Ever

Charlie is up to something.

That’s my initial reaction when he follows me into the bar, but I feel bad almost immediately. He’s been nothing but sweet and respectful to me since we met, hasn’t he? Toward the end, he’d even seemed guilty when he had to leave immediately after we’d rocked each other’s worlds. He would wear a badge someday, serve and protect the fine—and occasionally smelly—city of New York. I have no reason to suspect he’d follow me into the bar for nefarious purposes.

I mean, I know he wants to get laid. So do I.

But it’s not going to happen, so I decide to play a game with myself. Once I make it clear as crystal I’m going home alone, we will see how long he sticks around. I’m a little irritated at myself for being so cynical, but after the speed dating debacle, I think I’ve earned the right.

Nestling into my skepticism is a lot easier than acknowledging the zing of excitement shooting through my veins. The relief over having eyes on Charlie. After spending a week convinced I wouldn’t see him again, this is like finding out it’s Saturday when you woke up thinking it was Monday.

We find a space at the end of the bar. Happy hour in this city is a free for all, and most of the younger Madison Avenue work crowd has migrated thisaway to wet their whistle. A lot of unbuttoned button-downs and loosened ties, mingled with service industry peeps who just ended a day shift. That’s the beauty of New York City. A garbage man can sit beside a billionaire at the bar, and for that window of time, they’re equals. I’ve waitressed here and there myself to fill a few financial gullies while I put myself through junior college, so I’ve made a study of men on bar stools. Common ground conversations usually involve the best place to get pizza or heroes, classic rock or sports. This far north of Wall Street, the best way to get ignored at the bar would be to bring up politics or money.

I love the buzz of a busy, dimly lit bar. Being part of something, yet anonymous, all at the same time. It doesn’t feel like the real world, which is how I found the courage to approach Charlie all those months ago while basketball and beer commercials raged on television. I shouldn’t feel at all nostalgic that Charlie and I are back in that same atmosphere together, but as we squeeze into the tiny sliver of bar space, our eyes meet . . . and I have this wild notion he’s feeling it, too.

My body likes being in close proximity with Charlie’s very much. My nipples pinch to tight peaks, mere inches from his chest. Has he always been so broad shouldered? Has he always been so much taller than me? We’ve been horizontal for a good chunk of our acquaintance, so it must have slipped my notice.

“Um . . .” I search for the bartender, hoping he’ll take our drink orders and break the silence, but he’s tending to another group. “I guess we should just acknowledge this is awkward, right?” I murmur beside his ear. “And go from there.”

Charlie’s laugh puffs out and rolls down my neck. “Acknowledged.” He props a foot on the step beneath the bar, putting me inside the cubby of his thigh. But he does it so casually, I can’t decide if he’s flirting or getting comfortable. Either way, I can feel his leg heat on my hip now, and that’s really hard to ignore. “While we’re putting everything on the table,” he says, giving me the eyes, “I didn’t want things to end. I still don’t.”

Disappointment is like staples sinking into my skin. That was easy. I already won the game. “We’re not going home together, Charlie. If that’s why you followed me in here . . . I’m sorry. But I’m going to cut this short.”

“I followed you in here because you looked upset. I didn’t like it.” A line flashes between his brows, as if he’d even surprised himself. “And I missed seeing you. I saw you every day for a month, Ever. Did you think it would be so easy to go from—from . . .” He waves a hand around. “Ever at full volume, to switching off the whole damn sound system?”

“I didn’t think about it.” I manage to push the words past tingling lips. Everything is tingling. “I-I’m sorry I didn’t think about it.”

God, he looks almost angry. I’ve never seen him anything but lovable, charming or horny. “Was it so easy for you?”

No. No. I can’t say the word out loud, though, because we miss each other for different reasons. He misses the sure-thing hookup, and I’ve stopped pretending that there weren’t moments where I wished for more between us. More he wasn’t willing to give. Now we are in some kind of stare down in the middle of a stale dive bar, he is irritated with me and it makes no sense. Hadn’t he helped me craft the no-drama rules of our arrangement? Thankfully, the bartender chooses that moment to finally make an appearance.

“What’ll it be?”

“The IPA,” we say at the same time.

“The summer one,” I add, so I won’t get some fanciful notion about our identical beer selection meaning something. “Is that fine for you?”

“Yeah.” Charlie swipes a hand through his hair as the bartender walks away. “Look, let’s just get the remaining awkward out of the way, all right?”

“You should always clear the air before drinking,” I mumble.

“Agreed.” Those blue eyes pin me where I stand. “Why’d you call it off? You said someone close to you pulled a Ghost of Mistresses Future. What did that mean?”

The bartender drops off our beers and waits. Gaze still glued to me, Charlie reaches into his front pocket to extricate his wallet . . . and I blow it. I look down, eager to see his hand in the vicinity of his lap. If that makes me a sick puppy, so be it. Whenever my imagination isn’t providing, my go-to porn is men . . . handling their business solo-style. Charlie did it for me once. I almost broke his neck afterward, fingers clinging to his hair while he went down on me, I was so hot and bothered.

