Meeting You

3. Auden

I’ve been walking for the last forty-five minutes before I see a neon sign that reads, Creed’s. A bar isn’t a place I should be in, but what else can I do? I’m freezing, I’m soaked. There isn’t much of an option since, like a cherry on the fucking cake, my phone died at the same time as my car did. Call it fate, I guess. Maybe I was meant to walk into this bar.

No, no, I wasn’t. I just need out of the darkness before my anxiety takes over this entire night and no one can calm me down. I’m alone in the middle of nowhere in the middle of the night with no phone and no place to stay. The horror movie pretty much writes itself.

With a breath, I open the door. The lighting is scant and clouded with cigarette smoke. Great. I take a seat at the bar and sniff from the cold rain dripping from my skin and watch the crowd of locals. I shouldn’t be here.

They’re so many colorful people in the bar. College students to young adults, biker dudes to biker chicks. A group of guys clinking their beers makes me jump. Gosh, hearing their laughter and cheers brings back so many unwanted feelings. I really shouldn’t be here.

There’s a small group of slutty drunk girls at the other end of the bar. I can’t hear anything other than their shrieks; they’re so fucking loud. Country music is playing underneath all of it, just enough for me to catch a word or two, but not enough to recognize the song. Some of the guys by the pool table at the back are singing along, reminds me of college when I used to dance on tables and lip sync songs while half in the bag.

I’m the only person sitting alone.

I plop my purse on the bartop and glance at the three bartenders who work their magic at serving the customers, one of which catches my eye instantly. A woman is ossified drunk, swaying back and forth. He takes a glass and fills it with water, leading her to the far end of the bar by the double doors and sitting her down, lifting the glass of water to her lips. I don’t think she can see straight because she misses the glass twice before taking a sip. He enters the kitchen and comes back out with a bucket, placing it beside her.

He doesn’t have to do that; he doesn’t have to care for this poor girl. Something is nurturing about him, something caring and generous that instantly makes me feel comfortable to be in this bar. Something my gut is telling me will get me through this night.

I brush my wet red hair out of my face, watching him glance at me before he heads to the pool tables and picks up empty bottles and glasses. I don’t think my heart has thumped so savagely before. The way his short wavy hair sticks to his temples, those green almond-shaped eyes…ten minutes go by before this gorgeous brunette comes my way. He grins, raising his thick eyebrows, and rests his hands on the bar top in front of me. Those piercing green eyes stare at me like they’ve solved the world’s greatest mystery.

“You’re wet,” he says.

I sniff, feeling a chill seep up my spine. It might be a tingle, but I’m not quite sure if it’s from his gaze or my wet clothes. But the longer he stares at me it makes me want to scream, I feel like I can’t breathe. “I’m not dry.”

He glances at my hands as I crack my knuckles, trying my hardest not to stare at the tempting liquids standing beside him, taunting me.

I return my attention to him, catching him checking me out and he winks. “I’ll make you a coffee,” he says, disappearing behind a swinging door.

I don’t like coffee very much. I could use a drink. Vodka and cranberry sounds really nice right about now. The vodka bottle is right there, next to the tequila. Just a taste, a little sip. It won’t hurt, right?

Yes, yes it will. Coffee will have to do. He asks if coffee is what I want. It’s like he knows me and my demons. And I don’t even know his name.

Whatever. I need something hot in my system because I’m shaking now. Shivering, my teeth chattering, and I think my toes are numb. How is it July right now?

I take my phone out, tapping the screen. It’s dead, yet I still try to turn it on and tap it repeatedly. It’s that fear tickling my insides, telling me to get the hell out of this bar and go back to the car. But I refuse to do that nightmare-inducing walk until I see where I’m going.

He returns with a large white mug and slides it to me. He winks again and steps away, placing sugar and a bowl of tiny milk containers beside it.

“Hey?” I call out to him before he serves a customer another beer. “You have a phone I can use?”

He stuffs his hand in his back pocket and places a cell phone in front of me. His cell phone. Not the bar phone.

I don’t take the phone yet, I just watch him roam around the back of the bar. He looks like an octopus he works so fast. Smooth. Fluid, like he’s on autopilot. It’s a breathtaking sight to see.

