2. Carson #2
She leans forward and sips from the straw, and I can’t help watching her lips.
Man, it’s been way too long since I’ve kissed anyone.
Almost a decade since I’ve looked at a woman besides Jen.
Emma is innocent in all this, and I shouldn’t string her along, but the attraction humming between us is as real and potent as it is foreign.
She slides onto the empty stool beside me and crosses her legs, then leans forward to take another sip. “Thanks.”
“Tell me about your book.”
“My book?” She raises an eyebrow, but when I keep waiting, she continues. “It’s a classic Agatha Christie.” When my face remains blank, she continues. “Murder mystery.”
I lean against the bar, ignoring the other stool, and stand close to her. Who am I? This is how sixteen-year-old Carson would act. Not thirty-one-and-washed-up Carson. “Perfect for a night out, then.”
Emma laughs. “I told you already, it’s a work thing.”
“My point stands. What do you do?”
“Librarian.”
“Ah. The sashes are starting to make sense.”
Her laugh runs through my veins. “We like a good theme.”
“You must read a lot.” I cringe.
“When I can.” Her smile is amused. “I’m trying to renovate my house right now, but it’s slow moving.”
“I bet you look good in a tool belt.”
She shakes her head, but her smile hasn’t dimmed. “Did I say slow? I meant glacial.”
“What’s holding you back from getting it done?”
Emma considers this. “Responsibilities, I guess. Filling my calendar with too many other things.”
“I understand. My responsibilities are nine years old and need constant affection. I’m pretty sure I’m never doing anything right.”
“Your daughter?” she asks.
I lift my cup and take a sip from the straw. “Yeah.”
“I’m sure you’re doing better than you think.”
This woman is a stranger—though she doesn’t feel like one—and I want to believe her.
For tonight, maybe I’ll choose to believe her.
But I know reality is singing a different tune.
Penny needs more than a dad who’s throwing spaghetti at the wall and waiting to see if it sticks.
She needs a dad who knows what he’s doing.
I am not that man.
Music rises in volume as someone goes hard on “Ice Ice Baby” at the karaoke machine, forcing me to lean closer.
I get a whiff of apple, a scent that seems to fit Emma perfectly and beats the stale beer wafting from the sticky floor.
Dim lights are making everything feel cozier and washing the whole bar in a pinkish glow.
When my thighs lean against her knees, she quits sipping her drink and looks up, her serious eyes deepening to a dark brown.
She’s into me. I’m not being cocky about it; I can just tell. No one looks at your lips that often unless they want to kiss them.
Maybe I need a win. I’m ready to dive headfirst into a short-term liaison with this woman, and that’s not something I do. In fact, I’m feeling guilty enough not to make a move until I know we understand each other.
“I’m not from here,” I blurt out, “and I’m leaving tonight.”
She grows still. “Okay.”
“I wanted to make sure we’re on the same page.” I’m not planning to leave this bar with her—I don’t do one-night stands—but I want to kiss her. To get totally, utterly lost in her.
Her brown eyes rake over my face. I can’t tell what she’s thinking, but her mind is definitely spinning. She makes a decision, because she lifts her drink and takes one long, slow sip before setting it back down and leaning closer to me. “I understand.”
Those words are heavy. Something about the way she says them, her voice low and eyes pinned to me, conveys more than merely acknowledging I’m not interested in anything real or deep. I feel like a major tool, but it’s the situation and I can’t change it. “I really like you.”
Her smile turns almost condescending. “You don’t need to do that, Carson. I already said it was okay. You can’t help not living here.”
“No, but I can walk away.”
“Then why don’t you?”
She’s right, which widens my grin. “I’m not leaving until you do.”
“What about your friends?”
“What about them?” I ask, leaning closer again. I’m only inches from her now, and the busy bar, loud music, and low lights make me feel like we’re alone, even though we’re completely surrounded.
“I…don’t remember.”
I’m struggling with thoughts, too. My hormones are raging like I’m a twelve-year-old kid and Wendy Peffercorn just gave me mouth-to-mouth.
There is nothing I want more right now than to see if Emma tastes like apples too, or if that’s only her scent.
She runs her hand up my stomach, fisting the front of my shirt, her eyes never leaving mine.
This is the hottest thing that’s happened to me in a while.
When she tugs lightly on my shirt, it does wild things to my heart rate.
There’s no question she’s feeling the attraction and pull between us.
It’s been a long time since I’ve let myself feel like this, and I’m ready to put aside Carson The Dad and Carson The Terrible Husband and Carson The Responsible Adult for just ten minutes.
None of those personas follow me into this hazy moment when I ignore any sense of chivalry and slip my hand over her hip.
Her short inhale sends heat flooding through me, and that’s it.
I’ve lost it. I literally can’t take it anymore.
I close the distance as she tugs me closer, slanting my lips over her warm mouth.
Emma makes a soft, startled sound before diving in and kissing me back, and I think I see stars.
My hand tightens at her side, enough to pull her closer, and she comes willingly, sliding off the stool until our bodies are flush.
Her fingers stay twisted in my shirt, making it pull tight across my shoulder blades, and she tastes sweetly of maraschino cherries.
When we break apart, we’re both breathing like we just finished a race neither of us planned on entering.
Or maybe I did subconsciously. Every choice I made tonight led to this moment, and I’m not at all ashamed or regretful.
Kissing Emma proved I’m capable of feeling again, which is extraordinarily dramatic, but also a relief.
I’m not ready for a relationship, but all is not lost. Now I can confidently say that losing Jen didn’t mean losing companionship forever.
I let out a sigh. “Can I walk you out?”
“I’m not leaving until my friends are ready,” she whispers.
My eyes hold hers. “Then can you walk me out?”
Emma nods, letting me take her hand and lead her through the busy crowd.
I hold the door open and walk her down the sidewalk until we’re well past a couple smoking, then I gently press her against the wall.
She watches me silently, but when her eyes flick back to my mouth, her tongue sweeping over her bottom lip, I’m done for.
Leaning in, I hold her gently and lower my lips to hers.