When I manage to drag my gaze upward, he knows exactly what I’m thinking, too. And my eyes don’t need to travel south again to know how his body is expressing satisfaction. The guy could get hard in a sandstorm at knifepoint.

Charlie tosses some bills onto the bar. “Ever, I won’t push again. I won’t even bring up how . . . compatible we are. In bed. Or in the hallway. Or on the counter. Or—”

“I get the picture.”

His eyes crinkle at the corners. “But if you ask for it, cutie?” He licks his lips, so they’re wet when they graze my ear. “If you say, fuck me, Charlie, I will drop whatever I’m doing. I will get between those legs if I have to kill, steal or sacrifice to get there. And you’ll be a sweating, moaning, crying tangle of sex in the sheets by the time it’s over. I know you don’t doubt me, because I’ve done it. I’ve done it.” He steps back and winks at me. “Three words. I just needed you to know.”

“Consider me warned.” Son of an undertaker. I’m dead where I stand. No. Pull it together, Ever. If I can make it through to the other side of this gutter-mouthed seduction, I can make it through, like, jumping out of an airplane without a parachute. Or the opera. “That’s good to know. And yes, you’re very good at tangling me up into a sex puddle.”

He salutes me with his beer. “Thank you for noticing.”

“You’re welcome.” This is getting ridiculous, and if I don’t put a kibosh on the sex talk, I’m going to keep thinking about sex. With Charlie. Or maybe just the cords of Charlie’s neck, standing out when he’d tipped his head back and moaned my name, that hand stroking, stroking . . . “This is serious, Charlie,” I blurt out. “I made a promise to my mother. She has never wanted anything from me. Anything. If you knew her, you would understand how difficult it was for her to confide in me. I can’t let her down the first time she gets the courage, because maybe—maybe—she’ll come to me again. For something else. Anything else. If I can manage not to screw this up.” Not having voiced my determination out loud before now, my heart is racing like a window-unit air conditioner in August. My voice falls to a whisper. “So, please don’t try to knock me off course, okay?”

Poor Charlie. His face is white by the time I finish speaking. This little unplanned meltdown of mine is exactly why he avoids commitments. I can hear the man alarms going off inside his head. We didn’t sign up for this, bro! Get out. Get out now.

To say I’m shocked when he sets down his beer and pulls me into his arms is an understatement.

Charlie

Well, that was a kick in the ass.

Since the day Ever approached me in the bar, played her game, let me kiss her face off and said those magical words—nothing serious, ‘kay?—she’s been a mystical being without flaws. I mean, a woman who looks like a sexed-up angel that cooks and doesn’t do relationships? It was like God had scratched his chin and said, You know what? It’s time to remind men they’re not worthy of the fairer sex.

Ever clearly isn’t perfect, though. Her breath is coming fast in the crook of my neck, and I can tell she didn’t expect to pour all that out. I sure as hell didn’t, either. But if she thinks I don’t understand the pressures a parent can place on you, she’s wrong. We have more than identical beer selection in common. I’ve been sleeping with a woman who had a lot to say, things I would have understood, if we’d been functional enough to communicate.

“Ever. Hey.” I smooth her blonde hair back, thickness building in my throat. “I won’t—”

I cut myself off. I won’t try to knock you off course. That’s what I was about to say. Only, it’s not true. Christ, I already ruined her very first chance to meet someone else. I probably shook her confidence, accounting for the sadness she dragged up the sidewalk. Worse, I’m probably going to do it again. I’ve already determined there’s no one good enough for Ever. So if she lets me into the sanctum of friendship, I won’t be capable of stopping myself from dissuading her from every new man she considers dateable. I’m becoming her friend in the hopes of knocking every other dude out of the running and graduating to friend with benefits.

So I can slide in there real smooth. Like a snake.

“What?” She pulls away from me, her cheeks pink. “You won’t . . . ?”

I could lie and follow through anyway. But there’s no pretense in the way she’s watching me, chewing on her lip. I can’t be untruthful when she’s looking at me like that, grateful for the comfort. Especially because there wouldn’t be a need for comfort if it weren’t for me. “I won’t understand pressure placed on us by our parents, is that what you thought?” I pick up my beer and take a long pull. Washing down my evasiveness. “My father is a bureau chief in the department. I don’t know if I mentioned that.”

She shakes her head slowly, gaze thoughtful. “No.”

Why would I? It’s only something I carry around on my shoulders all day. “Yeah. And my brother, Greer, is a lieutenant. The blue blood in my family must continue flowing at all costs, so I understand. About needing to measure up to a parent’s expectations.” Following impulse, I lean in and kiss her forehead. “I live it, Ever.”

She looks down and away, almost like she’s shy over me laying a smacker on her head. Really? I’ve kissed her a lot lower. A forehead kiss shouldn’t even rate, right? Either way, it’s goddamn adorable. What other reactions would she have to things? What if I tickled her? “It’s a family institution,” she says finally. “So that’s why you work so hard.”