I look down at the phone. Who am I supposed to call? My parents weren’t too fond of this idea in the first place but encouraged me to go. My friends thought it was a bad idea because my parents are my parents, not this guy that abandoned me.

I sputter and lift the phone, the screen lighting up to the bartender and a little blonde boy. The kid is cute, must take after his mother.

I dial my dad’s number. It goes straight to voicemail but is a good thing. He’d probably tell me, I told you that driving there was a bad idea.

I can call Evan, my ex-boyfriend. But he was also not too fond of me leaving. He got all uppity about it and said that maybe we should see different people. I don’t understand what seeing my birth father has to do with us breaking up, but I don’t care enough to fight. We never really loved each other. It was more of a companionship when we were lonely and in need of a good screw—good enough, I guess—which we did, one last time against his apartment door before I walked through it and never looked back.

I call Sean instead, and after one ring he picks up. “H-hello?”

“Hey,” I say, plugging my opposite ear to hear him clearly.

He sighs. “Jesus, Charlotte. I was worried sick! I nearly called the damn cops. Are you okay?”

I nod, sniffling. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. The car’s fucked—”

“Where are you right now?” he interrupts me.

I look up and stare at the tequila bottle as my mouth starts to salivate. “At a bar called Creed’s.”

“A bar? Is that a good idea?”

I roll my eyes, sniffing again. “I’m fine, Sean.”

“Look, I’m coming, okay? I’ll be there soon and we can—”

“Don’t, please. I’m fine. I’ll figure out everything in the morning when the storm blows over,” I grumble, staring at the coffee in front of me. He knows I want to do this alone. I have to do this alone. Meeting my birth father isn’t supposed to be a family ordeal, it’s supposed to be something between him and me, that’s it. “I’m okay, Sean, I promise.”

“I don’t like this, kid.”

“I know, but you trust me, right?”

He pulls in a rush of air and releases it. “Yeah. Yeah, I trust you.”

“I’ll call you in the morning. Just let my dad know my phone died if he tries to call you,” I say, without waiting for a reply, and hang up.

I push the bartender’s phone aside and sip the coffee. Gross. I push that aside, too.

I get up and rummage through my soaked purse for money to leave, but I think my wallet fell out of my purse. I can’t find it and now that fear is crawling back up my spine. I have all my cards in there. All my cash. Christ, can this night get any worse?

The bartender comes back as I’m frustratingly wiping my wet hands on my wet clothes, looking for loose change.

“It’s fine,” the bartender says, tapping the top of the bar. “Coffee’s shit anyway.”

I nod. “Thanks.”

“Get in touch with anyone?” he asks.

I shake my head, grinning at him. “No one important.”

“Tennessee Whiskey”starts playing over the speakers and he smirks, putting his hand out. “Dance with me.”

I frown, stunned by the sudden forward question. “What?” I look around. No one else is dancing. “Why?”

He winks, comes around the bar, and takes my hand, pulling me to his chest. “Why not?”

I can’t think of a valid enough reason other than I don’t know you.

“Dancing cures everything. It’ll fix that scattered look on your face.” His gaze travels to my lips, then back to my eyes. “Loosen you up a bit. And hey, I’m a really good dancer.”

“I’m sure that you are.”

He lowers his mouth to my ear, voice deep and gravelly. “Then dance with me, sweetheart.” The way he looks at me sweeps me off my feet before I can even say no.

His warm hand in mine sends a fresh set of goosebumps to pebble my skin. He’s swaying us side to side, grinning as he looks down at me with no mind that my wet clothes are soaking his.

Swallowing thickly, I place my hand on his shoulder and sway with him, seeing the sparkle in his eyes. This is unusual for me, but something about it is fitting. Lonely girl, soaking wet in a bar in the middle of nowhere. The handsome bartender asks her to dance, next thing you know they’re dancing to this song at their wedding.

I let the music take hold and I lean my head on his chest, listening to the rapid beating of his heart. There it is again, that comfort, that safety. I inhale his cologne, feeling his hand move from my shoulder blades to my lower back, his thumb grazing my wet jacket.

