10. Berkley
Surprise?
By Traverse City standards, Lawless was a relatively new club. Owned by Owen Lawless, a former NFL quarterback, opened it a few years ago, after a traumatic shoulder injury forced him into early retirement. In a place where every bar, boutique, and other shop—where the very cobblestone streets beneath my feet—had become common, overly familiar, and, frankly, boring, Lawless was a novelty. The marquee flashed against the winter night sky, the line of people hoping to get inside snaking around the block.
Why this former professional athlete had chosen Traverse City of all places to open this club was a mystery, but I had to admit, it was working out well for him.
Thankfully, my friend Amara and I had planned ahead and, armed with tickets to the club’s NYE party, we skipped the line and were immediately admitted.
It didn’t hurt that she’d had a…relationship with him the previous summer, before she’d left for Europe to get her MBA in London. Now, she was home for break, and we were out celebrating.
Being here tonight doused me in nostalgia. Not because I’d been here before, obviously, but because nightlife in Traverse City reminded me of so many nights before this one when we’d been younger, and we’d go to underage nights at other places in the area. We’d get drunk beforehand and spend the night dancing until we were sore and sober.
Once inside, we paused at the bar for drinks and to scope out the scene. The entire club had a luxurious, upscale vibe, which didn’t surprise me given its owner had endless amounts of money at his disposal. The bar was long and sleek, the beer and wine fridges outfitted with strips of LED lights that glowed blue. Near the back, a spiral staircase rose to a loft, which I assumed housed the VIP section. Booths and tables filled the rest of the space, and the two exterior walls were floor to ceiling glass, offering patrons an unobstructed view of the docks and water beyond.
While I waited for my drink, my phone rang.
“Hello?” I shouted over the music.
“Hi, babe!” Brent yelled. “Where are you?”
“Hi!” I hollered back. “I’m at this club called Lawless!”
“As in…Owen?” he asked.
“Shit, sorry,” I said to a girl as I accidentally bumped into her, trying to force my way outside to better hear Brent. The moment I pushed the door open and stepped onto the frozen street, I took a deep breath. “Yes, as in Owen Lawless.”
“What a small world,” Brent said absently.
Before I could say anything else, the door opened behind me, and Amara yelled, “Shots are ready! Get your ass back in here!”
I grimaced, but the point of tonight was to let my hair down and let loose. I couldn’t very well do that from the street, and definitely not if I spent any more time on the phone with Brent.
“Sorry, Beej, but I’ve gotta go! I’ll talk to you later.”
“Okay! Miss you!”
“Miss you, too!”
Unable to hide the grin on my face, I walked back inside and sidled up next to Amara, lifting the one of the shots she’d ordered to hers in cheers.
“Phone call from your boy?” she asked.
I only nodded and brought the liquor to my mouth. It burned all the way down, and I welcomed the warmth that spread through my chest and belly.
“Now it’s a party!” Amara yelled, then turned to the bartender to order real drinks.
I requested a tequila soda, and as I was stuffing my credit card back into my tiny clutch, a body pressed against my back.
Fully prepared to turn and give them a piece of my mind, I was stunned into silence when a large, warm palm settled on my hip—a hand I knew very well.
I whipped around, eyes wide, and Brent grinned.
“Surprise?”
I didn’t even stop to consider questioning him, or berating him for showing up unannounced. There was only relief coursing through my veins as I threw my arms around his neck and hugged him tightly. The citrus and woodsy scent of him wrapped itself around me, instantly quelling the loneliness I hadn’t even known I’d felt until this moment.
“What are you doing here?” I asked against his mouth when he leaned in for a kiss. “Shouldn’t you be resting?”
“I have a concussion, Blondie, not a broken bone. I’ve been sitting on my ass for four days, and I’m over it. I really wanted to see you, and I didn’t see the point in waiting until you came back.”
“Okay, but you really shouldn’t be drinking,” I said. “Promise me?”
He extended his pinky, and I wrapped mine around it. “Promise.”
“I’m glad you’re here,” I said with a grin, raising my voice to be heard over the Cardi B song the DJ had just switched to. “But for the record, I hate surprises.”
He grinned, not the least bit bothered. “Noted.”
