CHAPTER THREE #2
There’s something about him that makes me feel daring. Comfortable. A little not like myself. I lean in close to him and whisper in his ear. “I’m an Americano with two sugars kind of girl, but I doubt you’d forget the name Collins.”
Quit while you’re ahead, Sutton. You might be pulling off the mysterious and flirty thing but it won’t last. You’re seconds away from devolving into the awkward, fumbling idiot, so take the win and walk away while you can.
And with that exact thought, I take my first step, trip over something—probably my own feet in the universe’s way of letting me know I’m not all that cool—and fall toward him. My hand lands on his crotch seconds before my face almost collides with his shoulder.
But I catch myself. Somehow, I gain leverage by pushing against his crotch and shoving myself backwards. He emits a grunt followed by a grimace, and as I steady myself, marveling at how I didn’t spill my drink while registering the exact size of what I felt beneath his pants.
My cheeks flush, and it’s way easier for me to take a long sip of my drink than meet his eyes.
“Jesus.” He chuckles. “If you wanted to test the goods, all you had to do was ask.”
This time he earns the roll of my eyes. It’s the only thing I can think to do other than die of embarrassment. “You really need to work on getting better pickup lines.”
“And you need to work on making better assumptions.”
Our eyes meet, hold, assess. “Are you telling me I’m wrong?” I ask, suddenly on the defensive. “That you’re not here on the prowl? Looking for a good time with a willing woman? Thinking you’ve found an easy target with me?”
“An easy target? You? Hardly.” He gives a quick shake of his head but his eyes tell me there is interest there.
Interest I both want and don’t know how to feel about.
This is all new to me. Foreign. Being hit on in a club. Wanting to be hit on in a club.
Desire in general.
What the hell do I do next?
Live a little. Enjoy feeling attractive and wanted.
Nerves rattle around inside of me as my bravado wanes.
“And for the record, I’m in town for work. Figured I’d grab a few drinks and relax before having to deal with my partners tomorrow.”
“I take it you don’t like them?”
He purses his lips for a beat before answering. “It’s complicated.”
“Isn’t everything?” I shift on my feet. “Thank you for the drink. It was nice meeting you, Johnnie. Good luck with your partners tomorrow and more importantly, in your quest to find your morning Starbucks date.”
“Where’s the fun in that, Collins?” He takes a step closer.
“I know rejection isn’t something you’re used to, but yes, I came here to celebrate my newly single status and my huge promotion at work with my friend. And now I’m going to return to that celebration.”
“A promotion? Nice. Congrats.” He taps his glass to mine.
“Yes. Thank you. They’re over there.” I motion to the velvet-roped area where Lizzy is sitting in the center of a group of guys. He looks to them and then back to me.
“Go celebrate then.”
“I will.”
“Off you go.”
“I’m going.”
“Then why aren’t your feet moving?”
Because I don’t want them to.
I should want them to. I should want the hell away from all men. I should be traumatized after what I allowed Clint to do to me . . . but it feels so good to flirt. So good to see a man look at me with desire. So incredible to be turned on . . . that my feet don’t want to move.
“Well?”
Panic strikes.
Sheer and utter panic.
“Who would have you if you left me, Sutton? No one else will find you attractive.”
“I will,” I say. “Right now.”
Keeping my nerves in check, I walk past him and toward the first exit, every step urgently hoping my brain will stop replaying Clint’s vicious words.
Shoving the door open, I welcome the sudden silence, the cool air on my face, and the immediate distance between me and a man who flusters me in ways I’ve never experienced.
It’s been two years since you’ve flirted, Sutt. It’s okay to be unnerved and unsettled and not sure how to feel.
Deep breath.
Slow, deep breaths.
I look around the dimly lit alley where people come and go a few feet from me and welcome the moment’s peace to gather my bearings and not feel like more of an idiot for running from Johnnie Walker.
“What are you doing?” I mutter to myself. What woman walks away from a man like that? Why can’t I allow myself to enjoy something a little forbidden and let loose after two years of whatever it was?
Go back in there, Sutton.
You deserve to feel good after getting the promotion today.
Go back and see where the night takes you.
You deserve to feel something exciting after feeling so numb for so long.
Do one more thing for yourself.
I laugh at myself, my new motto (apparently), and draw in a deep breath to fortify my courage before I do something completely out of the ordinary and wildly inappropriate.
The problem? When I go to open the door, it’s locked.
Clearly, they don’t want random people walking in from outside who haven’t paid the cover charge.
I’m a few steps down the alley toward the front entrance of Club Coquette when the door is shoved open behind me. “Collins.” I turn to see him standing there, framed in the light of the door closing at his back while goosebumps chase over my skin. “Don’t go.”
My bravado returns as he closes the distance and stops right in front of me. “I thought you didn’t beg,” I say.
He emits the sexiest groan before he pushes me against the wall at my back and takes the kiss he’s been working for all night.
And holy hell can this man kiss.