Chapter 2
One of the beautiful things about my brain is that whenever I’m nervous I can almost guarantee that within seconds I will find something that I can fixate on, to center me. Talking to a guy as hot as Cain had my palms sweating and my nipples tingling. I wanted to roll out the welcome mat to my vagina right there on the bar because he was that gorgeous. But that made me nervous. I knew I was being too literal. Knew I was being too straightforward. The rules of flirtation and polite society dictated you dance around the subject of sexual attraction with innuendos and hints. Only hookers asked you flat out if you wanted to fuck.
Hookers and me.
But I had been afraid my window of opportunity was short. Like only as long as it would take for him to finish his drink and lose interest, and clearly, the man could suck down a drink with warp speed. So I had thrown it out there, and holy hell, he had bitten. So I was nervous tenfold. Giddy. This man was going to be on top of me at some point during the night, in the world’s most unlikely pairing. That was the irony of sexual attraction though. It had nothing to do with likelihood and everything to do with pheromones and opportunity.
And I did not want to lose this particular opportunity. This was the nerd girl winning the lust lottery. But I was feeling it coming on—the twitch of OCD, the compulsive need to point out to him that I was a virgin and to question if he was okay with the brand of condom I had in my purse, but I knew if I spoke too much, I would freak him out, turn him off.
After Cain asked for his tab and the bartender set it down, I had the perfect distraction from my giddy nerves. A glance, even through my false eyelashes, easily showed me the math was off. “That total is wrong.”
“Huh?” Cain looked up at me. “It’s computerized. How can it be wrong?”
Because I had studied the drink menu four times, I had the prices memorized. “He charged you for the unicorn tears as a double shot, not a drink. The total is two dollars more than it should be.”
He slapped some money down and gave me a bemused look. “So I guess I just overpaid for unicorn tears. But really, can you put a price on unicorn tears?”
I opened my mouth. He startled me by putting his finger on my lips. “Shh. That’s a rhetorical question, Sophie.”
His touch was warm, firm. His finger large. I was surprised by how that simple gesture, that brush of his skin on mine, stoked the fires of arousal in me. I felt small and very feminine before him, his body broad, his smile naughty, mischievous.
“What’s your last name?” he asked. “I feel like I’m going to need to use it on you from time to time tonight.”
“Bigelow,” I murmured, vibrating his finger.
“Sophie Bigelow, sometimes questions don’t have answers.” He had the most amazing eyes. They were a pale blue, an icy cool. The color of the mineral azurite.
I couldn’t read his expression, but that didn’t surprise me. It wasn’t necessarily my strongest attribute—reading people. I waited a beat for him to remove his finger but he didn’t. He was closer to me than I knew was socially acceptable. Personal space boundaries I understood. I sought at least twenty-four inches between myself and other people at all times.
Except for Cain. I wanted no space between us. I wanted his body touching mine, everywhere.
So I spoke around his finger again, feeling warm and fluid. “Every question has an answer. Unless it’s mathematics. Then sometimes the answer is infinity.”
“Then I guess the price of unicorn tears is infinity.” He ran his finger over my bottom lip then slid his hand over to cup my cheek. I felt the air shift as he leaned in, like he was going to kiss me.
I hovered there, waiting for it. But he pulled back. “You’re very cute, do you know that?”
Disappointed that he didn’t take my mouth in a searing kiss, I reminded myself we were in public. Starting out with a make-out session in front of two dozen people was not keeping my business private. The point wasn’t to shout out to Camden that I needed a mercy fuck. And my sister was bearing down on us like Hurricane Bella. Without acknowledging his comment, I turned and put up my hand before Bella could speak. “I’m leaving. You’re staying here.”
Her jaw dropped. “What? Where are you going?”
“To a different bar with Cain. I’ll take an Uber home when I’m ready.”
She looked outraged. “You can’t do that! You can’t just wander around town with a total stranger!”
“I’m staying in public,” I lied. “What could happen to me?”
“I’ll make sure she gets home safe,” Cain said.
Bella clearly wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but she was far too polite for that.
“That’s nice of you and if you two want to keep chatting, there is no reason you can’t stay here,” Bella said. “With me. Or I can go to another bar with you. I’m not staying here without you.”
“I want to be alone with him,” I said. “You introduced me to him,” I added, knowing that would irritate her.
“This is a bad idea, Soph. You don’t know what you’re doing.”
“You told me I need to learn how to have fun.”
