Halfway through my ice cream fest, my friend Brian texts me, asking me to meet him at some sick party being held at the hottest new lounge in the Meatpacking District. After having a day from hell, a drink is sure to lift my spirits. My options for the evening are limited. Drown myself in sweet confections or try to be social and forget. Brian’s cute, and with all the bullshit over the last day with Axis, and being sexually harassed, having a drink and flirting—hell, maybe even taking it further than flirting—sounds like the perfect distraction I need. But now as I stand here all alone and waiting, it’s the worst idea in the world.
With a lift of my hand, I bring the shot of tequila to my mouth and down it in one long gulp.
“Rough day?” the bartender asks.
“Rough life,” I respond, and he lifts his eyebrow for me to expand on that statement. “Basically, I had to walk out on my dream job because my boss was a chauvinistic pig. Staying there would have had trouble written all over it.”
“Damn, that sucks. But look at the bright side. At least you aren’t that guy.” He nods, motioning at the guy on the dance floor making a complete ass of himself. He’s gyrating around to his own rhythm, one that does not match the beat of the music.
I throw my head back on a laugh as the man breaks into the running man. “This is true. Things can always be worse.”
He smiles and pours me another shot. “On me.”
By the time I down it, he’s moved on to the next patron, so I take the time to look at my phone to see if maybe Brian texted. Nothing.
“Did he stand you up?” the bartender asks over his shoulder as he pours a pint of beer.
“How do you know I’m waiting for a guy?”
The corners of his eyes crinkle and I can’t help but deflate at the prospect that everyone around me knows I’ve been stood up. Today has been a spirit crusher, and it just keeps getting worse. All I needed was one night. One freaking night to try to forget, but no.
“It’s his loss,” the bartender says with a small smile.
I smile back, my grin never reaching my eyes.
Standing to go, I look across the room and spot Brian. I scrunch my nose as I watch him kissing some hot blonde with a skirt that looks as if it could easily pass as underwear. Clearly, Brian’s all but forgotten about me. I really shouldn’t care, but I do. It’s just one more rejection I can’t handle. Not today. Without another word, I throw my credit card onto the bar. The bartender lifts it from the counter and heads over to the register to close out my tab. As I wait, my head turns around the space to search for the nearest exit. I need to get out of here before I break down.
As soon as I have the bill squared away, I head toward a side exit. I shiver when the burst of chilled air assaults me. My arms wrap around my body, clinging tightly, trying to stave off the tears. It’s no use. I swipe a stray teardrop from my cheek and hurry my steps, eager to get as far from this place as possible. I’m rounding the corner when I collide with a hard body.
“Whoa there,” a throaty, masculine voice curls around me. Hands grip my shoulders to steady me. “You came awful fast around that corner.” The man chuckles.
I don’t say a word. What’s there to say? If I speak, I might break. A whimper escapes my mouth instead.
“Hey. Are you okay?” He removes his grasp, leaving me vacant and unsteady without it.
The man bends down so we’re eye to eye. My breath hitches and butterflies take flight. Even in the dark I can tell this man is attractive. No, that’s not the right word. He’s beautiful, absolutely gorgeous, and here I am having a meltdown in his arms. Fabulous fucking day.
“Can you hear me?” He is pulling me out of my inner ramblings. I search his eyes, unable to discern what color they are, but they’re large and expressive. Right now, he’s clearly concerned, and that thought has me coming to my senses and backing away.
Wet rivulets cascade down my face and I try to swipe them away. “I’m fine.”
“Did someone hurt you?” he asks, his friendly tone taking a possessive cut, that’s rough around the edges. Almost scary. I would not want to cross this man.
He doesn’t know a thing about me, but he’s acting like he’s ready to go toe to toe with whoever has me in this state. My head cocks to the side, and I take him in, my curiosity piqued. He’s breathtaking. Tall and lean, easily six foot three. He runs his fingers through his unruly brown locks, and suddenly, I imagine my own hands brushing through them. My face warms to what I believe is a crimson blush.
“I’m really sorry. I didn’t mean to run into you,” I offer, trying desperately to resurrect my current state. He probably thinks I’m a crazy person. I run into him and then I don’t speak for what feels like an hour while he assesses my state of unrest. It’s humiliating. Especially given how well-put-together he is. Dressed from head to toe in what looks to be a fine Italian suit pressed to perfection and fitting his body like a glove. My mouth stands agape, and it’s not until he chuckles at my perusal that I’m brought back to Earth.