He leans his chin on my head, humming the lyrics as we sway in a circle. I close my eyes, suppressing a shiver and allowing this moment to take hold. Reminding myself that it’s okay to let go of the tension every now and again. It’s okay to let things be how they are and not to overthink everything.

The song comes to an end and I lift my head, looking up at him before letting go. He just smiles at me, filling my belly with warmth. “I get off in fifteen,” he tells me, studying the features of my face.

The way he looks at me leaves an evergrowing attraction to him even though he’s a random-ass stranger in a random-ass bar on the side of the road. But he’s beautiful.

I frown. “Okay?”

“I live above the bar, you can warm up and dry off and wait for someone to pick you up,” he says, tapping the bartop again before turning to a customer.

Well, if this isn’t one of the many shitty ideas I’ve had lately, I sit back down and wait for his shift to end. I mean, why the fuck not? What’s he going to do? Kill me above his bar? Is this his bar? I don’t know. I just want a hot shower and some warm clothes. And sleep. Fuck, I just want to sleep. According to his cell phone, he’s a dad, anyway. His son is probably asleep upstairs.

Thirty minutes later, the bar still hopping and crowded. He disappears through the two-way doors and pokes his head out to signal me. I follow even though my gut is telling me it’s a complete and utter mistake. I don’t know him. I should be waiting by the car. I should be trying to reach my dad again.

I’m following the bartender, that gut-wrenching feeling uplifting when he smiles at me over his shoulder.

The back of the bar is packed with glasses, kegs, wine bottles, and a buttload of hard liquor. I wonder if one went missing would anyone notice? Nope. I can’t think this way. I won’t think this way.

He places his apron in a cubby and continues walking to the back of the area, looking behind him to make sure I’m following. He opens a red door that leads to a darker red stairwell. He climbs them and so do I. There’s this ache in my belly and I can’t tell if it’s bothering me that I’m not scared of him or if I’m bothered by the fact that I actually want to be here. To follow this mystery man into his home and pick his brain for the night.

When we reach the top, he lights up the upper floor to exactly what I imagine an apartment over a bar to look like. Ratty-looking couch with one too many pillows. Neon signs are all over the walls, empty cans of soda and beer scatter the coffee table. Some are even stacked on the floor like a pyramid. There’s a small hallway with an open door that shows off his room, dirty clothes on the floor and there’s a red bra hanging off the doorknob. I already feel out of place, but I’m freezing and there doesn’t seem to be anything around here aside from this bar.

“You got a dryer I can throw my clothes in?” I ask, trying to get out of my jean jacket with a grunt. It seems to have glued itself to my skin.

He nods and peels his shirt off, tossing it at his bedroom door, then takes a sweater off the couch. Woah, talk about a body. It’s a sin to clothe a torso that looks like this. He has a nipple ring on his left nipple, a dainty hoop hanging from it. He’s riddled with scars, a deep groove under his left pectoral, but that just makes him that much more intriguing. Every curve, ripple, and clean-cut edge has me weak in the knees. Even down to the pendant he fixes around his neck when he pulls the sweater over him. He looks at me, catching me staring. I don’t care because damn.

He disappears down the little hallway and comes back with a dark blue robe, holding it open so I can get in it. When we lock eyes, he lifts the robe in front of his face to give me some privacy. I’m not shy about my body, but I don’t feel like getting naked in front of a guy I just met. I don’t even know his name. I don’t want to know his name. I should know his name in case I go missing, shouldn’t I? No, no. The fewer ties I have to this shitty ass town the better.

I drop my clothes as quickly as I can, nearly toppling over trying to get out of my jeans and cover myself in the robe.

I nod, tightening the straps around my thin waist. “Thanks.”

He doesn’t acknowledge it and picks up my wet clothes, checking the pockets as he disappears again down the little hallway. I take this as an opportunity to look around. It’s so dark in here, it’s astounding the stand-up lamp can shine enough light. There’s a TV stand in front of the window with loads of records stacked under it and a bunch of Blu-ray movies surrounding that. I crouch down and sift through his record collection. My dad has a huge collection in the basement. When I was a kid, we’d spend every Thursday night listening to a new record. He’d even let me flip the sides and place the needle back. I wonder if my birth father likes records as much as my dad does.

