Chapter 11 #2
I don’t want what they’re offering. They’re halfway across the room when I rise to my feet and walk toward them. They smile and lick their lips in anticipation. I nod in their direction and walk past them. They gasp with indignation, and one of them calls me a few choice words. I keep going.
Inexplicably, I’m drawn to Aria, and I can’t explain this weird attraction I’ve developed for her lately. I just gave up a wild night with two hotties. If I’m being honest, it’s because of her.
I slide onto the barstool next to her. She frowns in puzzlement.
“What’re you doing here?”
“I’m not sure.” My answer is as honest as can be. I fucking don’t know why I’m such a glutton for punishment.
“Your Barbies are waiting.” She jerks her head in the direction of the two women who’re now standing in the doorway watching us as if they can’t believe I passed them over for Aria.
I’m not sure why they find my choice so surprising.
Aria is hot by anyone’s standards with long jet-black hair that reminds me of a black panther I saw once in a zoo.
Her face is perfect, and those tits. Damn.
They’d be a delectable handful. My deviant self is having a field day imagining her naked.
“They’re not my Barbies. Besides, I prefer a challenge.
” In spite of being annoyed by her comment, I chuckle because she’s predictable.
I expect nothing less than for her to needle me every chance she gets.
In fact, I find her displeasure regarding my personal dating choices to be amusing.
If I didn’t know better, I’d think she’s jealous. But she can’t be. She hates me, right?
“I find that hard to believe.”
Since I get great pleasure out of needling her, I shoot back. “Are you envious?”
“Of them? Fuck no.”
I like a woman with a potty mouth. So far everything about her makes me horny as hell, including and especially how passionately she hates me. I can turn that passion into something constructive.
Am I deranged to be wanting to screw her brains out?
Probably, but surely once I’ve had her, I’ll be done with her, just like every other woman in my life.
I’m not good at long-term, or even short-term, relationships.
In fact, I’m not one for encores with the same woman.
I think my longest relationship was nothing more than a weeklong fling while on vacation in the Bahamas.
Some would find that pathetic. I guess it is, but only if I want something more, which I don’t.
“Why are you bothering me?” She turns on her barstool to face me, and our knees bump.
Instead of jumping back as if she’s been burned, she freezes.
I hold her gaze and don’t look away. Desire burns in her eyes.
She wants me as badly as I want her. I’m an expert at determining carnal intent, and her intent is as carnal as mine.
We’d be explosive together. I mean, we already are, but we’d blow up the entire hotel once we got started. Figuratively speaking, of course.
The way she’s looking at me I can’t decide if she wants to eat me up or spit me out.
I’m not deterred. Convincing a woman that she wants to sleep with me is one of my talents. If she rejects me, it’s probably for the best. But if she doesn’t, I’ll worry about the consequences in the morning.
I lean into her and place a hand on the side of her neck. She gasps but doesn’t pull away, which tells me a lot. I respect a woman’s boundaries, but so far, she’s not setting any.
I run my thumb across her jawbone. She sucks in a breath through her teeth. I smile in triumph.
“Why don’t we take our mutual hatred for each other and channel it into passion? I’m pretty sure we’d be combustible together.”
Aria swallows and breaks eye contact. I half expect her to pull away, but she doesn’t.
“Handling something combustible often gives a person third-degree burns.”
I shrug and grin my sexiest grin. She’s not having it. I need to up my game. My well-honed instincts tell me she’s intrigued. After all, she hasn’t turned me down yet, which tells me more than she’s saying.
I lean forward and whisper in her ear, causing her to shiver. “You know we’d have a monumental time together.”
“Monumental?” I draw a smile from her.
“Yeah, as in epic, the stuff of legends. ‘Cause after all, I’m a legend when it comes to pleasing a woman.”
“Your humbleness astounds me.” Her nostrils flare, and I’m guessing she’s picturing me doing just that.
“I won’t disappoint. I promise you that.”
“Why do you want me? You can have just about any woman you set your mind to.”
“That’s a question that begs for an answer, but I’m not sure I have one.”
“Give it a shot.” She narrows her gaze as if trying to figure out my motives.
“I’m physically attracted to you.”
“You hate me.”
“I do, but that doesn’t mean my body does. Besides, you hate me. In fact, you detest me. Why is that? Your hatred goes beyond your job, and I don’t know what it is about me that launches you into a spiral of scorn and contempt.”