“Stop throwing my words back in my face!” She looked flustered and upset.
That wasn’t my goal. My goal was to get naked with Cain. I took her hands in mine, because she liked when I did that, or when I hugged her. “Bella, it’s cool. Everything is fine. I’m a big girl, remember? I won’t do anything stupid because you know I never do anything stupid.” I squeezed her hands to emphasize my words.
She started nodding, though her cheeks were still pink. “That’s true. That’s very true. But…are you sure you want to leave without me?” She looked a little hurt by that.
“It’s not that I want to leave. It’s that I don’t want you with me.” I tilted my head to gesture to Cain. I was playing the game her way. She would understand my wording. I leaned forward and murmured in her ear, “What if he’s the one?”
That was manipulative and outside my normal wheelhouse of tactics, but I knew it would work. Bella loved romance and love and weddings and she worried about my lack of dating. She wanted me to get married and have babies at the same time as she did so our kids could vacation together here in Maine at our parents’ house. She had a vision for the future and now her eyes lit up.
“Okay, but don’t go home with him. Just get his name or Snapchat or whatever after you hang out.”
“Sure,” I lied. “Let’s go. We’ll walk you out.”
When I turned Cain gave me a smirk. He had heard everything I had said. I just gave him a little shrug. Outside the bar Bella gave me a hug and another admonishment to not do anything stupid and to text her. She gave Cain a long look. “Don’t let her walk alone, please.”
“Never,” he said. He looked bored. Like Bella was getting on his nerves.
Afraid she was going to drive him away, I waved and just started walking down the sidewalk. “Where is the bar you wanted to go to?” I asked him. “Is this the right way?” I yanked up my dress at the chest. The push-up bra was sliding, dragging the dress down with it.
Glancing over, I saw he was staring at my half-bare breasts. He flicked his gaze upward to meet mine, unabashed at being caught. “Two doors down. The Thirsty Moose. It’s my usual place. Nice handling of your sister, by the way.”
I found it fascinating that he had a usual place. How many nights a week did he go to the bar? And why? “Sorry about Bella. She’s just looking out for me.”
The night air was warm, a soft breeze kicking my hair back off my shoulders. He was tall, his gait even, his attitude casual and confident and sexy. His eyebrows rose as he stopped and opened the door for me. “She doesn’t know that you’re trolling for sex, does she?”
That about summed it up. “No.”
“I’m not usually one to ask a lot of questions, but why are you trolling for sex? Aside from the obvious seeking an orgasm?” He gestured for me to go inside. “You don’t have a boyfriend you’re trying to make jealous, do you? Because I am a lot of things, but a cheat isn’t one of them.”
That had never occurred to me. That he might think I was thinking to get even with a boyfriend. That people did that was bizarre to me, but I knew it was not exactly an anomaly in bar culture. I shook my head. “No. No boyfriend.”
He nodded. “Are you going in?”
I hesitated because honestly, I wanted him to go in first so I could see his ass, because I had a feeling it was a thing of beauty, but I realized there was no way to explain that without really appearing to objectify him. Which I was. I mean, I had spotted him and determined, without him ever speaking a word, that he was the one I wanted to divest me of my virginity, so that was basically the definition of objectification. Yet, it didn’t seem appropriate to be that brutally honest.
So I kept my mouth shut and stepped into the hushed atmosphere.
This bar was different. Darker. Full of wood paneling and wooden tables and barstools. It was quieter, warmer. The lighting was soft instead of harsh and there was no music playing. The floor was sticky and I was grateful for my Converse covering my feet from remnants of beers long ago spilled and dust and skin trapped inside those dried droplets. Cain waved to the bartender, who immediately poured him an amber-colored drink. Whiskey? I wasn’t sure, but that seemed likely.
He pulled a stool out for me and gestured for me to sit. I did, crossing my feet at the ankles. When the bartender put the drink in front of him, Cain said, “A Washington Apple for the lady. The drink, not the shot.”
The bartender slid his gaze over to me. He was in his thirties, bearded, heavyset, very coastal. Like he should be on a box of fish sticks. “Is that what you want?”
“What, you don’t trust me?” Cain asked, the corner of his mouth turning up.
“That’s what I want,” I told the bartender.
“Watch out for this guy,” the man said. “And don’t try to match him drink for drink. No one can keep up with him.”
Cain raised his glass and tossed it all down with one swig. “I’m fucking famous. What an honor.”
