Haring

"Got a minute?" Matt Corrigan asks, joining me at the keg set up in the backyard of his apartment building.

Shit. He's probably decided I've overstayed my welcome in one of the guest suites, since I've been here for six months. My sister keeps telling me no one cares how long I stay, but I know that’s not true. I see the pitying looks thrown my way, because they all know what a fuck-up I am. I see them, but I pretend I don’t, because none of us want to talk about it, especially not me.

"Sure."

"You might have heard I'm building a new headquarters for the company, so we can have more space for everyone—and everything."

"Yeah. My sister's excited about the thought of new technology, and a new cafeteria.”

"Everyone’s obsession with the damn cafeteria is amusing, so I can’t wait for them to see what else I have planned.”

The Corrigan & Co. cafeteria is the stuff of legends. As someone who’s seen it, I can agree that all the hype is real. “Something better than the cafeteria? This I have to hear!”

“You too?” he asks, shaking his head. “The old building will come down immediately after we've moved, and I want to build something new there. A recreational center like no other, for my employees and their families. I'm toying with the idea of letting charities and schools use it sometimes too, but I still have to work out insurance logistics."

"With basketball courts, and stuff?"

"Basketball, baseball, soccer, tennis, hockey, a roller rink, an indoor water park, a full miniature golf course, really anything you can think of."

"Me?"

"Yeah. I think you'd be the perfect person to manage the day-to-day operations for me, and I want you to be in on everything from the ground up. I want you to work on the design, and decide what needs to be included."

That sounds like a dream come true, but after losing my first dream, I'm a little wary these days. "You don't have to do that. I know I've been mooching, and I promise to get my act together, and find a job as soon as possible."

"I don't offer people jobs unless I mean it, and the job I'd like you to find is the one I'm offering you." There’s no anger in his words, but the power and truth behind them hit me full force, and I find a big lump in my throat, as I try not to choke up at his faith and trust in me.

"Thank you."

"Come see me on Monday, and we'll work out the terms."

He claps me on the back, and walks away, joining his wife and little boy on one of the covered beds around the pool. I'm humbled that he asked me to do this job, and jealous right now, because he has someone to go home to. Hell, I'm jealous he has a home at all. Not the place itself, but the feeling—and rightness—of knowing you belong. I lost that, along with the physical building I once owned, and I don't know if I'll ever get it back.

It's those thoughts that bring me back to the bar I haven't been to in over a month, later that evening. The one with the femme fatale who walked away from me. I'm not here to see her, or at least that's the lie I'm telling myself right now, as I finish my second vodka of the night. I want to be clear-headed if she walks through the door, but I also need some liquid courage.

"You're cut off," the bartender tells me, when I call him, to ask for a third.

"I've only had two," I protest.

"Take it up with the boss."

"Where is he?"

"She is right here."

I turn to see her standing behind me. Her. She's got her hair in waves again, and her curves are poured into black silk this time around. She looks even better than I remember, and I practically swallow my tongue as I take her in.

"You run this place?"

"Yes. Do you have a problem with that?"

"Only when you're cutting me off after two drinks."

She tips her chin, and the bartender gets lost. "Two, or twenty, it doesn't matter to me. I just want you sober enough to talk to me."

"I thought you found me boring."

"You were coming here every night to get drunk, and fucked—and that's pretty damn boring to me."

"And now?"

"Now, I might be willing to let you take me to dinner."

"I don't date."

"Pity," she says with a shrug. "Your drinks are on me tonight, so you can leave any time you're ready."

"I'll be ready after a few more drinks, and a conversation with her."

I nod to the brunette who's been eye-fucking me since I got here. I wasn't interested—and honestly, I'm still not—but mindless fucks are pretty much all I'm good for, and I need this woman to realize that.

Even with Matt's offer, I still feel useless. I have a dream job offer, and I can only think of myself as a mess. I see myself as a failure, and nothing else. Because that’s what I am.

"You won't have a conversation with me, but you'll have one with someone else. Got it. I'll stop wasting my time."

She starts to walk away, and I grab her arm. "I'm not going to talk to her, Vixen. If I was in a place to talk to anyone, you'd be it. I just want to fuck."

"You left out the 'hard', and ‘rough’ this time."

"They’re a given, so no reason to mention them again."

"I'd tell you to come see me when you want more, but I'm not going to wait for you, Haring. I've got my own share of admirers, and they'd jump at the chance to have dinner with me."

"Cocky much?"

"Honest," she replies, flipping her hair over one shoulder.

I don't need to look past her to see the men who are hungrily eating her up with their eyes. Hell, I'm one of them. Anyone would be lucky to go on a date with her, but I’m just not in the right place for that.

"I wouldn't be good company."

"Let me be the judge of that."

One dinner. What can one dinner hurt? Maybe a lot, but I’m giving in anyway.

"Where am I picking you up tomorrow night?"

"I'll meet you at Public House 702 at six."

"Don't want me to know where you live?"

"A girl's gotta keep some things secret."

"Like her name?"

"It's Natasha, but I think I like you calling me Vixen."

