Chapter 4 Sutton #2
“I didn’t say I minded. You have a lovely voice. I’d likely spend the rest of my evening listening to whatever topic you picked.”
The bar lights cause her irises to glitter, and I feel my tongue in my throat.
“But,” I continue, “you seemed embarrassed by the oversharing, so I merely sought to keep things a tad less personal.”
“By asking indirectly about my plans.”
My fingers curl around the wineglass stem. “Admittedly, I’m not terribly well-versed in flirting.”
“That was flirting?”
Heat fans my face as she barks out a laugh, tipping her head back. My eyes lock on the expanse of her neck, all smooth and unblemished, practically begging me to sink my teeth into.
Jesus, Sutton. Where did that come from?
Shifting on my stool, I lift a shoulder. “As I said, I’m not well-versed in it.”
“Then… How do you get to know people well enough to fuck them?”
I glance at her mouth as it curves around the word fuck, my heartbeat ratcheting inside my chest. There’s something alluring about the way she says it, like it’s loaded with a thousand different meanings, all of them lewd.
But I’m not sure what to say to her. The short answer is that I don’t really, and that feels a bit too personal to divulge.
The long answer is even more personal, and I’m certain a stranger doesn’t care about the traumatic past I can barely recall.
My head throbs, sending a wave of nausea through me.
“Work keeps me busy,” I eventually relent. It’s true enough. “I don’t normally have the time for dating, casual or otherwise.”
“You’re a director, right?”
I cock an eyebrow, and she slides onto the stool next to me, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“Yes, I was eavesdropping. Rude, maybe, but now we have something else to talk about.”
I smother a grin. “Clever.”
“One of my many shining qualities.” She reaches up, toying with the snake charm on her choker necklace. “‘It was an awful thing that was done in this house that night, Mrs. Hale. Killing a man while he slept, slipping a rope around his neck that choked the life out of him.’”
Silence pulses between us, confusion wrapping around my thoughts.
“Ugh, how can you invoke the great Susan Glaspell to make a point and not even know her work when someone recites it to you?”
“I’m more surprised that you know it,” I admit, wincing slightly at how elitist it sounds.
“Well, I’ve been acting since I was old enough to walk and studying plays since I could read.
I memorized my favorites and have a tendency to interject when I hear someone talk about them.
My mom used to get on me for it, even though it was her fault I fell in love with the medium in the first place.
I mean, she and my dad would drag me and my siblings to theaters every chance they got, and—”
“Seems like you have a habit of rambling too,” I note. As if I’m trying to form a barrier against the instant attraction—something to keep the bad decisions at bay.
I can’t recall the last time anyone caused such a disturbance within my being. Certainly not since my undergrad years, when I stopped letting myself get caught up in romance or its relatives.
My body could no longer handle it. Not after that night.
“That’s true, I do ramble. I come from a pretty quiet family, and as the only extrovert, filling the silence is a superpower of mine.”
“Silence isn’t a bad thing though. It’s good to ruminate on thoughts before speaking them.”
She ignores that. “The point is I’m a Susan Glaspell fan.
Well, less specifically her fan and more interested in a lot of the female-written works from her time.
I’ve starred in a couple community productions of her plays.
I always think it’s interesting how so very little has changed for women in society, even decades later. ”
“What a terribly bleak analysis.”
“Do you disagree?”
“Well, women can vote now. You can own property, get divorced, and the protections for actors have definitely improved since Glaspell wrote the play.”
“Ah, yes, you’re right. Equality achieved. Alert the community aid workers. They’ll be so pleased to know their jobs are done.”
Warmth flushes my skin, and I push the wineglass away. “I didn’t say things were equal. Just better. Maybe. For some.”
“Yet here I sit—drinkless.”
“Is that a hint?”
“The polite thing to do when approached by a woman at a bar is to offer her something.”
“Doesn’t chivalry go against the whole equality thing you were just talking about?”
She grins, placing both forearms on the counter. As she does, her tits press obscenely against the neckline of her dress, and I have the distinct desire to shove my face between them.
I’ll bet they’re soft, her skin smooth as butter and just as supple.
“I’m thirsty and forgot my wallet,” she says, reaching out with her index finger. She places it beneath my chin, pushing up so my eyes meet hers once again. “I’d appreciate it if you helped me out.”
“With what?”
“A drink. Pay attention.”
The command in her tone makes me swallow. Hard. “Are you flirting with me?”
“If you have to ask, I must not be doing a very good job.”
“As I stated before, I’m not familiar with the concept.”