“See anything you wanna listen to?” the bartender asks, startling me.

I place a hand on my chest, closing the robe a bit more and rising. “No.”

“Should be done within the hour,” he explains, plopping on the couch. “Mind if I smoke?”

“It’s your place,” I say, standing awkwardly in front of the TV.

“If you don’t like it, I won’t light up.”

I really don’t want him to light up. I quit smoking three years ago and if this hunk of meat lights up, I might have to light up, too. “You don’t have to change your routine on my behalf.”

He doesn’t light up. He tosses the pack of smokes on the coffee table and leans back on the couch, resting his ankle on his knee and his elbow on the arm of the couch. “What’s your story?” he asks, his eyes rolling over me.

I shrug. “I don’t have one.”

“Everyone has a story.”

I arch an eyebrow. “None worth telling.”

He chuckles, tapping two fingers on his lips. It’s obvious he really wants to light one up. I used to suck on lollipops to help cut some of the cravings. But I don’t think he has any lollipops.

With his fingers still on his lips and eyes still wandering about my body. “You hungry?”

I nod and fold my arms. “No, I’m good.”

He taps the couch beside him. “You can come sit. I won’t bite.”

I point to the red bra hanging on his bedroom door handle. “Your girlfriend won’t be upset that you have a naked chick in your living room?”

“I don’t have a girlfriend,” he answers, looking over at the bra. “That was from a while ago.”

“From another stranger you let dry her clothes?”

He laughs. Such a cute laugh. I like his laugh.

“Sure, let’s go with that.” He chuckles. Another once-over, but I still don’t move. “The name’s Storm.”

A smile touches my face. And when I smile, my dimples pop out. “Like the superhero?”

“No.” He shakes his head with a giggle. “It’s a nickname.”

I nod. “Cool.”

He taps the couch again. “You got a name?”

I do have a name. I just don’t want to give him said name. So, I think of the only name I always wanted to be called but I was stuck with the one I got. Something I go by to new people.

“Auden.”

I’m shivering a little, but I don’t want him to see, so I focus my attention on his bookshelf. He has more books than I do. So many that they don’t fit on the shelf anymore and have piled on a side table next to the shelf.

“That’s an interesting name.”

“So is Storm,” I shoot back, looking over my shoulder as I crouch down again.

“End up calling anyone?”

“One of my friends, yeah.”

I take one of the books off the shelf. Huckleberry Finn. I haven’t read this since high school. He has a lot of classics in his collection. My ex, Evan, never read. I was lucky if he ever read my texts. So, seeing Storm’s packed bookshelf is kind of a turn-on. It reminds me of Sean. But I need to focus. I’m in the middle of nowhere in some guy’s apartment that’s right above some bar named after the worst band from the nineties.

“What’s your story?” he presses, looking at me with such intensity, it’s kind of intimidating.

“I don’t have one. My car broke down, then my phone died, so I figured I’d find a place to call a tow truck but then I realized I don’t even know where I am, so calling a tow will do me no good,” I respond, side-glancing him and placing the book back on the shelf.

“Where’d you break down?”

I take Dracula off the shelf, turning it to look at the back. “On the side of a very dark road.”

He chuckles dryly. “I meant how far from here?”

“Oh, um.” I stand upright, looking out his window, and point. “Like forty-five minutes that way.”

“That’s a shitty place to break down.”

I roll my eyes without him noticing and slide the book back on the shelf. “I’ll plan on breaking down in an actual town next time, thanks.”

“You’re feisty,” he says, his fingers have gone back to his lips.

“Thanks?” I question and look out the window again as the rain pelts against it. “It’s really coming down out there.”

“You’re more than welcome to crash on the couch until it blows over.” His fingers have moved again and he licks his lips slowly. Why is this doing it for me?

I’m nervous and excited all at the same time. I should be scared, wary of this stranger. But I’m not. There’s this pull I can’t explain. This energy we’re creating that’s so natural. Inhuman. Like we’ve known each other forever.

