Chapter Three
CHAPTER THREE
T here was a difference between being one hundred percent happy for your best friend and her fiancé and actually wanting to witness that happiness.
Okay, that sounded kind of bitchy.
Let me rewind.
I’d arrived in Ocracoke with little to no issues. Well, unless you considered a fuck ton of traffic an issue, but I had been prepared for that. I trudged down the coast at a snail’s pace, stuck in between what I was sure was every family on the eastern seaboard. But I had a plethora of audiobooks and all the snacks a girl could want, so there were little to no complaints.
When I rolled off the ferry and drove the short distance to Macon and Marin’s little bungalow house, I thought surely this would be when the excitement kicked in. I hadn’t seen my best friend in months. She was getting married, and I had three weeks away from work.
But the second I saw the two lovebirds, all wrapped around each other like those live oak trees Marin loves to paint, all I could see was green.
I didn’t want to be jealous, but damn was I ever.
Maybe it was just residue from that awful call from my evil stepmother, and I just needed a night to clear my head. Then, I’d be the best, most supportive maid of honor the world had ever seen.
I made an excuse, saying I was tired from traveling, which they totally bought. Macon gave me the key code to my rental, and I bolted out the door. A few minutes later, I was hauling my shit into the ridiculously cute little house Macon owned, and not ten minutes after that, I had gotten… bored .
So, I got in my car and drove around until I ended up at the taphouse I’d heard Marin mention a few times. Macon had a love-hate relationship with the place. He enjoyed the food, but kind of hated the owner.
Apparently, Gavin—that was the owner—was a little too open with his appreciation of Marin, which drove Macon crazy. I’d spoken to Gavin a few times during my visits to Ocracoke, and Macon truly had nothing to worry about. That guy was a relentless flirt. He’d bat his eyes at your eighty-year-old grandma just to coax a smile out of her.
I instantly regretted my decision the second I walked into the place.
Karaoke night.
I briefly considered turning around and finding somewhere else, but there weren’t many decent bars in Ocracoke. So, I headed for the polished wood grain bar and found an empty stool, ignoring the idiot on the stage who was singing an off-key rendition of “The Sign” by Ace of Base.
I flagged down the bartender, a good-looking guy who looked like he spent more days in the water than on dry land. With tanned skin and sun-kissed hair, he was a surfer-boy fantasy come to life.
Just not mine.
“What can I get you?” He gave me a lazy smile, his eyes dropping to my empty ring finger.
“Just a glass of red. Whatever is good.”
“No problem. I’ll hook you up.” He winked, giving me a once-over before sauntering away.
I let out a sigh and looked over the bar menu before deciding against ordering anything more. My car snacks were still holding me over, and I honestly didn’t want to talk to the flirty bartender any more than I had to.
I had a strict man ban for the duration of this vacation.
Did I just rhyme?
For the next three weeks, it was all about Marin. She was my priority.
Did that mean I hadn’t packed provisions? No. Of course not. My favorite battery-operated boyfriend was safely tucked away in my suitcase, ready to take care of my needs, just like it had for the last…
God, how long has it been?
Just then, the bartender returned with my drink, along with his charming smile. “The owner thankfully expanded the wine list over the last year, so we’ve brought in some good brands. Hopefully, I picked out a winner.”
“Is this your favorite?” I asked. I didn’t know why. I didn’t want to give him any false hope.
“I’m more of a white-wine guy myself. I’ve never understood the idea of drinking something room temp. What’s up with that?”
I laughed—a real, honest laugh—and his face lit up. Shit. I needed to shut this down fast.
“I get that.” I had several segues I could have gone with. Most of them flirty, a few serious if I really wanted to get to know him.
But I didn’t.
I wasn’t looking for a fling.
When I saw the wisp of hair and a hand up in the air, I thought the universe was throwing me a lifeline.
I should have known better.
“Looks like your bartending skills are needed elsewhere,” I said, motioning toward the twenty-something bombshell behind him.
