8 #3
A head of red hair catches my eye. She’s talking to Hunter, hugging him, and for a second, I get jealous.
Not of him—he’s her brother for fuck’s sake—but of their bond.
Of how he can touch her or hang out with her whenever he wants.
Of the years he’s been around, whereas I couldn’t even bring myself to answer her calls.
Back then I swore my excuses were more than justified, but now I wonder if I let them control me too much. I should have come back, or at the very least, tried harder to mend fences instead of letting my pride get in the way.
But when I remember all the shit that broke my parents up, the people who played their roles in the breakup and the secrets they kept, it makes anger roil in my stomach. The same anger I’ve channeled on the ice and that’s won me games.
Only here I can’t aim it at another player or at a puck. No, here there is only one person I want to aim it at, and ironically, that’s the same person I need to forgive. The same person who always got me, but always scared the shit out of me, too.
“I need a beer,” I say to myself, running my hands down my face and returning to the main floor and toward the bar.
The good thing about tonight, other than the people who’ve shown up, other than the music and the amazing food, is that the booze is free. And I plan on drinking every drop until none of this shit weighing me down matters anymore.
At the bar, I lean over the edge, reaching for a glass.
“Excuse me,” a soft voice says. The cute, manicured hand that lands on mine matches the white polo shirt she’s wearing. “Maybe I can help?” Kayla runs her thumb along my skin.
“Maybe you can.” I grin, hearing the insinuation in my voice.
She winks in response and lines up the pint glass to the tap. “What’ll you have?”
I order a pint of red, and smile without taking my eyes off her while she pours. The low cut of her shirt dips enough to show off her exquisite breasts. I might be imagining things, but I’m sure she’s pushed those puppies up tonight. Judging by her brimming tip jar, my assumption is likely right.
“Here you go, Bam-Bam,” she says, offering me the drink, and my high instantly vanishes.
“Please call me Mitch,” I remind her, taking a long drag of my beer.
She ignores my reprimand and leans on the bar top, squeezing her tits together, making sure I see every single inch of skin possible.
“Quite the turnout,” she says, her eyes locked on mine.
“Yeah, pretty good.”
“So, what are you up to later?”
I read her mind—anyone could. She’s asking whose place we’re going to. Hers or mine. I almost chuckle when I imagine bringing her back to my parents’ home. I wonder if she’d like being fucked good and hard in my childhood bedroom.
“Nothing planned,” I reply.
“Well, that’s not true.” She leans in some more and signals for me to come closer. I do, and she brings her lips so close to my ear that her warm breath tickles my skin. “You’re coming to my place.”
Direct. No bullshit. I like that in a girl. I like when they say what they’re thinking, without any double-meanings or vague accusations. Unlike a certain redhead, Kayla doesn’t hide how she feels.
I glance down, noting her pebbled nipples, and take a few sips of my drink, filled with shame. I can’t go home with her. She’s an employee. Hunter would have my ass for it.
And yet, nothing seems righter. Nothing else that could soothe this tension weighing me down. “Give me your number. I’ll call you later.”
Once the staff’s gone home, I step outside of the brewery and take a moment to glance back at our accomplishment and enjoy this wave of pride that washes over me. Even though it’s the middle of the night, I’m wired and full of energy. I grab my phone and text Kayla.
Me
Offer still stands?
Kayla
Absolutely. 26A 2nd Avenue.
That’s only a few blocks away, so I walk there, leaving my car behind. It’s close to Maxine’s place, too, but I try not to think about that. I also try to ignore my conscience reminding me that I can’t hook up with an employee.
What a stupid start to a new business. But in a town like Oakwhite, finding a one-night stand you’ll never see again is sort of harder than finding gold.
Once I get to Kayla’s, I stand outside the two-story red-brick building and glance up.
A light is on in a window, and I half expect her to be peeking out of it, waiting.
But then I tilt my head and peer down the alley at the side.
There’s a parking lot, and beyond it is Maxine’s apartment. Her lights are on, too.
I rub my eyes, suddenly exhausted. My phone vibrates.
Kayla
The downstairs lock is jammed, so come right in when you get here. I’ll leave my door unlocked. I’ll be “asleep.”
So you can pretend to break in ;)
“Ah, fuck,” I say with a groan, shaking my head. She’s one of those role-playing girls. I’ve met a lot of those lately. Women who want to play games, want to test the limits of danger.
I consider myself to be a pretty open-minded guy. I’m willing to experiment in bed. I sometimes like it rough, too. But I also like it gentle. I like it from every angle. But rape-play is where I draw the line. Especially when I hardly even know the girl.
Chalking it up to just one more reminder that this is a bad idea, I accept that I’ll have to go another night without getting laid.
Me
Sorry. Something came up. Maybe another time? Have a good night.
I turn onto Oak Street to head back toward the brewery where my car is parked, but stop and glance back toward Max’s place. I’ve been excited tonight, anticipating sex, and there’s this uncanny pull in my gut, telling me to go see her. She’s still up, I’m sure. She’s always been a night owl.
My phone vibrates and my heart flutters inexplicably.
Kayla
Your loss.
“In more ways than one,” I mutter, tucking my phone into my pocket and heading toward the brewery with my head down.