But I can’t.

“Whatever you’re thinking, rethink it,” I say, but I don’t look back at him as I do. I keep my focus on the rain.

He snickers. “And what am I thinking, Auden?”

I allow myself to look at him, that magnetic pull aching us to move closer together. I’m drawn to him and I don’t know why. But I think he can feel it, too. He hasn’t stopped staring at me like he owns me since I walked into Creed’s.

I raise my eyebrows and he laughs a little louder. It’s crossed my mind twice since I’ve been in his apartment. It would be easy to sleep with him and never see him again come morning.

He thins his green eyes, still smiling that gorgeous grin. “Nothing.”

There it is, that laugh again. Such beauty to it, rough rawness. “I bet you it’s crossed your mind at least once, am I right?”

“No.” I’m lying. But I won’t give in to those intense green eyes eating me up.

I fold my arms, popping out a hip. He can’t stop staring at my tits in this robe. I’m cold as shit, but that doesn’t give him the right to stare at my nipples—even though I secretly want him to. “You got any coffee? Like better coffee than the one from earlier.”

He nods but doesn’t move. “I do.”

“Can I have some?”

“You can.”

As he’s staring at me, this mischievous grin spreads to his face. He better stop it before I stop it for him. This is a bad idea. I should’ve sat in my car until the rain let up and it isn’t so damn dark out.

“Do you have an iPhone?” My phone is dead and my charger is somewhere forty-five minutes away by foot in a dead car.

He nods. “I do.”

“Can I use it?” I hope he’ll stop playing his stupid game with his stupidly handsome face.

“Join me in the kitchen.” He gets up from the couch and turns the corner, the sound of cupboards and drawers opening moves through the pitter-patter of rain.

I clear my throat and join him, snagging my phone from my purse as I do. the cold tiles aren’t helping my numb feet. It’s too awkward to ask for socks or a blanket, but he needs to crank up the heat in here. I’m cold as ice.

He points to the charger and starts opening the cupboards again. I help myself and plug it in, stepping closer to him as I do. He smells so damn good. Like citrus and cigarettes. More like citrus and bad decisions.

As luck would have it, nothing is happening to my phone when it’s plugged in. It’s not too wet, but wet enough that I might need to place it in a bag of rice. And as if he can hear my thoughts, he places a bowl beside the charger and fills it with white rice, smiling at me.

I adjust the robe again. It seems to have a mind of its own around him and wants to open. “Thanks.”

“How do you like your coffee?” he asks, filling the kettle with water.

“Black,” I say, staring at his fridge. Some bills need to be paid, drawings I’m assuming are from the little boy on his phone, and there are a couple of photos of smiling faces—he really does photograph well. A few bottle opener magnets, and an ultrasound photo. “You have a kid?”

“No.” He shakes his head. “The kid’s my nephew.”

“How old’s your nephew?”

“He’s six,” he replies, leaning on the counter by the stove and crossing his feet at the ankles. “You have any?”

“No,” I scoff with a chuckle, staring at the ultrasound photo. Why would he have an ultrasound photo of his nephew on the fridge? “I’m far too young and single for that.”

“How old are you?”

I arch an eyebrow but continue studying his fridge. “How old are you?”

“Twenty-five,” he says, folding his arms across his chest.

“You’ve got a year on me.” I suck in a rush of air. I don’t know why, but I need to know everything about this Storm. To pick apart his brain and dive into that beauty head.

I point to a picture of him with two other men, all matching green eyes. “Who’s that?”

“My brothers.” He inhales a shaky breath, tonguing his cheek. “D-Denny. He’s the eldest. Rick’s the middle brother and he’s Heath’s dad.”

“Cool.” Is all that comes out of my mouth.

“Why do you ask?”

“No reason. Just making conversation.”

He nods, tonguing his cheek. “You got any nieces or nephews?”

“I’m an only child.”