She scowls, and I realize I’ve doused those flames between us with my stupid question. I should’ve left well enough alone.
“You don’t know why?” she sneers, back to hating me with the passion of a thousand burning suns.
“I really don’t.” I riffle back through my memories of my various sexual encounters in an attempt to recall whether or not we’ve had a one-night stand. I’m certain we haven’t. I’d remember Aria. I’m sure of it.
At the anger on her face, I drop my hand away from her and sit back to give us both some separation while I consider my next move—if there is one.
I’m better at seduction than this, but I’m usually telling a woman what she wants to hear instead of being honest. Perhaps that’s where I went astray with Aria.
I turn to the bartender and order a beer and whatever Aria is drinking. We sit in silence until our drinks arrive. She takes a careful sip. I don’t. I gulp down half the glass. Call it liquid courage.
“I suppose you’ll write about my drinking problem next.”
She perks up. “You have a drinking problem?”
“Not yet, but you might drive me to drink.”
Surprisingly, she laughs. The pleasant sound wraps itself around me like a warm blanket urging me to make her laugh again.
“Well, darn. That’d be a good story.”
“You aren’t going to fabricate something?” So much for making her laugh again. Now I’m really pissing her off. Why am I so inept around her?
She plays with the straw in her drink, swirling it around and around. Watching her fingers mesmerizes me. Finally, she lifts her head. “No, I’m not. I’m looking for real stories.”
“Since when?” This conversation is deteriorating fast. I can’t seem to stop myself from needling her.
“Since this trip.”
She’s hiding something, and my distrust for her grows, but I still want to sleep with her in the worst way. I don’t need to trust a woman to have a good time with her.
“Well, then, why don’t we find some common ground and see where things go.”
“Common ground? As in getting naked with you?”
“Yeah, definitely as in getting naked.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Isn’t that obvious?”
“Definitely. But I don’t want to be stupid like my sister.”
I jerk back as if slapped. Her statement came from out of the blue, and I’m confused.
“Do I know your sister?” Immediately I try to recall having sex with her sister, but I rarely get last names of the women I sleep with, and no one stands out as possibly being her sister.
“You tell me.”
“What did she do for a living?”
“She was a professor at the University of Nevada in Vegas with a doctorate in quantitative biology and bioinformatics.”
“Professor? Not my usual type.” This conversation is starting to go off the rails. “You must have some reason to believe her and I—uh—you know.” I avoid using a crass term out of respect for her dead sister and to not piss Aria off.
“No, you don’t know my sister,” she snaps back, leaving me confused.
“Then why say that?”
“To gauge your reaction.” She’s backpedaling, and red flags are flying.
Sometimes women I sleep with read more into our night together than there is.
Perhaps I did sleep with her sister and hurt her because I wasn’t interested in an encore, which I rarely am.
If I did, her dislike of me makes more sense than if she just randomly decided I was a hockey player she’d hate.
I reconsider my position, but it hasn’t changed.
I want her, and I’m not one to give up easily when a woman is sending out the vibes she is.
Aria might be playing hard to get, but she wants to be caught.
I’m not averse to chasing her. In fact, I’m looking forward to working for this.
Usually, I don’t have to work hard at all.
I have money and looks, and I’m fun. That makes me a catch in most single women’s eyes.
I hold up my glass to hers. “To life and the pursuit of happiness.”
She clinks her glass to mine. “And your happiness is?”
“Hockey and sex. I’m not a complicated guy.
” Actually, I am, but she doesn’t need to know about the trauma of my past and how my entire family was destroyed in Ukraine by a bomb on Christmas Eve.
No one does. I don’t talk about that. It’s no one’s business, and it’s my secret torment.
I live every day with survivor’s guilt. It’s also the reason I play things fast and loose and never get attached.
Emotional bonds cause unparalleled agony when they’re broken, and I’m too damaged to risk further sorrow and misery.
She’s studying me the way Kirby does, and I’m decidedly uncomfortable under her scrutiny. Certain people see beyond my bullshit, and I’ll bet she’s one of them. It’s a possibility I’m not wild about. In fact, being vulnerable terrifies me.
Aria might be the most terrifying yet alluring woman I’ve ever met.