforting. It’s exciting. I’m in unchartered territory with a complete stranger and it’s completely exhilarating.
“We can,” I say, feeling my heart speed up and my breath draw shallow, “use each other. Put some distance between the last perso
n and the next person.”
“The next person?” he asks, rubbing his bottom lip with his index finger.
“The next person. The real person. The person you find after me, and I find after you. The person we each end up with.” My breasts tingle a little as my nipples harden and I arch my back. It’s instinctual, I think, to show him what I’m offering. Like a male animal smelling a female’s ass before he mounts her. “Like you said, we’re both looking for a rebound. I’ll be that for you, if you’ll be that for me.”
“No strings attached?”
“None.”
“Just…sex?” he asks, the word heavy on his tongue. And fuck, but I want that tongue in my mouth, on my skin, swirling around my now-throbbing clit.
“Yeah,” I whisper, then laugh softly. “And maybe a little witty banter.”
That makes him smile, but only for a second.
He picks up his glass, finishes the remaining scotch in one gulp, then places it back down on the table. Leaning forward in his seat, he pulls out his wallet, grabs a twenty-dollar bill and slides it under the empty glass.
“Are you staying here?”
“No.”
“I’ll get us a room.”
My breath catches because that is the sexiest motherfucking thing I’ve ever heard. It makes me feel far naughtier and bolder than I’ve ever felt before.
“I’ll meet you at the elevator,” I say.
When he stands up, I can see the bulge of his cock straining against the crotch of his jeans. He could pull the tails of his flannel over it, to hide it, but he doesn’t. He lets me look. He wants me to look.
My mouth fucking waters.
“See you in a minute,” he says.
I lift my drink to my lips, watching him go, my body just about on fire to follow him. Instead I down the rest of my drink like he did and take out my phone, opening up a text chat to Leigh.
Manda: Met the single dad tonight. Super hot. Meeting him in a hotel room in five minutes. Fuck, Leigh! I’ve never done anything like this!!
Three dots appear instantly, and I can almost hear Leigh’s squeal all the way from Seattle.
Leigh: You slut!
One Hot Summer Page 40