“Yeah.” I laugh at the word, because I’m thinking of Ever squealing and trying to get away from me. “Every minute is spent studying, improving my drill times, perfecting my shooting accuracy. My father expects me to make sergeant as soon as possible after I leave the academy, then take the lieutenant’s exam by the end of my third year on the force. There’ll be no time to breathe even after I graduate.”

“You’ll do it.” She lays a hand on my arm. “It’ll be fine. It seems impossible now because you’re in the middle of it, but in ten years you’ll want to do it all over again.”

Holy shit, that actually makes me feel better. What have I been missing out on here? Trying to talk to Jack or Greer about the pressure is like a comedy sketch. They just eye roll or needle me. Three sentences out of Ever’s mouth, and I’m floating on a cloud. Later I’ll remember all the times my father told me never to let a woman lull me into a false sense of security. I’ll recall his lectures about not letting women close enough to make a man comfortable, then bail. But right now, I’m soaking up her empathy like a sponge. “Thanks.”

Her smile turns my cloud pink. “Don’t mention it.”

“What or who is the Ghost of Mistresses Future?”

That smile of hers morphs into a laugh, and I feel it down to my toes. “My mother. Until last week, she only dated married men. As a rule.”

My beer is permanently suspended in midair. “Get out of here.” Without missing a beat, she slides off her stool, turns and heads for the door, but I grab her elbow and haul her back. “You really are a smart ass.”

Ever looks down at my hand, which is still locked around her elbow. My thumb is brushing the inside of her arm, an unconscious gesture, and we separate like I burned her. “Um.” Her fingers fidget with the fringed hole of her jeans. “My mother expected me to follow in her footsteps until recently.”

“Be a mistress?” Yes, I shout those three words, like we’ve teleported to a Gwar concert. I give myself a pass, though, because I’m suddenly imagining slimy, businessman hands all over Ever, and I think I’m going to be sick. Or find the closest dickhead in a tie and strangle him with it. “But you didn’t, right? Follow in her footsteps.”

“In a way, I did.” Her head tips forward, and she peers up at me through her eyelashes. “I knew when I first saw you, Charlie, you were married to a job. Now I know that job is the academy.” She’s starting to look as uncomfortable as I feel. “You were checking your watch. Drinking nonalcoholic beer. You held yourself like . . . you were being held up on your way to something more important. I—”

“That’s why you met me halfway?” What is this discomfort in my stomach? Am I offended for the first time in my life? I’m going with offended. Because I can’t admit I’m feeling cheapened and still keep my man card. I’m not the only one feeling cheap, though (if I was admitting it). I thought this whole thing with Ever started because we were drawn together. Two souls with the united goal of remaining single. Noncommitment aside, I do not like knowing she’s been equating us to something seedy. “This whole time you’ve been thinking of yourself as my mistress? Jesus, Ever.”

It was her turn to be annoyed, apparently. “If you make me apologize for no-strings sex again, lasers are going to shoot out of my eyes.”

How dare she be so funny. “I’m not asking for an apology,” I mutter, mopping a ring of moisture off the bar with a napkin. “I’m asking . . .”

“For what?”

I don’t know. I’m just certain that, in addition to getting Ever back into bed, I’m now determined as fuck to make her feel like more than just a diversion. A mistress. God, she is right, though. That’s how I treated her. My magnanimous gesture had been offering to fix any leaky pipes. I fail. I fail so hard at life.

I walked into the bar with a plan. To become Ever’s friend, so I could maneuver her back in my direction without anyone being the wiser. Back to normal. I can see now that our past normal wouldn’t work for current Ever and Charlie. Because . . . I like this girl. Her personality, her humor, the way she leveled with me without a film of bullshit on top. Friends with benefits might have been the original idea, but I want to put my money where my mouth is. Make it more than just polite words for a painless hookup.

“What do you want, Charlie?”

“I want to be your friend.” I mean it, too. Wanting to sleep with her is a humongous given, but I want to know Ever better. I know about her mother’s wish now, though. It’s important to Ever that she fulfill it. I will solve that problem . . . I just have no fucking clue how. Yet.

My plan needs fine-tuning.

That’s the thing about plans, though. Bad ones usually mean several equally shitty ideas will follow.

That voice is screeching in my head again, but I give it the mental finger and focus on Ever. “What do you say?” I held out my right hand. “Friends?”

Her right eyebrow dips and she gives me a once over, like a human bar code scanner. Suspicious and beautiful and red-hot sex, inches away from me, and I’m trying to be her pal. God, please don’t let me regret this.

When she slips her hand into mine and smiles, though, regret is the furthest thing from my mind. I just bought myself more time with Ever. I’m going to be her friend, protecting her from inside the friendzone, even if it kills me. Because when she gets tired of dating a parade of douchebags, I’ll be there. The better option.

“Friends,” she breathes.