His gaze followed to where I was pointing, and his mouth fell open.
“Duty calls.” He sped off toward the blonde, and I swore it was like witnessing Ken meet Barbie.
Their eyes met, and he was instantly smitten. So much so that the rest of the patrons in the bar and I were instantly forgotten.
So much for getting food.
After about thirty minutes or so of people-watching and listening to my stomach growl, I wasn’t sure how much more karaoke my ears could take. Surely, in a room this big, there had to be at least one good singer, right? The math alone should prove that.
But either the talented people in the room were holding back or life simply was that cruel.
When the trio of women got up and butchered “Girls Just Want to Have Fun,” I’d decided this girl had had enough.
I just had to wait for the bartender to pull himself away from his new love interest long enough that I could pay for my drink. After a quick search, I found him nearly nose to nose with her. His fingers flipped a piece of her hair, and she laughed.
God, it’s like love at first sight.
I rolled my eyes.
I reached into my bag, looking around to see if I had any mints or, by some miracle, a cookie. When that turned out to be a bust, I decided to just fuck it all and pull out my AirPods.
If I was going to have to sit here and wait for the bartender to come back before I paid my tab, I could at least save myself the sanity.
I pulled up my music app and scrolled through my playlists. When Marin and I had first met, she’d found my taste in music…lacking.
“What is all this?” she said, staring down at the old CD collection I kept hidden from my parents—the one I’d inherited from Daniel before he went to college.
She picked up AC/DC’s Back in Black album by the tips of her fingers like it was a poisonous snake. I laughed.
“You don’t know who AC/DC is?”
“I mean, I’ve heard of them. I think my dad might have mentioned them. Why do you listen to this stuff?”
When she’d found out the reason, she didn’t mind so much. She learned my hot older brother—her words, not mine—had gotten me hooked on it, and suddenly, she’d had an overnight interest in it. Of course, she was still a diehard *NSYNC fan and a proud Swiftie, but at least she wore the Guns N’ Roses shirt I’d bought her, and she could actually name most of their songs.
I felt someone brush my arm, and I immediately turned. The bar was pretty packed, so it wasn’t the first time someone had squeezed in to try and flag down the distracted bartender.
It was, however, the first time I’d been rendered nearly speechless by the interloper.
He was everything I avoided.
Hair so dark that it was almost black. The ball cap he wore covered most of it, leaving only the tiniest raven-colored tendrils peeking out. He was tall. Damn tall. He wore a slim-fitting black hoodie, the sleeves pushed up. Every inch of his thick forearms was covered in ink.
And his face. Chiseled cheekbones, intense emerald-green eyes, and a freaking eyebrow piercing.
If Adam Levine had a doppelg?nger, it would be this guy.
That studded brow rose as those green eyes darted to the earbud he’d clearly noticed, and then he smirked, almost challenging me.
Look away, Elena.
Look the fuck away.
But I didn’t. Like an idiot, I pulled the AirPod out and cocked an equally challenging eyebrow. See, Mr. Bad Boy, I can do it, too.
He seemed to like that, his grin widening. “You know, some might consider that rude.” He pointed to the AirPod in my hand. “Downright offensive even.”
His eyes sparkled with mischief. He was goading me.
Flirting even.
“And are you one of those people?”
“Might have been if I hadn’t seen your playlist.” He motioned down to my phone. I hadn’t pressed stop yet, so the music rambled on. It was in the middle of “Wonderwall” by Oasis. “Didn’t peg you for a Metallica fan.”
Metallica? How long has he been watching me?
“And you’re basing this assumption on what?”
His eyes drifted down my body so leisurely that it gave me chills. He chose not to answer and instead asked, “Can I ask why you’re willingly in a bar, during karaoke night, when you clearly don’t want to be?” He again pointed to the AirPods.
“You can,” I answered with a shrug. “Not sure I’m going to answer though.”
That grin returned.
Does he have freaking dimples?
