Wild Thing

3. Three

Three

DYLAN

T he entrance to the lobby bar was ultra private. Discretion is luxury in these kinds of places.

As I made my way further inside, the air was thick with moisture thanks to the crowd seeking shelter from the rain. Heavily tinted windows overlooked the sidewalk outside. On a nice day, the view would have been beautiful. The river and park were just across the road, but on a ferocious day with torrential rain, it was hard to see anything as the windows were completely fogged.

Despite the bar being busy, it felt cozy. It had a speakeasy vibe, largely due to the low mood lighting and the stormy clouds outside. A perfect environment to contemplate my entire existence.

I hadn't always been this dramatic, but I had always been this sarcastic.

A crackling fireplace flickered in one corner, with a live jazz band playing in the other. The music was loud enough to give the venue atmosphere, but not so loud that it made talking impossible.

The bar itself was in the middle of the space, U shaped with alcohol bottles stacked on shelves in the center. I spied a private spot, nestled at the very back of the bar, against the far wall. Beelining for that space, I pulled myself up on the high-backed, red leather barstool.

The bartender greeted me warmly. “What can I get you, Miss?”

“A glass of Pinot Noir please.”

“Room charge?”

“Yes please. 1402.”

I avoided eye contact with the losers around me by admiring my fingernails.

And then it happened.

I felt him before I saw him.

Electromagnetic.

I slowly dragged my gaze over to the door. A supercharge sliced through the air. There he stood, all six foot three of him, drenched from the pouring rain. He ran a tattooed hand through his thick, inky black hair, brushing the excess water from himself. Droplets dripped down over his structured jawline.

I wanted to lick them off with my tongue.

His black t-shirt was almost soaked through, stuck to his chest, showing off chiseled, tattooed arms. He flicked his hands up and down the front of his dark blue jeans and wiped his feet on the floor in an attempt to dry his soaking body.

Damn.

He looked good.

Real good.

I caught myself staring and before I could pry my eyes away, he looked directly at me.

Fuck.

We locked eyes. It was dark, but it felt darker. Everything in the bar went blurry. Except for him. My senses faded, the music dulled to a muffled noise and my heart was all of a sudden the loudest beat in the room.

A slow, shit-eating grin appeared on his devilish face as he drank me in with those stormy sea eyes. Those eyes. I could never forget those eyes. Or that smile. Or that face. And that body…

The beginning of my undoing began right then. With that stare.

That grin.

That moment.

“Dylan?” A voice from behind snapped me from my trance. I turned around to see Ryan, an architect who used to work at Gellar and Summers. I guessed he was in the city for the conference too. I took a massive swig of vino, and silently prayed he would fuck all the way off.

Especially now. Especially as he just walked in.

“Hey,” I said, with a taut smile. I'd never understood people who assumed because you shared an employer, that automatically meant you should socialize together.

He gestured at the vacant stool next to me. “Is this seat taken?”

Without waiting for an answer, he parked himself on it, blocking my view from the all important Viking Lord that just walked into the bar. “Thought you might like some company.”

“No thanks, I’m good,” I replied curtly. Like this bozo could ever guess what I was into. “I’m actually meeting someone.”

Get the hint, Ryan, please.

He ignored me and waved his hand at the bartender. “Can I get a drink?”

I glanced towards the entrance.

He was gone.

My heart sank. I couldn’t help but feel bitterly disappointed. My eyes scanned around the bar, but I couldn't see him anywhere.

It was definitely him, right? Braxton.

The one that shattered my heart all those years ago. The one who made me the cold hearted bitch I was today.

Ryan interrupted my thoughts again, asking me about my schedule over the next week, or some boring shit like that.

“I’m not sure, I’d need to check my diary.”

“It'd be good to be in some sessions together,” he replied. It was a pathetic attempt at flirting. I shrugged his suggestion off and scanned the bar one more time.

Maybe Brax had bailed because he thought I was here with Ryan?

Just as I had begun to think I may have hallucinated, I felt him. Like how animals can sense the energy change in the room. That was how it had always been with us. We were tuned into each other's frequencies somehow.