Pull yourself together.
“I’m fine. I’ve just had a really bad night,” I offer as a lame attempt to move the conversation forward.
“Me too. Is there a guy back there I need to have a word with?” the stranger offers, smirking as my eyes widen.
“No. I mean, yes, but no. It wouldn’t be worth speaking to him. His tongue is lodged down some busty blonde’s throat. It’s fine, though. I wasn’t really into him anyway. I just had a bad day and was looking forward to some decent conversation, drinks, and a night to forget, ya know? It’s my fault for caring. I shouldn’t.” My recount of the night explodes from my mouth in a waterfall of word vomit. When I’m uncomfortable, I ramble. It’s always been a nervous tic.
“Anyway, I should’ve stayed home and worked on my apology to this temp agency I’m currently working with. I up and left a high-profile client today because he couldn’t keep his hands to himself, and now Karen’s going to kill me, but that’s my problem, not yours, and anyway . . .”
His eyes are wide.
“Slow down. Who put their hands on you?”
I stare, dumbstruck. One simple phrase from a stranger and I’m completely paralyzed in place. Nobody in my life has ever shown that much concern, and this is a total stranger. “I . . . It . . . It was just this guy I was working for. Nothing happened. I left.” My head hangs in shame.
“Hey . . .” He tilts my chin upward so I’m staring directly into his caring eyes. “You don’t have to be embarrassed about someone else’s actions. He clearly upset you, which means you had every right to walk out. Don’t let this Karen woman make you feel like you did something wrong.”
This man has me glued to this spot, completely off-kilter. He listened to every word I spewed. Has anyone ever done that before? Not for a long time . . . Not since all the shit hit the fan with my family when I was back in high school. Ever since my senior year, everything has been about my father having an affair on my mom. Or about my best friend, Lynn, actually being the product of said affair. Just as life finally calmed down, and maybe I’d be noticed and appreciated for my own merits, everything was about Olivia and her partying and drug use. It’s been so long since I’ve not been compared to my sisters and their flaws and someone paid attention to just me; I can’t stifle the need to bask in it.
“Okay,” I whisper, not knowing what else to say.
“You’re cold.” He rubs his hands up and down my shoulders. “Let’s get you somewhere warm.”
His arm comes around my shoulder, pulling me into him. The scent of peppermint and wintergreen assault my senses in a wonderful euphoria. I sigh. It doesn’t go unnoticed based on the light chuckle coming from the stranger. I snuggle into him without thinking and almost immediately come out of the fog he’s had me in.
I stop in my tracks and whip around until I’m facing him. “Wait. Where are you taking me? I don’t know you.” It sounds ridiculously stranger-danger, but not so much after getting sexually assaulted by Mr. Lawson. I might as well wear a Me Too neon shirt. This stranger might be nice and handsome, but wasn’t Jeffery Dahmer the same way?
His hands come up in surrender. “I’m just trying to help. You were upset, and it seems like you could use some company. I thought we could go get a drink.” He shuffles on his feet.
I groan. “I’m sorry. I’m acting erratically. It’s just been one hell of a day.”
“Like I said, I get it. My day has been one for the books too.” He drags his straight teeth along his lower lip and fire shoots to my core. It’s so sexy I can hardly contain a whimper. This man is like nothing I’ve ever seen. “I think we could both use a drink.”
“Just one,” I say, convincing myself more than him.
“We’ll see.” He winks cockily, and I’m a goner. “So, Miss . . . ?” His invitation hangs in the air, waiting for me to pluck it, press it into my chest and RSVP the hell out of it.
“Bridget. Just Bridget.” Not a good time to give him my last name. Again. Stranger-danger.
“Bridget.” He tries the name out, smiling. “Let’s go.”
“Are you going to tell me yours?” I protest.
“Maybe.”
I laugh. He does, too. It feels good, and for the first time today, I don’t feel like a truck ran me over. “Grant.”
Even his name is sexy.
“All right, Grant. Lead the way.”
He could tell me we’re headed to hell, and I’d go without a fuss at this point. It’s stupid and irresponsible, but I couldn’t care less. I don’t have to be perfect tonight. I don’t have to compare myself to anyone. No one knows me here. He doesn’t know me. I can be whatever I want to be, even if that means having an impromptu drink with a complete stranger.
