Duke
Working and having Charlotte here at Murphy’s has me on edge. Her bouncing back and forth to the bar as if everything is normal is a constant mind fuck. I’m not blind. The way she looks at me is enough to make my damn knees want to bow in front of her. She’s on a damn pedestal, and I’m the one holding her up. Things are complicated and moving towards the edge of disaster.
When I see Rachel dancing in the middle of the line, I wave her forward. “Where’s she at?”
Rachel takes the last sip of her drink, offering me the empty cup. I fill it to brim with our signature mixture and hand it back. She grins, thanking me. “Charlotte’s in the bathroom. Chill out. Why do you even care, huh?”
Rachel has been trying to get me to say the words. If I speak them out loud, then they’re real. If I stay silent, well, then no harm is done. A little skewed and fucked up, but it’s the system I’m using to make this thing between Charlotte and me easier.
“It’s busy, is all.” I shuffle down the bar to help Lydia with orders.
Shots and drinks are poured until I can’t focus on any one thing. We’re so busy I forget to keep a look out for Charlotte and Rachel.
“She’s okay,” Lydia calls to me, catching me scanning the room. “They’re sitting at a table near the dance floor. Derks has already stopped by to check on them. You can unload the worry from your eyes.”
Okay, so I’m a little on edge. A lot on edge, if others are beginning to notice.
“I’m not worried.” I shake my head, wiping down the bar top.
“Mmhmm...” Lydia raises an eyebrow, circling back to clear out her apron.
I glance over the crowd to make sure the room is in order, and notice a tall guy hovering over Charlotte. He bends down and whispers something in her ear. Worry wrinkles the corner of her eyes, and a look I’ve never seen crosses her flawless face. My entire world is painted red.
“Lyd, take care of the bar,” I shout, shoving through the crowd.
Ten steps are all it takes to get to her.
“I don’t think so,” Charlotte says to the stranger, returning her attention to Rachel. That’s my girl. Dismiss this asshole.
“Oh, come on, sweetheart. Just one dance.” His smirk says it all. This guy is not used to hearing no. He’s two seconds away from getting a real answer from my fist.
With conviction and determination, she shakes her head. “Like I said before, no, thank you.”
Rachel’s eyes spring wide open when she sees me. She looks like a deer spotlighted in headlights on the side of the highway. Relief floods her expression, and I clear my throat to jostle this assholes attention away from Charlotte.
The stranger rests his hand on the back of Charlotte’s chair, leaning down towards her once again and circling his finger through the ends of her hair.
“You heard the lady, so why don’t you move along?” My hand wraps around his wrist, and I pull him off, flinging him as far from the table, while resisting the urge to pulverize him into the floor.
“Why don’t you mind your own business?” He squares his shoulder, ready for a fight my body is willing to finish.
“Charlotte, do you want this guy bugging you?” I jerk my thumb at him, and she shakes her head no. He finally takes her response for what it is and rejoins his friends with his tail tucked between his legs.
“How’d you know he was bothering me?” Charlotte question isn’t a simple one, and she knows it. It’s why she asks. Her eyes glow with an eagerness, fishing for information, like the journalist she is.
“I happened to be... I was watching...” How do I say this without sounding like a fucking creep? Let’s be real. I am, by definition, a creep. I’ve watched her every move, and it’s a busy Saturday night. My tips are bound to be shit, and I owe Lydia an apology for placing the brunt of the work on her while I daydream and stand watch for a girl who isn’t even mine.
“You were watching me.” A devastating grin shifts onto her face. The knowledge of my eyes raking over her amuses her.
I lean forward, my lips against her ear. Her perfume, a hint of lavender and honey, sweet like I assume she tastes, clouds every logical thought in my head. “I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t.”
There’s no need to glance back at her when I walk to the bar. Her blue eyes smolder. The thought of my eyes on her shoots a hot thrill to what I hope is the sweet spot between her legs.
“Jesus, what did you say to her?” Lydia nods her chin over my shoulder. I dry the cups beside the sink.
“Nothing, why?” I lie, placing them on the rack before the next stampede comes through.
“Just wondering why her mouth’s hung open, like she’s waiting for someone to pass by and stick his di–” I cut a stern expression at her.
“Please don’t finish that sentence.” Of course, it’s not a horrible image as long as it’s my dick. I’d come in seconds if those lips were wrapped around me. I adjust myself through my jeans at the thought.
“Remember the time you said you didn’t like Charlotte?” Lydia slides a look to Charlotte and turns on me. “And I said this shit was going to blow up in your face?”
“What’s your point?” I groan, not wanting to hear again what a fucking mess I’m making.
“This is your shit officially blowing up.” Lydia pats me on the shoulder.