The hairs on my neck stood up and directly behind me in my right ear, a sexy, deep voice that I once knew so well growled, “Hey, Wild Thing.”

Like a chemical reaction, my response was physical and instant. My skin shimmered awake and my heart began to thunder dangerously.

Spinning around, I took in the sight of him.

Brax stood before me, soaking wet, with a huge, bright smile plastered across his devastatingly handsome face.

He had always been fit, but this was another level.

Viking Lord indeed.

A defined, muscular arm that can only be crafted from years of hard labor and disciplined training, reached over and leaned on the bar, slicing a divide between Ryan and I. Brax’s sun-kissed skin glistened from the rain, while his huge frame towered over me.

I needed to act cool.

Smell the flowers, cool the tea, I told myself. It was a trick my Mom taught me when I felt anxious. I'd never really stopped to consider whether it was bullshit or legit, but I'd always found it oddly comforting.

I looked up at him, giving him a slight smile. “Hi Brax.”

I'd never given him a nickname like he had for me. Although I was starting to think he would suit something monstrous. Had he always looked like a transformer? Had he always been this fucking huge?

His eyes danced with mine as we held each other’s stare.

“Don’t get up,” Brax said sarcastically as he leaned in for a short hug. Like old friends should .

It felt electrifying. Like his hands were filled with little zaps of lightning that shot through my body.

Breaking out of the hug, the surprise at spotting me was written all over his face. “It’s been a while Dylan. How are you?”

Thankfully, it was enough for Ryan to get the message. Behind Brax’s enormous frame, Ryan stood with his beer and signalled “bye” to me. Thank god.

Brax took his seat.

“Feels like a lifetime,” I replied, while I attempted to calculate how many years had gone by since we'd last seen each other.

Five . It had been five years. “I’m good.”

Bald-faced lie.

I was anything but good. My heart rate was through the roof. I feared I was seconds away from a panic attack.

Shit, shit, shit. Flowers, tea, drink it, cool it, smell it… what the fuck was the saying?

“How are you?” I asked, feigning conversation. I nervously fiddled with the stem of the wine glass. I didn’t really care how he was. I wasn’t even listening. My mind had eddied of all thoughts. His very presence almost sent me into orbit.

After all these years, how does he still have a chokehold on me?

He was the one I’d never gotten over, no matter how many men I’d gotten under.

The one who I compared every lover to—and the one that no one would ever live up to.

Silently, I begged my Apple Watch to ignore the chaos, praying it wouldn’t register the spike in my heart rate. I’d been through that before—once, at an auction for a house I’d designed. I was so nervous for my client that my watch alerted me to a dangerously high heart rate, as if the stress alone might kill me.

And it was stress I was feeling. I wasn't prepared for this chance meeting. Not with him. And especially not with him looking like that.

By traditional standards, Brax was what most people would refer to as manly. Muscly, but not in a steroid using, jacked way. He was legitimately fit, strong and clearly took care of himself.

And very well, by the looks.

Broad shoulders framed a ripped body that appeared as if it had been carved by God himself. Taller than the average man at six foot three, he cut a commanding figure as he continued talking to me.

I still had no idea what he was saying.

I was too busy staring into his eyes. I'd always been mesmerized by them. They were a blend of light and dark blues, peppered with tiny white flecks. Like whitecaps in the ocean during a storm. I used to be able to tell what mood he was in, simply by looking at the color of his eyes. They changed, you see. They were mood dependent. And no matter what light or dark blue they were, they always complimented his thick, dark hair and his structured facial features.

He was heavily tattooed and effortlessly cool.

Exactly my type.

And if my memory served me correctly, I was his.

The attraction we had for each other was magnetic. I was fuel; he was a lit match. Together we burned hot.

He was the only man I had ever allowed myself to imagine a future with. But he had been unpredictable, which was what I both loved and loathed about him.

He was like a drug to me. Every time I swore off him, he’d come back like a boomerang. Always hanging around like the threat of nuclear war.

“... but overall I’m okay.” Brax replied, beckoning the bartender over.