I don’t like kidsis what I really wanted to say. No, not entirely. They bring instability with them. I want to start my life before considering it. They’re a lot of responsibility and I’m not in a committed relationship to even begin to think of it. I’ve always seen kids as something I have to do, like the next step in my life plan. But it’s not something I’m rushing into. My purpose in life is to help people. If kids fit into that picture, then great. If they don’t, then that’s fine, too.

He chuckles nasally. “Heath’s a little wild cat. Kid’s off the wall, but he’s my best bud.”

His gaze moves from the picture of his nephew to the ultrasound photo. And a sadness paints his face. It takes all of me to hold back from wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him into me. Who hurt him? Who would dare hurt this beautiful human?

“I don’t care how crazy he gets sometimes, I can’t wait to be a dad.”

“That’s sweet.”

You don’t see many men excited about things like that. Another thing that makes my thighs clench together. Ooh, it’s going to be a long night.

The kettle starts whistling and he pushes off the counter to stop it. He works the kitchen like he works the bar. Quick, fluid, and not a single mistake is made. It’s admirable being able to work a room like that. I don’t think I ever worked a room before. I used to be the obnoxious one, the fun partygoer. Now I’m the quiet one.

Storm hands me the coffee, and then his phone, nodding at it.

“I don’t really know where I am.”

“Creed’s off Clifton Road,” he says, making himself a cup of coffee, too, and retreating to the living room.

I follow Storm. He’s in the same position on the couch with the coffee resting on the armrest. I sit beside him, and that scent he’s giving off infiltrates me.

Citrus and cigarettes are becoming my weakness.

With a shaky breath, dial my dad’s number again, waiting for him to answer.

“Yellow?” my dad says sleepily.

“Hey,” I start, letting out a nervous breath.

“Charlotte? Whose phone is this? Are you okay?” my dad’s panicked voice sounds in my ear, loud enough for Storm to hear. “I’ve been trying to call you.”

I can feel Storm looking at me and I’m sure he turned when he heard my dad call me Charlotte. That’s the name my adopted parents gave me. I don’t like the name. I never did because it’s not my name. I chose Auden as my name. I like Auden, it suits me. It’s unique and means ‘old friend’. I’ve always been an old soul—at least that’s what my mom tells me.

My parents thought there was something wrong with me. Does she have a personality disorder? was what they asked the doctor. I saw a therapist or two until I told them I was done. My mother still doesn’t understand my fascination with the name. But my father does, he understands my annoyance with being called Charlotte. He calls me Auden from time to time, but my mother never will.

I nod, meeting Storm’s eyes and looking away immediately. “Car broke down on the way in. I’m waiting out the storm at a bar called Creed’s.”

“You need money?” my dad asks. “Sean called not too long ago. Said he’d come to pick you up.”

“No, no. But can you call triple-A for me? I don’t have my cards with me. I think I left them in the car.” I lean forward, elbow on my knee. “Tell them the car’s off Clifton Road.”

“Is there a hotel you can stay at until they pick it up?”

“No, uh, I’m staying at the bar until morning,” I reply, glancing at Storm. “Upstairs is like an apartment. I’m crashing on the couch.”

“Charlotte.” My dad sighs. “Being in a bar isn’t a good idea for you. Upstairs or not.”

“I’ll be fine.” I nod even though he can’t see me. “My phone is dead, just text this number when you call.”

“Okay,” he says, sighing again. “You’re sure you still want to do this?”

I clear my throat. “I love you, Dad.”

“Love you, too, sweetheart. I’ll text you soon,” he says, hanging up shortly after.

Storm takes a sip of the coffee and places his arm on the back of the couch. His hand dangles off it right next to my shoulder. “Everything good, Charlotte?” He enunciates my name and arches an eyebrow.

I nod, grinning once I face him. “Yep. My dad’s going to text you once he calls triple-A.”

He chuckles. “Not gonna comment on the fact you gave me a bogus name?”

I shake my head, placing his phone on the coffee table. “Nope.”

“Name’s really Luke,” he says. “But Storm isn’t a bogus name, it’s my nickname.”

“Can I use your washroom?” I ask, ignoring his explanation. He doesn’t need to know any of my personal life. Charlotte/Auden, he’ll forget it in the morning.

“Room in front of mine.”