My insides flip-flopped, which was a definite sign I should walk away. No good could come from a bad boy with dimples and a panty-melting grin. But instead, I just asked, “What about you? Are you a fan of karaoke? Gonna get up there and sing a little ‘Sweet Caroline’?”
“Karaoke really isn’t my thing. I’m just here for the food, which appears to be lacking. Wanna head over to a table and try out our luck there?” He pointed behind him to where an empty table sat.
Huh, why hadn’t I thought of that?
“Then, maybe I can find out just how good your taste in music is.”
“I have excellent taste in music. Maybe it’s your taste that’s lacking.”
Man ban. I have a man ban.
Why was I still talking to him? It had been easy enough to shut down the flirty bartender. This should be no different.
“We’ll see.” He motioned with his hand, cocking that pierced eyebrow. “You coming?”
This was my chance to say no.
I could politely decline and still find somewhere else to eat. Maybe.
But instead, I got up and followed him to the empty booth.
As we were walking to the secluded booth in the corner, I did not notice the way his jeans clung to his tight ass. And I definitely did not look at all those tattoos on his arms and wonder what others he had hiding under all those layers of clothing.
Nope. Because he was not my type.
Not. At. All.
And it didn’t matter anyway. This wasn’t a hookup.
It was just two strangers enjoying a meal together.
Sure, keep telling yourself that.
There were times when I really wished I didn’t have an inner monologue. That bitch was annoying as hell.
I watched as he slid onto the bench across from me. There was something almost familiar about him, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. Maybe he was local, and I’d seen him around during my many visits to Ocracoke.
No. I would have definitely remembered a guy like him.
He seemed to notice me staring at him, and his lip curved upward into a wolfish grin. My cheeks flamed, and I awkwardly looked down at the menu in front of me.
Did I just blush?
I was not the girl who got flustered in front of a guy.
I was the woman who brought men to their knees—both in the courtroom and the bedroom.
This …this was not acceptable.
“So,” he began, bringing my attention back up to his emerald-green gaze, “do you always hang out in annoying karaoke bars? Or was this a desperate attempt to get away from something? Family reunion? A minivan full of kids? A husband you regret marrying?” His eyes glittered with amusement.
“Do you really think I’d agree to dinner with you if I had a husband somewhere, waiting for me?”
He shrugged. “I don’t know anything about you. You haven’t even given me your name.”
He was right. I hadn’t. Jesus. How reckless of me. Not even twenty-four hours into my man ban, a couple of dimples and a sexy grin, and there I was, having dinner with some nameless guy.
“You haven’t given me yours.”
His mouth opened. “It’s?—”
I put my palm out, stopping him. “Nope. I don’t want to know.”
His brow cocked. “You don’t want to know my name?”
I shook my head, my hair tickling the bare skin on my shoulders. “Nope. No personal questions. This is just dinner. No hooking up.”
His grin widened as he leaned forward on his elbows. “I don’t believe I offered. Are you always this forward?”
“I—” I rolled my eyes. “Just order some damn food.”
He laughed, and I tried not to notice how the sound sent shivers down my spine. Or how those dimples made his whole face light up.
God, he was pretty.
I was done denying it. Our time together was fleeting. An hour, maybe two. And then we’d part ways, and I’d never see him again.
Might as well enjoy the view.
He flagged down a waiter, who was thankfully very attentive and took care of adding my bar tab to my ticket. He ordered a double cheeseburger with extra fries and beer. He probably didn’t even think twice about it. I, on the other hand, stuck with the Caesar salad. I might be on vacation, but I had to squeeze into a formal gown in three weeks, and I’d already had my final fitting.
After the waiter left, a deafening silence settled between us until he finally spoke up. “Are you here on vacation? Solo, or?—”
I angled my head, giving him a sharp stare. “No personal questions, remember? And how do you know I’m on vacation? Or alone?”
His grin widened. “Well, other than the fact that you’re not denying it?”
He crossed his arms in front of him. I tried not to stare at the ink spread across them, but it was difficult. The word Creed stared back at me in bold, blocky script, written along the entirety of his left forearm.