He clearly knew it was a dubious distinction, yet he looked amused at the same time.
“I know how much I can drink,” I said. “It’s one drink—”
Cain let out a laugh. It was a rusty laugh, like he didn’t indulge often. He cut me off. “Darryl, trust me, she has the math all worked out. This is Sophie, by the way. Sophie Bigelow, girl genius. Sophie, meet Darryl Jordan, my cousin.”
I didn’t get the impression Cain was making fun of me. Almost more that he was making fun of himself. But at the same time, I don’t necessarily trust my interpretation of people’s motives or feelings, so I just let it ride. “Nice to meet you, Darryl.”
“You, too.” He opened his mouth, like he was going to say more, but then he just shrugged. “I’ll get your drink.”
Cain’s hand drifted to my knee, his thumb rubbing over my bare flesh. I fought the urge to shiver. The simple touch of his firm, masculine fingers made me acutely aware of how short my dress was. His skin was callused, as if he had spent much of his life doing manual labor.
“Darryl is trying to warn you off me.”
“Why?”
“Maybe I’m the big, bad wolf.”
“Does that make me Little Red Riding Hood? I don’t think so.” The metaphor didn’t fit. I wasn’t wandering guilelessly. I was an equal predator, if that’s what he was.
“You did wander into my lair.” He gestured around him to the bar.
“That’s not the way the story goes.” I took the drink Darryl had set down and thanked him. He’d brought another whiskey for Cain as well. I lifted my glass and sipped. The drink was sweet, crisp. “Riding Hood is going to a safe haven and the wolf is lying in wait for her.”
Those light-blue eyes flickered with something. Respect? I wasn’t sure. “Then maybe I should get in your bed and coax you to me.”
My nervousness was dissipating. Now I just felt eager, excited to get to that point. His hand was still resting on my knee and I wished I could will it to go higher. “There are some interpretations of the Little Red Riding Hood story as her sexual awakening. Her empowerment in escaping the stomach of the wolf. The color of red being suggestive of her achieving the age of fertility and embracing the unknown, as in the first touch of a man.”
Cain gave me a sly, sexy smile. “You’re not going to want to escape me. I can promise you that.”
He was good at this. I took another sip, my hand trembling slightly, not from fear or tension, but from anticipation. “I’m ready when you are.”
His eyebrows went up. “I haven’t finished my drink, and I haven’t finished getting to know you a little. Unless you want this to be a completely anonymous fuck. Is that what you want, Sophie? You want to close your eyes and pretend I’m someone who broke your heart? Or pretend that I’m the guy you’ve always fantasized about?”
I shook my head, intrigued by how he seemed to like to push and pull. He wasn’t like most men, the practiced charm, the easy flirtation. The standard cheesy lines about my beauty, true or not. It made me feel even more confident I had chosen the right man because I didn’t want a bunch of proverbial smoke blown up my ass. I didn’t want to be needlessly flattered. “No. I’m not trying to get over someone or get back at someone. I just want to get my virginity behind me. It’s become inconvenient.”
Cain’s head tilted. “You’re a virgin?”
I nodded. “So maybe I am Little Red Riding Hood.”
Sophie was sipping her unicorn tears and watching me with those big, dark eyes. She was the most unusual girl I had ever encountered. And she was a virgin. Maybe that wasn’t totally surprising, but what was startling was the nonchalant way she mentioned it. No big deal. Like she hadn’t just asked me to fuck her, like she was used to casual hookups and wanted to dispense with the small-talk bullshit. Yet, that clearly wasn’t the truth.
What was also surprising was how hard my cock got thinking about burying inside her sweet, tight body. Every time she spoke, every tilt of her head, she got a little hotter to me. It was her intensity, her focus, her unblinking stare. I wanted that razor-sharp attention on me.
So she wanted a sexual awakening. There are a lot of things I can’t do. Stay sober. Forgive my ex or my brother. Be someone’s boyfriend. But this? I could fucking own this. I could be the big bad wolf all damn day long. I raised my glass to her. “All the better to eat you, my dear.”
Her cheeks flushed, but given her shallow breathing, I thought it was more from arousal than embarrassment. Her tits rose and fell above that black dress, enticing me. There was something so damn sexy about Sophie. The girl I had initially thought was a wallflower was so unique I knew I was in for something different. Different was good, because I was fucking bored. And that was dangerous. Bored meant I pushed it too far, drank to the next level, itched to get in fights, and tortured myself by driving by my mother’s house and staring at that little boy in the yard, being pushed on the same metal swing set I had played on as a kid.