What? I had missed all of that. He may as well had been speaking in fucking Russian.

“Can I get a gin and tonic please?” A pause and then a nod towards me. “Charge it to her room. Cheers.”

The bartender looked at me for permission. Rolling my eyes, I nodded my approval.

“Still stingy?”

“Figured you weren’t short of cash, judging by your outfit,” he chuckled. The gruffness of his voice rattled my bones.

“What’s up with my outfit?”

The bartender placed the gin and tonic down in front of Brax.

“Nothing. You look expensive,” Brax paused before he gave me a sideways glance. “And incredible.”

My core fluttered.

Oh boy.

Cheeky and flirtatious already. Noted.

Brax took a sip of his drink. “So what are you doing here in the city anyway?”

“Attending a conference and meeting a new client. I’m here for a week. I’ve come early to chill out before Monday.”

I stole a quick look towards his left hand. I clocked no wedding band. My butterflies tripled with that observation. What was happening to me?

“What are you doing here?” I asked with a hint of suspicion. It was my turn to side-eye him.

“I’m here for a week for work as well. I'm scoping out a new development project," Brax replied, taking another sip. "So, are you still a cushion fluffer?”

I sighed and rolled my eyes. “I was never a cushion fluffer, asshole. I’m an interior designer; very different from an interior decorator.”

“What does that mean? You specialize in long lunches selecting finishings?”

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Yeah, I exclusively long lunch, drink the most expensive champagne and charge it all back to the firm while scoring the AMEX points for myself.”

Brax playfully slapped my leg. “Easy, Wild Thing. I’m teasing.”

Wild Thing.

His nickname for me.

He'd called me that for many reasons, but mainly because he used to say I was wild in all the best ways. I could barely look at him without thinking of our sex life. Which had been as wild as it gets. We had an almost frenetic sexual energy that couldn't be contained.

Brax would praise me constantly, telling me I had the perfect body and a “viper grip” pussy. That would send me to hell and back. I didn’t even know what that was, or if it even made any sense, but it didn't matter to me. It sounded venomous and fucking hot.

Braxton had always been “that guy” to me.

The sex you remember, but the ex you want to forget.

Words continued to escape me, so I did the only logical thing to do, and that was to take a sip of my wine.

“Where are you living now?”

The question caught me off guard.

“White Point.” I answered quickly, shutting down any further questions around my life. The last thing I wanted to do was bring up Zack as a topic of conversation with my hot as fuck ex-boyfriend. I didn’t want Brax to know I was stuck in a shitty relationship.

We made more small talk, mostly about our careers. I told him how the Studio Pase bridal store was the biggest project I’d landed as an interior designer.

"Who's the developer?" Brax asked.

"Omega Developments."

A quick look of surprise flashed across Brax's face. Like he wanted to say something, but decided not to.

Leaning on the bar, I rested my chin in my hand. “What about you? Where are you based now?”

“Home. Grey’s Forest. Where else would I be?”

Trying not to physically cringe, I told him a hard truth. “When we broke up, I blocked you across my social accounts. I guess you’re still blocked.”

He pretended to be stabbed in the heart.

“Still? It’s been years. You're such a vicious bitch.”

Despite his playful response, he seemed genuinely hurt. I didn't even know how I'd had the willpower to keep him blocked after all these years. Subconsciously, I must had known that if the lines of communication reopened between us, then there was no turning back.

And I didn't want to end up heartbroken again.

“It was… hard for me. You know, to keep up to date. I figured it was better if there was no… contact.”

“Is that why I could never find you?” Brax asked.

I found myself studying his face before I answered his question with a question. “You tried to contact me?”

“Yeah. Often. Especially in those first few months after you left,” he said nonchalantly. His next statement stopped me from breathing. “I tried to find you.”

He tried to find me ?

That sentence landed hard. This was news to me.

And fucking five years late.

What if he hadn't been blocked? Would things have worked out differently?

I shook the “what if’s” from my thoughts. I was smarter than that. Fantasizing about what could have been was a fool's game.

Still… he could have called me.