His name? Last name?
Doesn’t matter.
Don’t care.
“You don’t look like a local,” he stated matter-of-factly. “You stick out like a sore thumb.”
My brow rose. “And you’d be an expert? You don’t exactly look like an O’Cocker yourself.”
He seemed impressed I knew the term locals used. He clearly did.
“You’d be surprised.” His expression darkened.
What was that supposed to mean?
Doesn’t matter. Don’t care, remember?
“So, you never answered my question before.” He met my gaze. “Why come to karaoke night if you’re not gonna listen?”
This was why I’d been discreet about the earbuds. “You’ll think it sounds stupid.”
That seemed to pique his interest. “Try me.”
“I wanted to be alone, but not?—”
“Alone?” he guessed.
“Yeah.”
Our eyes met, and something passed between us. A mutual understanding. I shivered.
“A bar gives you that, you know? You can be by yourself, but melt into a crowd and not feel isolated.”
His eyes softened. “Yeah, I know.”
I believed that he did—know, that was. Some people would just agree to placate you, but I had a feeling he got what I was saying on a deeper level. I’d ask him about it—except for that pesky no personal questions rule I’d instated.
“What about you? You don’t seem like the karaoke type. What brings you here?”
“Besides hot dinner dates?”
He meant it as a joke, but the way his eyes heated, even for just a moment, sent a zing of electricity down my spine.
And it had me seriously reconsidering my man ban.
I laughed, trying to cover the flutter of nerves he’d caused in my belly. “Right. Besides that.”
“Nothing nearly as deep. I needed food. And like you, I have a fondness for bars.”
“Why am I not surprised by that?”
He sucked in his bottom lip, slowly dragging it between his teeth, and I swore I felt it between my thighs.
“Why did that feel like an insult? Are you saying I’m the type to frequent bars, Louie?”
“Louie?”
“Well, my first inclination was to call you Miss Louboutin, but it’s a little long, and I just can’t get that accent right, you know?” His gaze drifted to my handbag before that wicked gleam settled on me. “Gotta have something to call you when I think about you in the shower later.”
Damn.
I bit down on the inside of my cheek, trying to keep my stupid grin from showing. “Oh, you’re trouble.”
“I’ve been called worse, but if that’s what you’re sticking with, I’m down.” He gave me a little wink.
“I’m not—” I gave an exaggerated sigh as he laughed.
I would not be thinking about him while I?—
Probably wouldn’t.
Okay, jury was still out.
It was like he could see the internal argument going on in my psyche, and he loved every second of it. His grin widened. “It’s okay. I won’t tell anyone.”
“Jesus.”
“Nope,” he said. “Not even close.”
I rolled my eyes.
Our waiter chose this moment to deliver our food, and I thanked the heavens for the interruption.
His intense stare was…
It was intense. There was no other way to describe it.
It made my stomach flip-flop and heat pool in the apex of my thighs. I tried to tell myself it was simply the change of scenery. It would be like eating the same boring cereal for breakfast every day and then suddenly going to IHOP. Everything would look good after that.
I’d been dating straitlaced suits for too long.
The bad boy sitting across from me was just a stack of decadent chocolate chip pancakes, and I was dying to sink my teeth in for a bite.
Okay, bad metaphor.
“So, you like Metallica, and I saw Oasis on that playlist. Tell me, Mystery Girl, what else floats your boat?”
“You first,” I challenged.
“All right,” he agreed, his hand sliding off the table. It came back a second later with his phone. “Pull up your music app. Show me your top songs from last year. We’ll compare.”
“But—” Those apps were a lot like social media.
“Just scroll past your username, Louie. I’m not trying to out you.” He gave me an amused, lopsided grin.
“Fine.” I grabbed my phone from my bag and did as he’d instructed, navigating to my playlist and scrolling down until the first song was at the very top and my name was hidden. I didn’t know why I didn’t want him to know my name.