I nod—I don’t know why I keep nodding—but I don’t move. His fingers have started grazing my shoulder. Goosebumps cover my body, pebbling my skin as he slowly undresses me. Why is he undressing me? Better yet, why am I letting him?

My shoulder’s exposed and his fingers are touching my skin, tracing slow circles. My heart is going wild by his touch. This is not like me. I’m the rational one. The calm and collected one. The longer his fingers linger and tease me, the harder it’s going to be for me to say no. What do I have to lose anyway? Come morning, I’ll go my way and he’ll go his.

“Room in front of yours, right?” I say breathlessly.

“Mhm,” he says, moving the robe completely off my shoulder. Goosebumps are already formed on my skin, but I swear more are forming from the graze of his rough fingers.

His breathing shudders, staring at my exposed shoulder and inching closer to me. If I let him undress me anymore, I’ll be naked on his couch.

I’ll be naked in his bed.

Better yet, we’ll be naked together and I’m starting to think this is a good idea.

He begins to move his mouth closer to my shoulder and as soon as his lips touch my skin, I jolt up from the couch. There my heart goes again, bouncing around like a jackhammer.

Stammering on a couple of words, we lock eyes and this sensation flows through me. This connection I’ve never had with anyone but Sean. A comforting, loving awareness that warms my cold heart. I fix the robe with a squeak and disappear to the washroom without so much as a glance back at Storm.

What the actual fuck is wrong with me? Am I about to sleep with this guy? Fuck a guy I don’t know? I’ve never had a one-night stand before. My insides are squirming. My hands are shaking. There’s this adrenaline rush coursing through my veins that’s telling me to give in.

To live a little.

I was wild once. And it was enough to last me a lifetime.

I fix my hair over my head and see a bottle of tequila and a bottle of pills on the vanity. This guy is either a risk-taker or has planned something unthinkable.

I stare at the tequila. The little temptress.

One little sip won’t kill me.

One little sip can ruin me.

I grumble, knowing if I cross that line again, there will be no going back without Sean. He helped me through it the first time around. If I slip, I’ll need him and I highly doubt he’d be able to make it here in time before I chug that whole bottle.

I shake the thought of relapsing out of my head, breathing slowly as the dryer spins my clothes around behind me. I should just wait in the bar if I’m allowed to. Or even in the phone booth I saw outside. Anywhere but here. I don’t think I’ll be able to control myself here. Storm’s hot. I’m smoking. It’s pouring rain out. We’re strangers. The events that are bound to happen kind of write themselves.

I flush the toilet even though I don’t do anything and stare at myself in the mirror. My hair’s curled from the rain, my makeup is faded. I wipe under my eyes and crack the bones in my neck, wondering what he’s doing out there on the couch. Is he waiting for me to come back? What would have happened if I didn’t stop him from trying to undress me?

The persistent throbbing between my legs is aching for it. So what stopped me? It’s not like I’d ever see this guy again. Plus I’m having the worst craving I’ve had in almost three years; he’d be the perfect distraction until my phone comes back to life and I can call Sean.

Christ, I’m losing it, aren’t I?

With one more tug on the rope around my waist, I open the door and Storm’s standing there, a hand on either side of the doorframe. I step back, startled and he grins. We don’t move. The air runs thin and I swear he can probably hear how loud my heart is hammering. One of us will make the move. Him or I. Yet I continue to tell myself how out of place this feels. But regret isn’t forming only because it also feels so right.

Nerves are diminishing.

Want is replacing it.

When he blinks and shifts his focus on my lips, I lick them, slowly, as a way of telling him this is going to happen. He understands and licks his lips in the same fashion.

He thunders toward me and grabs my face. He’s warm, so warm. The coldness of my lips on his make the perfect yin and yang. Unexpected isn’t even what I can describe this as. But it’s happening. Look at me, breaking out of my shell.

We stumble back into the washing machine, deepening the kiss like our lives depend on it for survival. The storm isn’t letting up. Thunder claps, lightning strikes. Matching the chaos that’s happening inside this washroom.