We take orders until the bar is nearly empty. When I notice Charlotte and Rachel gone, Randy assures me he walked them to Charlotte’s car since she hadn’t been drinking all night. He also reminds me how big of a pussy I’m being.
“Okay, boys, it’s time to go,” I usher a group of guys to the entrance, corralling them to leave.
“Did you see her? The bitch wanted me bad. I’d a fucked her until next Sunday, whether she wanted it or not, if it wasn’t for that fuckin’ bartender,” one of them says.
Standing in the middle of the group is the guy who had harassed Charlotte earlier.
“Excuse me?” I bark. “What the fuck did you just say?”
The guy spins around, clearly drunk out of his damn mind, stumbling to catch his footing as I push him over the threshold and into the parking lot.
“Got a problem?” he challenges, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows.
Is this guy for real?
“Yeah, we got a real problem, asshole.” I reel back and land one good hit. The guy tumbles like a rock down a steep hill.
“Fuck!” Lydia shouts. “Randy, will you please go make sure he doesn’t kill this guy?”
As if Lydia’s request is a warning to the rest of them, his friends bolt in opposite directions.
“So far, he’s still alive.” Randy stays back, knowing damn well I wouldn’t put my hands on another person unless I have a good reason.
“Hit me,” I taunt the jackass, poking my cheek and blowing him a kiss.
He swings his arms to loosen them and reels back, readying to throw his first and last punch if I have a say in it. His fist hits me square in the eye. The spot he punched throbs, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. The pain is something I’m willing to endure over and over again if this guy learns a fucking lesson.
“Don’t ever step foot in this bar again, do you understand me? Or I’ll do the world a favor and castrate you,” I shout.
When Randy moves closer, I shake my head. He’ll wait for the right moment to step in, but not before I rattle a few more punches off on this mother fucker’s face.
As my anger carries me to an unexpected place, I check out.
I wake up thinking it was a dream, until I look in the mirror. The rest of the night, how I got to my apartment, and showering, it’s all a blur.
Even with a night sleep, my nerves still tingle in the morning. I pace up and down the hallway, anxious to release some pent-up energy. Nothing will take away this urgency until I work out. The gym is a refuge. My mind focuses on stretching the limits of what my body is capable of. High school is where it all began.
My football coach saw I needed an outlet from the outside world. He made me take a weight training class with him, and a few weeks into the semester, my anger dwindled. Most nights, it was the only thing keeping me from losing my cool. My adrenaline flows, and endorphins seep into my veins like crack to an addict.
A mile and a half into my run, I finally look up to see my sweat streaked face in the mirror. The black eye is a reminder of how far I’m willing to go for her.
When my phone vibrates against my thigh, my hand slams down on the red button. Lydia’s name illuminates the screen.
“Hello?” I take a lung full of air to try to catch my breath.
“Well, good morning to you, too,” she sings into my ear. “How are you feeling?”
I pull a paper towel from the holder and wipe the sweat from my face. “I’m in the gym, so what do you think?”
“What are you doing, Duke? What’s the end game?” Her voice rings with command.
Even if I do sleep with Charlotte, where will it get me? She’ll still be with Jacob, and I know once with her will never quench the thirst she causes.
“I’m not doing anything, Lyd.” She can’t see me, but I roll my eyes anyway.
“I see the way you two watch each other across the room,” she huffs, knocking me on my ass.
“That’s enough. I know you worry about me, but stop.” I pull the phone away to look at the time. “I have to go.”
“Through all of this, don’t forget you’re a good guy.” The call goes silent, and I allow her words to sink in.
“I’ll see you later tonight.” I hang up and jump back on the treadmill.
With my headphones secured in my ears, I blare the music and pump out another two miles. My shoes connecting with the tread is a perfect form of therapy. My muscles straining to perform is what I need to drown out Lydia’s accusations. Acknowledgement makes it a real sort of bullshit that will never work.
By the time I finish my long workout, it’s eleven. I rush through my shower and glance at my phone to see if I have any missed texts or calls. Nothing. I open the HOME screen and skim through my contacts, passing Charlotte’s name several times before starting a new message.
Hey — No, that won’t work.
Want to grab dinner? — Too fucking needy.
Why didn’t you say goodbye last night? — Jesus, I better check to make sure I haven’t grown a vagina.
I toss my phone on the bed, running my fingers through my damp hair and tugging at the ends. This is a bunch of bullshit. She’s not my girlfriend. How her day is going is none of my business. Fuck. I want it to be.
*****
A loud pound on my front door startles me, and I wrap a towel around my waist and check the clock on my cable box.
Knock. Knock. Knock.