I liked the feeling of being anonymous. I could be anyone at this moment.
Like a choreographed dance, we both placed our phones down on the table and shoved them forward at the same time, never breaking eye contact. A wry smile tugged at the corner of his lips as the tips of our fingers brushed against each other.
Sparks. There was no other way to describe it.
His eyes widened ever so slightly.
Did he feel it, too?
His throat bobbed before he tore his gaze away and looked down. I did the same, and a moment later, he was laughing.
“I really thought you were bluffing.” He shook his head.
“What?” I looked at his playlist, and it was eerily similar to mine. A healthy mix of classic and alternative rock from the last four decades—including some new bands I’d latched on to. “Did you think I was trying to impress someone, sitting there by myself?”
“No—I mean, I hoped not because shit, what a fucking surprise.”
“Good surprise?”
His eyes crinkled. “Great surprise.”
We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes. He scarfed down his burger while I enjoyed my salad.
“How does a bougie little thing like you get into music like that? Are you secretly a groupie, posing as a trophy wife? Is there a tramp stamp under there I should know about?”
“You’re funny.” I eyed his French fries with envy.
“I know.” He shoved his plate of fries to the middle of the table, and I my brow furrowed before I looked up at him. “No one should come to a bar and order just a salad. Not when bars have the best fries.”
I let out a sigh. “Fine.”
He looked at me expectantly, waiting for me to answer his previous question. It fell into the personal side of things, but I decided to answer it anyway.
“My parents were very strict. Still are, I guess,” I said, always feeling awkward when I spoke about them.
“You are not my daughter.”
The words assaulted my memory every time I thought of them.
“My brother and I were never allowed to listen to music unless it was in church. My brother was as straitlaced as they came. He never did wrong, he got the grades, and as far as my parents were concerned, he really did exist just to lick their ass.”
He laughed.
“It must have been around the time I was nine or so because he was ten. I was walking toward my room, and I heard something.”
I’d never forget that moment because the sound made me falter. I had never heard anything like it within the walls of our house.
“I crept up to his room and put my ear to his door, and sure enough, there was music playing. I didn’t even knock. I was a nosey little shit, so…” I shrugged, and he grinned. I was still a nosey little shit. “I’m pretty sure he jumped a foot off the ground when I appeared in front of him. I thought for sure he was going to yell at me. Instead, he shut the door, pulled me into his lap, and showed me all of his old CDs. I thought they were the coolest things I’d ever seen, and of course, by default, my brother was the coolest for owning them. Music was our thing.”
A sad smile ghosted across my face.
“You must have loved him very much.”
I looked up at him, my face blanched.
“You said was when you were referring to him.”
I swallowed, biting my lip. I didn’t need to say anything. He already knew, so there was no need to confirm it.
“Guess I broke my own rule, huh?”
He shrugged. “You know what they say about rules…”
He looked like the kind of guy who broke all sorts of rules.
And hearts.
“How about I tell you something personal and even the score?” he suggested.
I swallowed, biting the side of my lip before giving a slight nod. I watched as his gaze shifted downward. I could see his eyes lose focus, as if he was deep in thought, sifting through facts and memories, trying to pick the right one to offer up to the stranger sitting in front of him.
“I’m here for a family reunion of sorts,” he confessed, but the words were strained.
“You don’t sound happy about it.”
He shrugged, blowing out a breath. “Not sure it’s gonna be a happy sort of reunion.”
“You don’t think they’ll like seeing you?”
“No,” he countered. “I think they’ll be thrilled to see me after all this time, but I’m not here to mend fences.”
“Too late for that?” I stared across the table, a deep hollow settling in my chest.
“Yeah, something like that.”
“Families are complicated.” I knew that more than most.
He merely nodded.
A moment passed and then another as the sound of someone singing an off-key version to “Baby Got Back” went on behind us.
“You want to get out of here?” His eyes blazed, stirring a fire in my belly.
I didn’t hesitate. I just simply nodded and said, “Yeah, I do.”