An insistent tap came at my shoulder, and I turned my head to meet Amara’s eyes.
“Oh, shit,” I said, smacking myself in the forehead. “Amara, this is Brent. Brent, my friend Amara.”
“Pleasure,” Amara said, extending a hand to Brent, who took it happily. “Berk, I should warn you that Lee is here.”
“Who is Lee?” Brent asked.
“My ex,” I told him with an eye roll.
“Want me to beat him up?”
“Absolutely not, you crazy ass man. You have a concussion, remember?”
“I guarantee he’d never get a swing in. I’d have him on his ass with one punch.
While I didn’t doubt that, the last thing I needed was bloodshed in the middle of a packed club on my behalf. “It’s fine, Brent. Really.”
“If you’re sure…”
“Positive,” I told him. “That part of my life is over. I’d rather focus on the future.”
“The future, huh?” he said, trailing his fingers down my arm and locking our hands together.
I gave him a demure smile and nodded. “Although, I’m quite enjoying right now.”
He leaned close, his stubble rasping against my cheek as he whispered in my ear, “To right now, then. And our future.”
Our future. Fuck, I loved the sound of that.
When another popular rap song blasted over the crowd, Amara cheered loudly and took off through the throng, presumably in the direction of the dance floor.
“What do you say, Daniels? Wanna dance?”
Did I want this sexy man’s arms wrapped around me as I gave myself to the music for a few hours?
“Fuck yes.”
Brent chuckled darkly and led me toward where Amara had disappeared.
For the next few hours, we lost ourselves on the dance floor. I would never get used to the feeling of Brent’s hands on my body, and I knew when we finally took the next step physically, I’d forever be ruined for other men.
That was just fine with me.
Somehow, even knowing that should freak me out, I wasn’t afraid.
Brent had heartbreak written all over him, yes, but I was past the point of no return. At this stage, I’d gladly let him take a hammer to my heart, and I’d thank him for it.
He was a once in a lifetime kind of man.
With a minute left until midnight, the DJ cut the music and announced that the fireworks show over the bay would commence as soon as the new year dawned. Brent pulled me close as a mass exodus ensued, hanging us back until most of the crowd had cleared. Amara had disappeared ages ago with a male “friend,” and I knew we wouldn’t be seeing her again tonight. We located our coats and headed out onto the sidewalk.
And when the clock finally struck, and the first firework exploded and lit up the sky, Brent lifted me off my feet and, a breath away from my lips, said, “Happy New Year, Blondie.”
“The first of many, I hope,” I whispered, then kissed him.
It was the kind of kiss that stole the air from my lungs more than the mid-winter chill ever could. The kind that had my toes curling against my shoes, had goosebumps skittering across my skin, had the whole world outside where we connected disappearing. I gasped, and Brent’s tongue delved into my mouth. I met every one of his strokes with equal fervor.
“Where are you staying?” I asked, withdrawing and gasping for breath.
“The Holiday Inn,” he replied. As if realizing this was a suggestion that we got out of there, he returned me to my feet and led us down the snow-slick sidewalk.
Once in Brent’s room, the first thing I did was sprawl out on the bed.
“My feet hurt,” I whined.
“I can help with that,” Brent said, moving to the foot of the bed and removing my shoes with aching slowness. I’d never considered my feet to contain erogenous zones, but I’d be damned if everywhere didn’t tingle when he put his hands on me, pressing his strong thumbs into my arches and sweeping upward.
“Fuck, that’s good,” I moaned.
“Yeah?” Brent asked, his voice low and husky. I rose to my elbows and stared him down.
“Yeah.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Of course,” I said. “As long as you keep doing that, you can do anything you want.”
“You told me that Lee guy your friend mentioned tonight is your ex, but…the way you reacted. There’s something there you’re not telling me.”
“Ugh,” I groaned, once again dropping back onto the bed. “Do we have to talk about this now?”
“I’m just curious,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me anything you don’t want to.”
As his hands slipped along the smooth skin of my shins and calves, I let out a resigned sigh. “He cheated on me.”
Brent’s hands stilled, and he was quiet for so long I was afraid to open my eyes and see his expression. At last, he said, “You should’ve let me beat him up tonight.”