“Give it a rest. It’s midnight,” I holler, quickening my pace to stop the assailant from busting down my apartment door. “On a Sunday for that matter.” I whisper the last part, agitated with my visitor for interrupting me from climbing into bed to jerk off. Too much pent-up energy is not a good thing for a guy like me. I haven’t hooked up with anyone in... FUCK! When did Charlotte and I start hanging out?
“Open up, Duke, right now.” Charlotte yells. Speaking of jerking off. “I’m serious. I can hear your big ass feet clomping around in there.” She smacks her fist against the door again as I open it.
“Good evening, Charlotte. Fancy running into you here.” Damn. Is this girl trying to kill a guy? What is she wearing? The lightweight sweater shifts, exposing her shoulder when she shivers from the cool wind. Can her black leggings be any tighter? They leave zero to the imagination. I adjust myself, less than discreetly, at the sight of her.
She leans into the doorframe and glares at me, focusing her attention on my black eye. “He wasn’t lying,” she says with a loud sigh. Her tiny fingers reach up to touch near my brow, but I shift before they connect.
“It’s all good. Just a bruise.”
She rams past me and enters my apartment. “And why do you have the bruise?”
“Please, come on in.” I shut the door, barricading us inside the small space. I’m far too observant of the fabric slipping lower on her arm. The hint of her black lace bra peek-a-boos out to say hello.
“I’m not kidding, Duke. Tell me why you have the bruise.”
I pull the towel tighter around my waist. “Something tells me you already know.”
Charlotte, for the first time, zones in on my lack of clothing. I allow the towel to slip a centimeter, and her eyes bulge. That’s right, baby, take a good, long look.
“Wait ‘til you see the whole package.” I wink, and her face shifts and contorts between anger and amusement.
“Will you put some clothes on?” She bites her bottom lip like she’s trying to stop herself from saying anything else.
“Why, am I distracting you?” My tongue glides along the inside of my cheek. I’m half-tempted to drop the towel and give her a show.
“Quit being cute and put some clothes on,” she demands, clamping her jaw tight.
“So, you think I’m cute, then?” I break out into a wide smile, taunting her.
Unamused, she raises her eyebrow, and I do as she says, choosing to forgo a shirt. I waltz back into the room, and her eyes focus on my chest. She sees something she wants to touch, and I’ll be damned if I wouldn’t allow her to explore every dip and ripple. Her fingers dig into her thighs. The thought of what they’d feel like digging into mine is enough to drive a man mad.
“You get in bar fights, and you read.” She laughs this sweet sound I’m sure has caused many guys to want to sweep her off her feet.
“You’re surprised?”
“What’s not to be surprised about? Now, tell me why you got into a fight.”
“I lost my cool.” I sigh. “The guy who wouldn’t leave you alone last night, I overhead him saying some things that made my blood boil.”
“And that’s reason enough to get in a fight? Some stupid guy talking shit?” She narrows her disappointed eyes at me.
I step away, knowing I’m about to show my cards. “Why do you care what I do?” Smooth, Duke. Flip the table on her.
She runs her thumb over the edge of the bookcase. “You know why,” she whispers.
“Quit with the bullshit, Charlotte,” I demand, and her eyes widen. “They were talking about you. Saying vile things. Yes, I lost my shit. What do you expect? They were talking about you.”
Please don’t ask questions.
I need to escape this conversation before I tell her the truth. Some stranger putting his hands on her aches in the depths of every bone in my body. The thought of her being hurt, it’s unbearable.
“Why? Who am I to you? Why do you care what they say?” she asks, but she knows the reason, the same way I know why she’s here right now.
“You’re Jacob’s, and I sort of thought we were friends.” Fuck it, I’ll keep lying and pretend my actions have nothing to do with her being under my skin.
I sit down on the couch, facing the wall away from her.
“I can’t have you out there getting the crap beaten out of you. I have enough people to worry about. The last thing I need is for you to be in the hospital. Just another thing I’m to blame for,” she explains. Her ass plops down on the sofa beside me.
“I can handle myself. I’d do it all over again if given the chance,” I admit.
She peers at me through her long, thick eyelashes. “Well, don’t, okay?”
“Fine,” I deadpan.
She shakes her head and laughs, nudging me with her elbow. “You’re so full of shit, Duke.”
“It’s my job. If you come into Murphy’s, and someone isn’t acting right, then I will correct them.” It’s true. If I heard any man speaking about a woman in the manner in which those assholes were, I’d step in. The difference is I’d stop after one hit. This guy didn’t get the same courtesy. No, he got an ass beating. A well-deserved one, while his friends ran, knowing damn well I’d give it to them if they tried to butt in.
As if a lightbulb flips on in her head, her eyes light up with surprise. “You’re the reason those bouncers kept a close eye on Rachel and me.”
“Maybe.” I shrug. “Is that why you came over here, to ask me about this?”