We don’t walk far before we approach a tall brick building. A door I didn’t even see opens and a tall, smartly-dressed man steps out.
“Sir. Welcome. Your table is ready for you.”
“Gerald.” He tips his head down, and apparently that’s his version of thank you. “I’ll have a plus-one this evening.”
“Of course, sir.”
The gentleman named Gerald moves aside, ushering us through the door. A dimly-lit lounge greets us. There are private booths surrounded by white satin drapes and tables littered throughout the room. The place is moderately full with several of the tables still open.
“Right this way,” Gerald calls. He leads us to one of the more private sections with white drapes obscuring our view of the other patrons. With the night I’ve had, privacy is welcome. “Can I get you something to drink?”
“What will it be?” Grant asks.
“A shot of tequila,” my inner college girl blurts out.
“Gerald, two shots of Don Julio 1942.” Grant surprises me, not batting a sexy eyelash.
“Sir.” Gerald nods before walking off. I turn around to Grant with a smile that hurts my cheeks. “Don Julio? Who are you trying to impress?”
“You,” he says simply, his eyes meeting mine, nonchalant and challenging. My heart is in my throat, my pulse hammering against my neck. This. Man. Then he continues, “You’re upset. You need something worth drinking.” Cyanide sounds like a good idea. But of course, I keep my snark to myself. Miss 3rd place, remember?
“I’m fine, really. I just needed to get out of there.”
Our shots arrive in record time. Grant raises his glass to me. “To bad days and better nights.” His voice turns husky on the word nights, and it makes my stomach warm with innuendo.
“I’ll drink to that.”
We clink glasses and tip them back. The liquid is smooth going down my throat, slowly melting away all the tension that was still harboring in my shoulders. As I’m lowering my glass to the table, my eyes catch Grant’s. Feeling unnerved, my gaze drifts, and I watch as his throat gulps down the liquid. The motion is so sexy I find myself swallowing in response. The room heats, and I can’t shake the awkwardness at having this beautiful man sitting across from me. I literally ran into him, while crying over a guy I had no real interest in.
He waves to the new waitress. “Another.”
After our second drink, I’m much looser. We’ve talked about nothing in particular, but it’s nice to let go and have fun for once, especially after my job debacle. He brought me to some swanky club that’s for members only. High roller members from the looks of things. It’s nothing but fancy suits and tumblers of pricey scotch. I might have gone to private school and grown up wanting for nothing, but this is a whole new level of wealth. I’m out of my element, but the man next to me manages to make me feel like I belong here.
“So, tell me what happened. Maybe a bit slower this time.” He smirks, and heat spreads through me. First from embarrassment from my rambling, but soon it transforms into something else. Understanding. This stranger with piercing green eyes looks at me like he understands. And the thought warms every molecule in my body.
“Oh, where to even start.” I look off toward the drapes, trying to avoid eye contact. It’s dark in our enclave. Only candlelight illuminates the space. They flicker like little fireflies on a warm summer night.
“The beginning is always a good place.” Grant’s deep voice pulls me from my thoughts, and I look up at him. We lock into a stare, and I swallow before speaking.
“It’s been a rough day.”
“We established that.”
I smile. “You said you’ve had a rough day, too?”
“Yep. It’s been a series of rough days. Hell, it’s been rough months. Fuck it, years.”
“I was basically sexually harassed at the workplace if it makes you feel any better,” I blurt out, and he sets his glass down.
“What do you mean, basically?”
“I got a job through a temp agency, and the guy was horrid. I left, but the problem is that it’s the Karen Michelle agency, and Karen Michelle is the best.” I roll my eyes. “But enough about me. What about you?”
“You did the right thing in leaving. Karen will have to deal with it unless she wants one of her clients to have a lawsuit on their hands. Sexual harassment is no joke, Bridget, and you shouldn’t make light of it.”
“I’ll deal with it. Just not tonight.” I beg him with my eyes to drop the subject. He catches the drift by lifting his tumbler to his mouth and taking a gulp of the amber liquid. “So, what’s your deal?”
He groans. If he thought he was getting out of sharing, he’s sadly mistaken. “I’m having some interoffice conflict.”
“What does that even mean?”
“Too complicated to explain.”
“Well, I’ve probably had one too many to understand anyway.”
