Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
brENDON
This place is all squares—the stools, the tables, the couches, the patrons.
Candles flicker. The soft yellow lamp in the corner offers just enough illumination to make out the menu.
This place isn't my scene. It's hers. Upscale. Pretty. Filled with people in suits. The kind of people who gush over sauvignon blanc.
I don't get it. Wine tastes the same to me.
We're ten minutes into conversation, but I'm not absorbing any of it.
I'm thinking about that look on Kay's face. Like I stabbed her in the gut.
Anna's laugh grabs my attention.
She turns to show off the ink on her back. "It still looks good."
"It does."
"That's a compliment."
"Mine too. You designed the tattoo."
She tilts her head to one side. "I'm not sure I buy you as humble." Her smile lights up her blue eyes. They're hard to see from under her silver makeup.
And her lips are red. Bright red. Think about where these lips could be red.
But I'm not thinking about ordering her onto her knees.
I'm thinking about how Em wears her lips that color.
I try to ignore that Emma has a sex life. She's an adult. She can do what she wants. I'm not going to tell her that sex is wrong or dirty. Not like I can talk.
But I still prefer to not connect the dots.
I try to shake it off. "No?"
"No." She leans into the table enough for her breasts to press together.
She has nice tits. They'd feel good in my hand. Or around my cock.
"You seem like the type to brag."
"About?"
Her laugh is bold. Knowing. "I guess you don't have to. Not when you have a reputation."
I try to imagine Anna in my bed. Pressing her against the wall. Rolling that dress to her waist and tearing off her bra.
The image flickers in my head. For a second.
Then it's Kaylee against the wall.
My hand up her skirt.
Those doe eyes of hers looking up at me with every ounce of trust in the world.
This isn't how tonight is supposed to go.
I'm supposed to smile at Anna. Return her flirty glance. Go back to her place—I only bring women home when Emma isn't around—and get her begging for release.
But none of that appeals.
I force myself to look back in her eyes. Force my voice to that I know you want to fuck me tone. "Do I?"
She laughs. "Now, I'm pretty sure you're playing coy to mess with me." She wraps her fingers around the stem of her wine glass. Takes her last sip. "I got here early. Right after work."
I nod.
She motions to the bar. "Let me back up." She pushes her empty glass away. "How about a drink?"
"You're buying?"
She laughs. "Well, I did invite you out."
"Doesn't matter."
"You're old fashioned, really?"
In some ways, yeah. I nod.
"The old-fashioned tattoo artist. Hmm... I guess I can see it. Just don't tell me you have a problem with feminism. I can overlook a lot of deal breakers with someone so... well, you know you're handsome."
I nod. "Why would I have a problem with feminism?"
She shrugs. "A lot of guys I... date. They're threatened by women with power. Or a woman who knows what she wants. Or wants to pay."
"I always pay for a first date."
"And the second date?"
They're rarer. Third dates too. Fourth dates—it's been a long, long while since I've had a relationship that lasted longer than three dates. "You negotiating?"
She laughs. "I guess so."
There. The waitress is walking by.
I hail her. Motion to Anna.
She orders another glass of white wine, some specific label, and a brussel sprout salad.
I order Jameson and sliders. Good whiskey, but not look at how much money I have showy.
Anna leans a little closer. "I think you might have me if you tell me you're a feminist."
"I have you already."
Her voice lifts. "You sure about that?"
"Yeah."
"Not so humble, I guess."
No. Not so humble.
I lean forward. Stare into Anna's blue eyes. Try to find something to latch onto—something I want.
She's hot. Smart. Funny.
But all I can think about is Kaylee.
Those big, green eyes.
All the hurt in them.
Because of me.
Necessary hurt, yeah. She needs to know I'm not available.
I need to know it.
I need to convince my body and my heart that there's no way I'll ever have Kaylee in my bed.
But, fuck, the thought of stripping her out of that sweet sundress, dragging those cotton panties to her ankles, and diving between her legs—
"So." She stares back at me. "Are you a feminist?"
"Who wouldn't be?"
"You'd be surprised."
Not really. I'm well aware of how shitty people can be. "I was punk rock when I was a teenager."
"Yeah? Red hair?"
"Once." I run my hand through my dark hair. "My girlfriend did it for me." It was more of a fling, but close enough. "My hair practically melted. Had to get one of those half-shaved haircuts."
"I can't imagine that."
I tug at my t-shirt. "Imagine this with an anarchy symbol."
She laughs. "And now?"
"I've lost an appreciation for chaos."
"And your hair?"
"I no longer strive to piss off my parents."
She laughs. "Good. The dark hair suits you."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. You've got the whole tall, dark, and handsome thing down pat."
The waitress drops off our drinks. "Your food will be out shortly."
"Thanks." I take a long sip. It's too fast. A waste of good whiskey. But I need something quieting that voice that keeps reminding me that Anna isn't Kaylee. That no one else in the universe is Kaylee.
It's a quick fuck.
I'm going to make her come.
It shouldn't matter that she isn't Kaylee.
It's not like I've ever required an intense connection with a woman. Sure, it's a perk. Especially if we're moving past vanilla.
If I want to tie someone up, I need them to trust me. And I need to trust them to be honest about their limits.
But that comes easier than you'd think.
I take another sip. A slower one. It's good. Rich with that hint of toffee.
Anna brings her wine to her lips. Leaves a red stain on the glass.
That lipstick could be staining my cock.
But picturing those red lips straining around me—
It isn't doing anything to get my blood flowing south.
"So..." She traces the outline of her wine glass. Shoots me that aren't you going to bring up your reputation look. "Are you still punk rock?"
"I still listen to The Clash, but the rest of it—"
She nods. "Life forces you to be a square." She taps the table with her French-manicured nails. "I never was punk rock, but I was pretty sure I wouldn't grow up to be this."
"A woman with a badass teddy bear tattoo who invites guys out to bars for one-night stands?"
She laughs. "An executive assistant. But that too." She takes a long sip of her glass. "It's funny. This would have been a nightmare job to me at fifteen. But I love it."
"I know what you mean."
"And the other part... I think my past self would be proud."
"Yeah?"
"But you give yourself too much credit. I haven't decided if I'm sleeping with you or not."
That's bullshit. It's in her eyes. She's picturing me naked. She's even licking her lips.
It's not my personality or my conversational skills.
At the moment, I'm a terrible date.
But I can't muster up the enthusiasm to do better.
I finish the last drop of my whiskey.
I try to find something to latch onto.
She runs her fingers over the neckline of her tight, black dress. It hugs her tits in a way that should beg for my hands.
Only it doesn't.
I shoot her a sly smile. "You sure about that?"
Her laugh is flirty but nervous.
Her eyes spark.
She's reacting to me.
She wants me.
That used to be enough.
Pretty and willing used to be enough.
I've always been eager to get out of my head.
But now...
Her fingers wrap around my wrist. She's reaching out. Touching me. Making sure I know she wants me.
This is the part where I touch her back.
Where I smile and whisper something about what we'll do at her place.
But, fuck, her hand feels so wrong on my arm.
There's no way it will feel good around my cock.
There's no way I'm inviting myself back to her place.