Fuck that noise. I owed Sophie more than a drink if she could kick those crowded and nasty thoughts out of my head for a night.
“I’m glad my being a virgin doesn’t freak you out. I debated mentioning it, because I really don’t want you to feel it holds too much relevance, and retreat from me. But at the same time I feel it’s only fair and truthfully, in my own best interest in terms of potential pleasure, to let you know.”
Definitely different. “So it’s inconvenient and lacking in relevance? You want to expand on that?” I knew she would. This girl had an explanation for everything. Her being a virgin didn’t bother me. It would force me to not be lazy. Sometimes with the tourist girls, it was too easy—they squealed with fake enthusiasm and were eager to prove they were so sexy. I barely did a damn thing and they were professing they were coming. It was a lie, but I didn’t care, because I got off, and if for whatever reason they wanted to proclaim they had the world’s most trigger-sensitive clit, that was their issue, not mine.
Sophie was going to make me work and I needed the challenge. The nudge.
She took a bigger sip of her drink. It was half-empty now. She was on pace way ahead of her one drink per hour to stay reasonably sober, so I wanted to keep an eye on that. I didn’t want her shit-faced drunk, because what’s the fun of that?
“The thing is, it wasn’t a conscious choice. I had a boyfriend in college but it was more intellectual, you know, and then grad school is demanding, and suddenly here I am, almost twenty-five, and I’m a virgin. People think it’s weird. I don’t need another reason to be considered weird.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “So you want to just bang it out, no pun intended? I get that. So then you never have to have this conversation in the future with a man you actually want to date, right?”
Her eyes lit up. “That’s it, exactly. I mean, what kind of pressure is that on a budding relationship? He’s going to assume I want to go straight to the altar and that’s not it at all. I didn’t take a chastity vow. I just got distracted by quantifiable statistics.”
That made me grin. “Fuck, haven’t we all been distracted by that at one time or another?”
For a split second she didn’t react. Then she rolled her eyes. “Very funny. What do you do for a living?”
“I’m a lobster fisherman.”
“Really?” She fiddled with the neckline of her dress. Her finger ran back and forth, back and forth, distracting me. Math might preoccupy her, but that wasn’t what did it for me. It was her curvy little body, teasing me.
“I thought that was something they invented for Discovery Channel fake reality TV shows,” she added.
That amused me. “How do you think the pot gets filled at your daddy’s lobster boils? Someone’s gotta get that fucker out of the water.”
“I thought it would be corporations.”
What the hell? “That’s the first dumb thing I’ve heard you say.” I had no idea what she was even envisioning. “What do you think, there is a corporate submarine with a vacuum system?”
“I don’t know. Okay, so I’ve never really thought about it.”
“Clearly.” I nudged her knee with mine. “Don’t quit math, kid.”
She laughed outright, a hearty, melodic laugh that kicked me in the gut. Her laugh was free, beautiful. It was like for a split second she stopped thinking so hard and just enjoyed. God, maybe we weren’t that different. I thought too much too, a cyclone of stormy thoughts that spun me around and around, held up in the air, feet dangling far above solid ground.
“You’re very beautiful,” I told her, dropping my hand back onto her knee, wanting to feel her warm skin. “And I’m going to kiss you.”
Her laugh cut off and her eyes widened. “Okay.”
I spun her stool so she was facing me directly. Then I dragged it across the floor with a scrape, wanting her closer. She held on to the edges of the stool and waited, her pink, sweet lips parting. I cupped her cheeks with my rough hands, hands that have hauled too many traps, and pulled too many lines, adding hard layers of life onto my skin. She was soft, amazingly so. Smooth like silk, yet warm, and when I lowered my mouth and took hers, she gave the most amazing little moan in the back of her throat.
There really is nothing like a first kiss. That moment when everything is hopeful, before everything turns to shit and hate and fuck-yous in the hallway. Before the cheating, the fights, the betrayal, and heartbreak. The first kiss is pure optimism and desire, not crowded and smothered with feelings, expectations, hurts. It’s just questing, curious. The precursor to passion.
It was a light kiss, easy, a quick, teasing taste, to show her what was to come. Her kiss wasn’t inexperienced. She knew how to move her head, how to open her lips for me, and how to kiss me in return.
She tasted sweet, like the whiskey and the sour apple pucker, and I drank her in, wanting more, just like I did with liquor.