2. 2
Hayes
Then
W hen I slunk into Tank’s, I had two goals: one, to get drunk; and two, to avoid Jane, my ex-girlfriend.
I assumed the best way to accomplish those goals was to drink alone, but I was wrong.
Flirting with Annabelle has me so distracted, I can barely remember my own damn name, let alone the mess that went down between Jane and me today.
Turning to Annabelle, I suggest, “Let’s make a rule. We can’t mention anything having to do with our exes, and if we do, we’ll take a penalty shot. Deal?”
“Sounds dangerous, but… deal,” she agrees.
I flag down the bartender and order a few rounds of tequila shots.
“What are we going to talk about then, seeing as our sob stories are off the table?”
"I'm open to ideas," I say with a grin. "But let's skip any more stories you might have that involve exploding dicks, okay?"
She returns my grin. "If you insist." Annabelle bites her plump lower lip as she ponders. “What do you do for a living?”
“Boring. Next.”
I’m not opening that can of worms. I picked Tank’s because I knew Jane would never set foot in this rough-and-tumble joint, and I doubted any of the regulars would know who I was.
When Annabelle sat down, so out of her element, I assumed she’d recognized me.
That she was a groupie, looking to weasel her way into my bed for a night.
But the more she talks, the more certain I am that she has no idea who I am.
“Tough crowd.” Laughing, Annabelle tries again. “Where are you from?”
“Also boring, but I’ll throw you a bone. Small town in Alabama. You?”
“New York.”
I whistle. “Long way from home, Yankee.”
“Actually, I prefer the Mets to the Yankees,” she sasses.
“Agree to disagree, but… Met just doesn’t roll off the tongue like Yankee does.”
“First Jeopardy and now Yankee. What’s with all the nicknames?”
When you meet as many people as I do, it’s hard to remember names, so I come up with nicknames. “I called you a princess first.”
With a grimace, she says, “Yeah, let’s agree to ditch that one, okay?”
I cock a brow in her direction. “But Jeopardy and Yankee pass muster?”
“You could always call me by my name, you know. ”
“Where’s the fun in that?” I take a swig of my beer. "So, what's your next question?"
Annabelle is quiet for a moment. Then, she arches a brow and asks, "If I had a warning label, what would it be?"
I take my time, letting my eyes linger on her before settling on, "Falling hazard."
Her nose crinkles in confusion, cute as hell, even if she’s trying to look serious. "But I'm not clumsy."
"The warning's not for you, Yankee." I lean in, lowering my voice. "It's for me because if I'm not careful, I think I could fall for you."
She draws in a surprised breath before she bursts out laughing.
I sit back with a smile and a shrug. Oh well, I tried.
"Does that usually work?"
"You'd be surprised."
Ducking her head, she murmurs as a pretty blush spreads across her cheeks, "Actually, I wouldn't be."
And… I'm back in the game . She may not want to be affected by me, but she is.
Changing the subject to something safer, I ask, “So, you live around here?”
“Yeah, but I’ve lived outside Nashville for about eight years. We—” She stops herself, but not before I notice her mistake. “I have a house in the suburbs. Do you live in Nashville?”
I nod. “Yeah, got a condo downtown. And you need to take your shot for violating the rules of our drinking game,” I grin, pushing a shot in her direction.
“Dammit! I was hoping you didn’t notice.” With suspicion, she eyes the tequila before muttering, “Oh, what the hell,” and tossing it back .
“Atta girl,” I wink. “Because I’m a team player, I’ll even take one, too.” The tequila burns as it goes down, and I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand to hide my wince. “You mentioned you liked the Stones and OneRepublic. Any other types of music you like?”
“I listen to rock and pop. I love everything from Tom Petty to Taylor Swift.”
“We live in the country music capital of the world,” I tease, feeling even more confident in my anonymity.
Smiling, Annabelle responds, “You sound like my best friend. But country music is so depressing. Redneck and corny. Every song sounds the same to me. Trucks and drinking and cheating women, oh my!” She shakes her head. “It’s just not my jam.”
Ouch, that one hurt.
“Based on the insulted look on your face and the hat on your head, I’m guessing you like it,” she snickers.
“Guilty as charged.”
“I’m going to search for a less divisive topic of conversation now,” she jokes. “Favorite place you’ve ever been?”
“Here with you.”
“Obviously,” she drawls, returning my smile. “What was your first impression of me?”
“I was lost in thought, mulling over what had happened today. Didn’t pay much attention until you dished out a hefty portion of sass and side-eyes.”
My gaze flits down to her T-shirt again. “Oh, and by the way, I lied earlier.”