Her tongue dances across her lips, wetting them until there’s a perfect sheen. “I came because we’re friends, and all.”
“We’re friends.”
Her shirt rises and falls with her deep breaths, stretching under the pressure. Maybe the fabric will slip just enough to show me what the rest of that lace bra looks like against her porcelain skin. What the hell am I doing? Look away.
“So, what now?” she asks. “It’s late, but I’m here, so you want to hang out?”
“You and me, hang out?”
“Yeah, you know, two people spending an undisclosed amount of time together until one or both of us can’t stand each other.” She smirks.
God, she’s a smart aleck.
“I know what hanging out means. I’m just not really a hangout kind of guy.” My confession sounds even dumber when I hear it slip from my mouth.
She pulls her knee onto the couch and turns towards me. “You and Jacob hang out.” Her full attention is on me.
“Yeah, but he doesn’t have...” I pause before the word slips from my mouth.
“Were you going to say boobs, Duke?” Charlotte giggles uncontrollably, and the sound makes my heart flutter. Can a guy’s heart even flutter? Fuck, that’s a new sensation. “You were, weren’t you? You’re a ridiculous human being.”
“No, I’m a man, and no man can be friends with a woman without wanting to sleep with her at least once.” I stand and walk into the kitchen. I come back and pop the top on a beer and hand it to Charlotte, which she gladly takes.
“Jacob and I were friends first,” she argues. It would be valid if they weren’t in a full-fledged relationship.
I raise an eyebrow. “And what are you now?”
“But what does that mean for us?” Charlotte ignores my question. She leisurely leans back into the couch cushion, looking every bit like my personal wet dream. Her stare drifts to my bare chest and she takes a long pull from the bottle.
“There’s exceptions to the rules. Take, for instance, Lydia. We’re friends, but that’s because she’s more like a sister to me.”
“What about me?” Charlotte asks, shyly disguising her face behind her bottle.
No, she’s nowhere near like a sister to me.
“You’re Jacob’s.” I take a drink of beer to cool down. Talking about her in any capacity other than the one option we have is winding me tight. “Off limits.”
“And if I wasn’t?” Her lip buckles under the strength of her teeth as she bites down on the plump mound. I’d give anything to feel their softness beneath mine.
Fucking insightful, Duke. Write it in your damn diary.
Charlotte fidgets. The question leads me to presume something I know isn’t possible. But since she crossed it, my mind wants to explore.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” She corrects herself when I don’t answer right away.
This is where the trouble comes. Charlotte and I have both done it. We overstep and then backtrack. The problem with our little dance is things said can’t be forgotten when they affect us the way we seem to do to each other.
“Yes, you did, Charlotte.” I clear the fog from my head, resting my arm on the back of the couch. My fingers are desperate to touch her hair. “And to answer your question, no. You’re too nice a girl for me.” Lies. It’s all a bunch of lies.
“You mean, I’m not easy. I’ve seen the girls who hang around you. It doesn’t seem like you have to work too hard for attention.”
“For me, girls have always been simple to figure out.”
“I bet.” Her tone is full of irritation, which thrills me. She doesn’t like my answer to her question. Jealousy is hard to hide, even for the best of us, and right now, it is screaming from her eyes for me to listen.
“There’s a difference between girls and women. Girls bat their eyelashes and put everything they have to offer on the table. Women, well, they prove their worth with their personality and what’s up here.” I lightly tap on her temple, and she shivers. Imagine what else I could do to her. “They don’t need to flaunt their assets to let men know they’re worth the trouble. We already know they are.”
“And you just haven’t found a woman yet?”
“No, I’ve found one.” I tread deep water, knowing I may never make it to shore if I push on. “The thing is sometimes they’re right in front of me, but circumstances never align quite right.”
Neither of us say a single word. Charlotte’s breath becomes erratic, and my hand is desperate to touch her heart, to witness how fast it beats.
“I better get going.” She sets her beer on the coffee table and stands.
“Yeah, okay, that’s probably best.” I follow her to the front door. My hand rests on the top frame as I open it wide. She ducks under my arm to leave. “This has been exceptionally weird.”
“I didn’t mean to...” She pauses. “I made it awkward again, right?”
“I would’ve never crossed the line. I respect you too much.” My attempt to ease her mind fails.
She lifts her hand. For a split second, I stop breathing. I’d give anything to feel her brushing my hair from my eyes. It falls back to her side, and I’m not afraid to admit I’m disappointed.
“Thank you.” Relief paints her face. “I better go.”
I rub the stress from the back of my neck.
Charlotte waves over her shoulder and disappears around the corner. I slam the front door, and as I lean against it, the coolness on my back helps the fire in my veins die down.
What the fuck am I doing?