“Which I find odd, by the way. A guy that looks like you doesn’t even need to flirt. You could pick up anyone in this bar just by sliding a drink and condom their way.”
My eyes flicker to the counter as she drops her hand, her pinkie brushing the edge of the foil packet from before. “Are you really twenty-five?”
“Why, are you thinking about what I look like naked already?”
Self-consciousness flares deep within me, and I wonder if she can smell the depravity from earlier on my skin. No matter how many times I try to scrub it off, it never feels like I come all the way clean.
I must look skeptical, because she gives me a two-fingered salute, then crosses them over her heart. “Scout’s honor, I promise.”
“You weren’t a Girl Scout.”
That makes her laugh. She rests her chin in her palm, fluttering her lashes at me. “What else?”
“Huh?”
“What else can you tell about me from just looking?” She straightens her spine a little, giving me an expectant nod. “Go on.”
“You’ve already revealed an awful lot of information.”
“Yeah, but I want to know what you see. From the director’s eye or whatever. So come on. Do me.”
The demand makes my chest tighten, the double entendre not lost as she leans in, angling her cleavage so her tits are practically falling from her dress.
They’d rest nice and heavy in my palms. Not that I intend to take things that far, but goddamn if my dick doesn’t have other ideas. After a near decade of struggling to get it up without panicking or disgust, its sudden throbbing interest is alarming.
And intriguing.
Still, the woman waits.
“Ah…” I cough, facing forward. “All right. If I had to guess, you’re not from Fury Hill?”
She shakes her head.
I fold my icy fingers together. They tingle as I rack my brain for something else. “You like theater and have been in plays, so clearly you’re an actress. Career or hobby?”
“Sore spot,” she says, her mouth twisting.
Ah. Okay, redirect. “Do you prefer lead or ensemble?”
“Preference? Lead. But all roles are important.”
“Okay, so a rising starlet perhaps.” Pursing my lips, I scan the shelves of alcohol across from the bar. “I’d guess middle child? Intrinsic need to be noticed by everyone to make up for feeling invisible to family?”
One of her eyebrows arches.
My stomach feels like it’s in knots. “And…you came into a stuffy dive bar wearing a skintight dress and fuck-me heels, so I’d be willing to bet you’re running from some kind of heartbreak. Maybe looking for a distraction.”
“Wow.” She snorts. “That’s a terrifying skill you have.”
“Directors are trained to observe. I happen to pay more attention than most.”
“To everyone?”
I peek at her from the corner of my eye. Her lips purse, and I wonder what the strawberry color of her lipstick would look like smeared onto her skin.
Swallowing, I meet her stare. “To those I find interesting.”
There’s a strange glint in her eyes though. Something distant and detached, but she seems to shake herself out of it seconds later, fixing her gaze on me once again.
She lets it dip all the way down to my feet, hooked on the bottom rung of my stool, and slowly drags her focus up the entire length of me. I feel each covered inch like a zap of electricity in my spine, and it takes every ounce of willpower I possess not to make a noise of desperation.
The way my body aches for this woman I just met should be a crime.
“Do you act?” she asks, tilting her head.
“Not recently, but yes. My entire childhood. I was a theater major in college.”
“An educated man.”
“I make an effort. Knowledge is important.”
She nods, pinching the foil packet between two fingers, then slides it my way. Without lifting her finger from it, she holds my stare. A fire blazes in hers, unyielding and wanton, and I wonder if mine reflects the same carnality.
Raw desire—something I’m not accustomed to. Normally, tearing myself away from obvious advances is a simple enough task, but for some reason, I can’t make myself do it right now.
Her beauty is ethereal. Transcendent. I want to bite into it directly.
“Say there was a role up for grabs,” she says, looking at me from her lashes. “One that a handsome green-eyed man with theater experience would be perfect for.”
I don’t reply.
Don’t breathe.
“So perfect,” she continues, sliding forward on her stool until I can smell that lush vanilla and honey scent, “that he wouldn’t even need to audition.”
Sweat breaks out along my hairline. “Lead?”
“No, no. That’s mine.”
Maybe it’s the fact that the two masked figures left me unsatisfied earlier, and now this girl is offering herself without so much as an exchange of first names. No thoughts or feelings, just pure lust. The opportunity to expel some pent-up energy with a stranger.
Or maybe I’m losing it.
Either way, I find that I don’t mind all that much.
“What part would you like me to play?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips, and I’m glued to the movement, my body alight with need as she answers. “Understudy.”