Damn, if it doesn't fit the sultry vibe she's got going on. Both do, but I'm going for her given one first. Only I want something more from her. A piece of the woman she is when she’s with her friends.

"Nat or Tasha?"

"Natasha."

"I'll ask again when I'm fucking you."

She leans over to whisper in my ear, darting her tongue out to lick the shell of it first. "Unless you're a wizard, and your wand is magical, it's still going to be Natasha if I let you have the pleasure of my pussy."

I want to kiss her. I want to pull her mouth to mine, and claim her in front of this entire fucking bar. But, she's not mine to claim. Not now, and not ever. I'm only good for fucking. Playing and fucking. Fucking up and fucking. Yeah, I sometimes want more, but it's not going to happen anytime soon.

"I'll see you tomorrow, Natasha," I tell her, getting up from my seat, and walking out the door. After not-so-subtly brushing up against her, of course. She shivers, and unlike last time when she was talking about nightmares, I know she’s thinking of fantasies right now.

Natasha

What does one wear on a first date the man doesn't even want to be going on? After much deliberation, I put on a navy-blue dress with a keyhole in front, a wide belt at my waist, and a flirty skirt that hits above my knees. The curves I work so hard to maintain fill it out nicely, and I know Haring's going to eat me alive with those blue eyes of his when he sees me. That's all, though. Looking, and not touching. I have to be strong, and keep my legs closed tonight—even if it kills me.

I'm reminding myself of that when I walk into the restaurant, and see him waiting for me. His hair's the usual mess, his beard's closely cropped, and his smirk is in full-force. Add in the button-down with a generous amount of chest showing, and faded jeans, and yeah, I'm in sexual hell.

"You look ravishing, Natasha."

"You look like you forgot how to properly button your shirt."

He looks down to where at least four buttons are undone, then back at me. "Looks good to me."

I'm tempted to do one of two things; turn and walk away, or grab his open shirt, and kiss the fuck out of that damn mouth of his. I do neither, nodding to the host, and following him to our table. I know Haring's behind me, as I can hear his soft chuckle.

"How does your brain even fit in your skull along with that ego?"

"I work hard to make my body look this good. Am I supposed to pretend I don't know women like it enough to drop their panties in exchange for the chance to touch me?"

"Just a touch?"

"You want a taste, Vixen? Or I could just lift that flirty little skirt, and taste you. I’ll gladly crawl under the table in front of these nice people enjoying their dinner, and have an appetizer to hold me over."

"I want a drink." Or five.

I need alcohol. And a fan. No, some ice cubes to drop into the hole in my dress, because this man is making me practically combust just from his words.

"You can have one of those too," he says with a wink, and I realize how he took what I said.

"In your dreams." And my dreams too.

"Damn right."

I should've walked away. No, I should've run. I have to interact with him, but not like this. I don’t have to fuck him, or let him fuck me however he wants. Wherever he wants. When he wants. Oh God, I could maybe grab a cube from my water glass without him noticing, couldn’t I? I have to put a stop to this right now.

"Dinner. We're just having dinner."

"Whatever you say."

He "behaves" through dinner, as we drink beer, share a pizza, and talk. He doesn't tell me anything I don't already know about him, but I like that I'm hearing it from the source. Maybe I like it a little too much, because after my second beer, I let him rub his leg against mine, and wipe sauce from the corner of my mouth. I can't blame it on the alcohol, even though I want to.

It's the man. The man who tells me about growing up with his sister, and how he enjoyed high school, but not too much else. He doesn't mention Aiden Ford, or his connection to him. He doesn't mention why he left D.C., or the threats he lived under there. But, it doesn't matter, because he's telling me what he'd tell a woman on a first date, and that's exactly what I need to be right now. Just a woman on a date with a man. After all, I didn't tell him all my truths, either.

"Your place or mine?" Haring asks, once he's sent his credit card off with the waiter.

"Both."

"Both?"

"Yes. You're going to yours, and I'm going to mine."

"Seriously?"

"I told you I wasn't going to sleep with you."

But, oh how I want to. If he pushes me, I’m going to crumble like the Berlin Wall.

"That was last night. We just had dinner, and some great conversation."

"You're not going to tell me I owe you a fuck because you bought me dinner, are you?"

He sits back, and blows out a breath. "Never. I would never expect that. I just thought...we connected."

"We did, and I would love to go on a second date with you."

He looks me in the eye, and nods. "I’d like that too. Do I at least get to pick the place next time?"

"As long as it's not your bed, yes."

The waiter brings back the card, and Haring signs the slip, before standing, and holding out his hand to me. I take it, and revel in the simple act of holding this man's hand. It's dangerous for both of us, but I can't help myself. I need the contact.

It's even more dangerous for us when I let him cup my cheek and kiss me while I wait for my car to be brought around by the valet guy. It's a sweet, and almost chaste, touching of lips, nothing that should send my heart-racing. Yet, it does. Sex is one thing, but that beating organ in my chest needs to stay away from Haring Kingston. Far, far, away.