As I say the words, the lightheadedness rushes in. The drinks have been flowing like water as we’ve talked and enjoyed each other’s company.
“As have I.”
“So, let’s not discuss it anymore. Let’s have another drink.” I laugh. One more drink and his hand has found a resting place on the back of my chair. “Tell me something about you,” I demand playfully.
“Hmm . . . let me think.” He taps his chin. “I don’t have a lot of time to watch television, but when I do, I like to watch reruns of Cheers.”
My brow rises. “Cheers? Like the old bar show?”
“The old bar show? It’s a classic, Bridget.”
“Classic is the keyword here,” I deadpan, but I can’t stop my gaze from running over his every feature. He’s older than me. A few small creases etch away at his forehead, but they don’t take away from his devastatingly handsome face.
He chuckles, and tiny lines form on the outside of his perfectly delectable lips. “Well, I’m older than you, it would appear.”
“You don’t have to age yourself by admitting you like Cheers.” I bite my lip to stifle my chuckle.
“Hey”—Grant laughs—“you bruise my ego.”
“Don’t worry, pops. You’ve still got it going on.” I wink.
“You don’t say.”
Grant’s hand has moved from the back of my chair to my leg. I’m not sure when that happened, but the motion of his hand rubbing lightly against my exposed flesh has tingles shooting through my body.
Our eyes meet and heat pools behind his pupils. The lust is so thick in the air I can barely breathe. The need to touch him is intense. He leans into me, his mouth dangerously close to the shell of my ear.
“Want to get out of here?” My body shivers from the feeling of his words tickling my skin.
“Sure,” I rasp. It’s as though I’m in a heady trance, and leaving with him is my only option. Everything about this is wrong. On a normal night, this wouldn’t be happening. On a normal night, I wouldn’t leave with a stranger. But this isn’t a normal night. Lord knows I have no idea where it will lead, nor do I care.
He takes my hand turning abruptly, leading us out of the room. “This way,” Grant orders, his voice low and husky, dripping with a raw sexual undertone that makes it impossible not to agree.
“Okay.”
The rough pads of his fingertips trace a pattern against me, making me feel hot. Needy. Together we set out, his gait faster. His long strides pull me with him, out of the bar and down a back hall. I follow him down a long corridor, and then out a door that leads outside. Brisk air kisses my skin, and I realize we’re in the back alley.
“Where are we—” I’m pushed against the wall, forcefully. The hard edge of the brick bites my flesh.
“I want you,” he grates roughly. “Say yes.”
“What?” The word escapes on a breathy whisper as it takes everything in me to remain controlled. I’d only have to lean in a few inches and our lips would touch. I’d taste him. The thought sends a jolt to my core.
“Bridget,” he groans. “Say it. Tell me you want this. I’m losing patience not being able to kiss you, but I don’t want to be like the other asshole you’ve dealt with today. Say yes. I won’t take what’s not given freely.”
“Yes.” The word comes out harsh, desperate.
“Fuck,” he growls as his mouth descends. His tongue slides in, taking possession of all that I am.
I want every part of this man.
His hand slides up my side, leaving goose bumps in its wake. I’m electrified by his touch, emboldened by his arousal. I shouldn’t be allowing a stranger to have me pinned against the wall. I shouldn’t be going down this path. A war wages in my mind, but when determined fingers pull at my panties and cup my core, the battle is lost. He parts me. Slides his finger. Then another.
I need this.
My only choice is him.
My kisses are filled with desperation. All thoughts are of him claiming me, of his body pressed against mine, of how it would feel to have him inside me. A pleasure pain builds as he finds the sensitive spot and torments me. The friction of his ministrations has me clawing at him.
I need more.
So much more.
“Please,” I plead against his mouth. Pulling my lips away, we lock eyes. “Please.” I want him to take me. To fuck me against the wall in the back alley. I need him. The force of his movements increases.
I can feel it.
I can taste it.
The world around me fades away. All noise ceases as I chase my high. I’m almost there.
Undone.
“Fuck,” he growls, yanking his hand away, leaving me vacant and needy. “Fuck, fuck, fuuuck.” He pulls frantically at the root of his hair. I watch confused as Grant slams his fist into the wall. My eyes round in horror as I now know that’s not lust in his voice. It’s regret.
“I can’t do this,” he mutters as he walks away, leaving me baffled and alone.
What did I do wrong?
Only everything.