“I never changed my number. You could have called.”

“Would you have answered?”

I looked directly into those piercing eyes of his and matched his quiet tone. “I guess we’ll never know.”

I wasn’t really sure where to go from there without opening up old wounds.

“How long has it been anyway?” Brax asked.

I faked deep thought and confusion by staring at my nails. Even though I remembered everything about the last day we saw each other, I didn’t want Brax to know how pathetic I was when it came to remembering the details.

Our break up had been brutal, but necessary. It wasn’t like there was a betrayal or anything sinister. It wasn’t even really his immaturity; if anything, his wildness was attractive.

We broke up because of our ambitions.

Because we put ourselves first; not each other.

I was moving to London—with or without him. I’d been desperate exactly one time in my life and that was the day I begged Brax to come with me.

He hadn’t entertained it for a second.

At the time, I couldn’t understand it. He argued the fact he'd worked years to be in the position he was, and moving to a new country would mean starting again. To leave it all behind wasn’t something he was keen to do.

Naturally, I took that as him choosing his job over me.

He said I was doing the same thing to him.

I hated it when he used logic in our arguments.

I wanted him to follow me, to chase me. When he didn’t, I took that as him not loving me the way I loved him.

Savage heartbreak. That’s what it was.

Eventually? I'd ended up feeling grateful for the break up. I’d traveled the world, lived on my own terms and created a decent life for myself.

That was the bullshit I told myself anyway.

Because all those years later… to hear he tried to find me? That was a hard pill to swallow.

“You don’t remember?”

“I remember,” he said, glancing sideways at me. “Just foggy on what year.”

“It was five years ago. I was 25.”

“Can’t believe we're in our 30's now. When did that happen?”

That was more of a statement than a question. I decided to brush over it and change the subject.

“So, aside from work, what about life in general?”

My tone was curious, carefully worded, but really I was fishing to find out if he was seeing anyone. We were old enough to be married, with kids even.

“No complaints, my life is pretty much all business. I took over Patch and Sons, so that’s been pretty crazy.”

“Wow, you own Patch and Sons? That’s major Brax!”

Damn, he must be highly successful. He obviously made the right decision by not chasing me halfway across the world. My heart stung a little. Not at his success, but that he was right all along.

“... and I recently bought another house.”

“Congratulations. You’re really adulting.”

“Yep. I’m adulting," Brax smirked. "Have been for a while now. I’ve changed a fair bit since you knew me, Dyl.”

Another awkward silence.

Another swig of gin and tonic for Brax.

Another sip of wine for me.

“Enough about me,” he said. “I want to know about you. How’s life?”

I considered how much I was going to tell him. My thoughts briefly drifted to Zack, but ultimately I decided not to bring him up. I sighed and wondered how much word vomit I was about to experience.

"After we broke up, I moved to London and worked at an architecture firm there. I traveled a lot, saw a fair bit of Europe. I had the time of my life actually,” I smiled, recalling all of the fun Taylor and I had. “After fourteen months, I came home to work at Gellar and Summers in White Point. I’ve been there ever since.”

“The time of your life, huh? Tell me about it.”

“Well, it was a while ago now…” I replied, running my fingers through my long dark hair and hooking my legs around the bar stool. “What do you want to know?”

I sure as shit wasn’t going to tell him about the dirty weekend I had with a Spanish man who didn’t speak a word of English.

Brax’s voice darkened, along with the color of his eyes.

“Tell me what I missed out on.”

“You missed out on everything, Brax.”

I wasn't sure when I grew balls, but there I was, being all witty and flirty. It was liquid courage, of course. Drinking had always made me lose rational thought. In an instant, I could become braver, bullish and most definitely bolder.

A real vixen.

And this is where I make bad decisions.

At this point in our chance meeting, my mind was restless and my legs impatient, thanks to the thoughts that were running through my head since Brax walked into the bar. Thoughts that I most definitely shouldn’t have been having, let alone entertaining.

Like how I craved his mouth on mine.

Or how my body ached to straddle this dark lord of a man and give him the ride of his life, while he gave me the time of mine.