He kisses down my neck, nibbling at my collarbone. Slowly, he pulls apart the robe, revealing my breasts as his eyes scan them and the robe falls open naturally. He shudders, as if just as nervously anxious as I am, and slams his lips back on mine. He slides a hand up between my legs, making me gasp as he touches me. I haven’t been touched like this in weeks.

His fingers trace down my slit, slowly finding my entrance as his thumb rubs my clit. Moans are mixed with heavy breathing and his lips desperately capture mine. It doesn’t take me long to finish. This is already too wild for me. I can feel him hard against my leg, and I know what’s coming next.

A shaky breath leaves me when my knees are about to buckle. I haven’t had an orgasm that intense in years. His tongue sweeps my mouth and he moves his face away from me long enough to slide the fingers that were inside me into his mouth.

Fuck. That was sexy.

He tears off his sweater, then de-robes me, lifting me onto the vanity behind him. His shaking hands open the medicine cabinet searching for a condom.

This isn’t like me, I’m not sure if this is like him, either. But he looks at me when I fix the necklace around his neck and lets out a calming breath, then meets my lips.

I unbutton his jeans and help myself, stroking the length of him. He chuckles, letting out a soft moan before moving my hand away and getting out of his jeans. He’s big, and I know he’ll have trouble easing inside me.

With the condom on, he comes back to my lips, and warmth blooms within me. I feel okay for the first time since Evan and I broke up. I feel wanted. Evan never made me feel wanted. Three years with the guy and I wondered if he ever loved me or if he stayed with me because our families got along so well.

Storm’s tongue slides along my jawline and gets lost in my mouth. This is new. This is wild. This is what I like.

He’s not the biggest I ever had, Sean still tops the charts on that. And I had him when I was fifteen up until three weeks ago. He’s my best friend and someone I go to for a warm bed on a lonely night. But Storm sure looks like he knows how to use it.

He slides into me, holding steady as I squeal from his girth. A smirk spreads to his lips when I mold to him and he starts rocking quickly. I don’t silence my moans. I make sure he hears what he’s doing to me. What no man has done to me in years. Ache, want, and utter passion leak from my lips.

His knees hit the vanity door so he lifts me and sits at the edge of his tub, making me do all the work. I’m my best on top.

The quiet apartment is now filled with moans, groans, and cries. For a man I met less than two hours ago, I feel like we’re connecting on another plane of existence. Knowing each other’s bodies like we’ve been together for lifetimes. We have this drive that unites us. He feels it, too, I know he does. But he knows this is nothing more than a one-night stand and I know that this isn’t anything other than a drifter consummating with a local.

He grunts intensely, breathing onto my neck and licking until he meets my mouth. Fuck.

“Shit,” I mutter.

He chuckles. “You’re welcome.”

The dryer beeps and we both look at it before meeting each other’s eyes. I’m embarrassed, turning completely hot in the cheeks, and get off him, quickly opening the dryer door to get dressed. He doesn’t move, though. He watches me change before discarding the condom. Even then, he stays naked. Why is he staying naked? Even naked he’s hot as fuck. Especially naked.

“Thank you, uh, for the coffee.” I nod and leave the washroom. I snag my phone that’s at 47% and stuff my feet into my boots before I charge out of his apartment.

I don’t know why I ran off. But I did and it doesn’t really matter, I’ll never see him again. I keep telling myself I’ll never see him again to make my actions accepting. Actions that don’t feel like mine.

The bar is still hopping so I move through the ravenous people and charge outside. Yep, I’m soaking wet again. But at least it’s not as bad out as it was before.

I start walking toward my car again, and I’m shivering harder than I was earlier and not because of the cold. Because of the thrill of what I just did. I slept with a guy named Storm. A guy I just met. A guy who knows my real name and has my dad’s number. Getting out of here is my only priority that’s for certain.

I’m embarrassed, I don’t know why. People have sex all the time and never call the person back and never see them again. That’s not me. Maybe that’s why I’m panicking.

I release a shaky breath and tug the jean jacket closed. I’ll curl up in the front seat of my car and sleep, not before changing, though. I’ll change into something dry and wait the storm out.

What other choice do I have?