“Like I told you, he’s not worth it.”
“He hurt you, Berk. That’s reason enough for me.”
The caveman thing didn’t normally do it for me, but I was willing to bet the list of things about Brent Jean that didn’t turn me on could be counted on one hand or less. In truth, I appreciated the protectiveness he felt over me. I had never been very good at letting other people take care of me—I’d made stubbornness and independence an artform—but…for him, I was trying.
“He did hurt me, yes. But it’s over.”
“Was it just cheating, or was there more to it?”
I don’t know what possessed him to ask. It was like he knew I was still keeping things from him. And I realized in that moment that where my time with Lee was concerned, I didn’t want to hold onto that hurt anymore.
“He was emotionally abusive. We started dating the summer before I left for college. While I was still in TC, he’d guilt me into staying home when my friends went out because he didn’t trust other guys, and when I moved down to EL, he’d go radio silent when I couldn’t come home for a weekend because of classes or some other obligation. He played a lot of mind games with me that I’d rather not dredge up. And when I found out he was cheating, and confronted him, he broke up with me because he felt like I didn’t trust him anymore. It was one of those messy first loves, and I don’t miss him or think about him at all anymore.”
Unburdening myself of all that, and letting Brent shoulder it alongside me, did wonders for easing the weight on my shoulders from carrying that around for so many years.
“I…damn, Berk. I don’t even know what to say.”
At last, I opened my eyes and looked at him, surprised by the softness in his gaze. Inherently, I knew this man would try to protect me from whatever life threw at me.
And I’d let him.
“There’s nothing to say,” I told him gently. “It’s in the past. What did I tell you earlier?”
“That you’d rather focus on the future.”
“Exactly.”
We were quiet for untold moments while Brent continued to work on my feet. Then, he said, “Speaking of the future…tomorrow.”
“What about it?”
“Well, I thought you’d want to come to my game on the second, so I figured you’d come home with me tomorrow.”
“Wait, what?”
“We’ll run to your house early and get your stuff packed, then head out.” He’d moved to my toes, gently tugging on and massaging the pads. Pulling my feet from his grasp, I stood and stalked away from the bed.
“Wait wait wait. You’re expecting me to go back a week early? Just to watch your game? Brent, you’re not even playing.”
He looked dumbfounded. “Well, yeah…but I figured we could spend all of that time before you go back to school together.”
“And you just assumed I would be okay with this? With you just…showing up here and trying to take me away? Didn’t I just get done telling you about being hurt by a man who’d tried to control how I spent my time?”
Struck silent, Brent gaped at me. At last, he said, “Babe, calm down, please. I didn’t think—”
“You’re right, you didn’t think! You’re the rich professional athlete, and I’m the random nobody, so I’m just supposed to drop everything and come when you call? That’s not the way this works.”
Brent seemed at a loss for words, opening and closing his mouth with no sound coming out. We both remained silent for several tense moments, me breathing heavily and pacing, Brent seated on the bed dazedly.
When at last I’d worked out my anger, I sat next to him and grabbed his hand, all the fight leaving me.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have screamed at you, but I don’t mean what I said any less.”
“I know,” he said, locking our fingers together. “I’m sorry for making you mad enough to scream.”
“It’s okay. I just…talk to me before you go making plans for both of us, okay? If we’re going to do this, I need an equal partner,” I said, voice cracking.
“Of course,” he agreed. “It won’t happen again. I promise.”
He held out his pinky, and I wrapped mine around it.
“I don’t want to go to your game,” I said softly when I pulled away. “I don’t want to leave early.”
“I know, baby. You don’t have to.”
I’d never been big on pet names or nicknames in general, but I’d be damned if I didn’t melt into a fucking puddle every time this man called me “baby,” “babe,” or, the one that was quickly becoming my personal favorite, “Blondie.”
I rested my head on his shoulder. “I’m still really, really glad you came tonight.”
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be.”
I was gripped by the sudden desperation to be close to him, and not just sitting side by side on the bed. I wanted to wipe the last few minutes away, to deepen our connection.
And I knew exactly how to do it.
“Enough of this sappy shit,” I said, scooting backward onto the center of the bed. Then I crooked a finger at him. “Come here.”