“Lied? About what?”
“I wasn’t looking at your shirt.” Biting back a smile, I enjoy watching her absorb the meaning behind my words as an outraged grin spreads across her mouth .
“I should call you an asshole again.”
Studying Annabelle’s features, I catalogue each one. Her blonde hair with mahogany streaks, her wide and beguiling eyes framed by long lashes, her pert nose that’s upturned just a bit, and her lips. Those bee-stung lips that call to me like a siren’s song.
She’s fucking beautiful.
“You should.” Lowering my voice, I add, “I’m sorry about how I treated you when you walked in. I had no place being rude.”
Annabelle takes a long drink of her wine.
“Water under the bridge.” She shoots me a hard look.
“But it’s your time to drink now, buddy.
” She lowers her voice, imitating me. “Just mulling over what happened today.” Returning to her normal tone, she teases, “That sure sounds like you were thinking about the breakup with your ex. Drink up!”
“Damn, I stepped right into that one.” I slug back another tequila shot. Gesturing towards the small glass in front of Annabelle, I ask, “Aren’t you going to join me? I took one with you.”
Shooting me a saucy smile, she demurs, “I’ll pass.”
“That’s cold, Yankee!”
“So, you were telling me what you thought of me,” she presses, propping her chin up on her hand. “Tell me more.”
“I thought you were damn sexy when you called me an asshole and put me in my place. Few people do, so I admired you for it."
“Still think I’m sexy?”
Without breaking eye contact, I reply, “Very.” Her surprised gaze connects with mine. The warmth found in her amber eyes reminds me of a sunflower on a summer day, sparkling golden flecks interspersed with tawny shades of brown.
In a voice just above a whisper, she teases, “Isn’t this where you’re supposed to say something like, ' Save a horse, ride a cowboy ?'”
We aren't touching, but she's close enough to feel like we are. Close enough for me to crave her touch, to want to feel her skin on mine. Her gaze crawls over me so powerfully that it feels physical.
The air between us crackles.
Annabelle’s tongue darts out, moistening her lips, drawing my attention to them. Pink and lush.
“Why are you staring at my mouth?” she asks, wiping her lips with her thumb.
“Because I want to kiss you." I curl my fingers through her ponytail before reaching up to pull out her hair band. Annabelle’s long, thick hair falls in messy waves over her shoulders.
With a startled inhalation, she stutters, “Oh, okay.”
Turning my body toward her, I palm the nape of her neck, inching my mouth closer and closer to hers until our lips caress in the gentlest of kisses. But that brushing kiss lights a spark within me, and I go back for more.
This time our lips collide in a raw, almost frantic neediness, and I’m lost in her taste, the feel of her supple lips, and the sounds of her mewls of desire and desperation.
Her hands explore my chest before coming to rest behind my neck.
Annabelle scoots off her stool and nudges my legs further apart.
Stepping between my knees, Annabelle presses her upper body against my own.
Through the thin fabric of my shirt, I feel the form of her breasts against my chest, heaving with each gasp and whimper.
My lips part hers, my tongue delving in, tasting her. Savoring her. One of my hands slides down to follow the curve of her hip before resting on her perfect ass, tugging her into the cradle of my hips.
Like a lit match to kerosene, we burn hot.
“Damn, Yankee, you feel so good,” I murmur, planting light kisses along the column of her neck. My fingers roam up her body, settling above her waist and under her T-shirt, rubbing the sensitive skin beneath her breasts with my thumb.
She moans at the contact, and her fingers thread through my hair, steering me back to her lips.
From across the bar, a low, gruff voice yells, “Get a room!” Someone quickly follows up with, “Or don’t, and we can watch.”
With my arms still wrapped around her, I pull back to gaze at Annabelle. She looks hot as hell with her pink swollen lips, tousled hair, and dazed expression.
“What do you say? I already have a room booked for the night at the adjacent motel. Want to live a little and give in to temptation? Just for a night?”
Our relationships have recently ended. We should proceed with caution.
I know it’s a bad idea, but sometimes it feels so good to be bad.
Wasn’t it Mark Twain who wrote, “Be good and you’ll be lonely”?
Well, I’m tired of being good and feeling lonely.
I don’t care about the ramifications that could follow us into tomorrow. I only care about tonight.
And tonight, I want her in my bed. Consequences be damned.
Her eyes go wide at my explicit suggestion. Annabelle hesitates before giving me a shaky nod. “Yes?”
“Sounded more like a question than an answer, Yankee. Are you sure?” I chuckle, brushing her hair off her face and over her shoulder.