Reckless

This bar is like so many I worked at throughout college. Dark and seedy. Smelling of spilled beer and cheap cologne.

But I like it.

Because tonight I want to blend in, which isn’t hard since I don’t know half of the people Vivian invited. Laughter booms behind me, and I turn to see my best friend holding court at our table, which is filled with a bevy of beautiful people.

My eyes drop to the short, pleated skirt I’m wearing, and I tug the hem, which doesn’t budge. It matches the sparkly bustier-like tank top that makes guys take notice.

I’m not in the mood to have my body on display, but I had to borrow clothes because I didn’t have anything nice to wear. Viv thought dressing up would cheer me up.

It doesn’t.

Neither does the bluesy, heartbreaking Rihanna tune blaring through the sound system.

Viv’s motto is “fuck ’til you forget,” but I don’t think I have that in me. I feel men’s eyes on me, and it makes my skin crawl.

I toss back the rest of the mojito before leaning over the bar to order another and reluctantly rejoin Viv’s table. At least I’m not the designated driver.

As the night wears on, the alcohol spreads through me until the smile on my face is more genuine. Until I’m not totally faking it. Until that ache I felt when I realized Ethan had a date with another woman ebbs away a little.

When I’m wondering how many more drinks it’ll take before my lips go numb, Viv links her arm through mine. “Time to dance!”

I let her drag me to the back of the bar and down a dark corridor that opens up to a cavernous room where the club lights are low and the music thumps my internal organs.

Viv wraps me in a hug. “I’ve missed you!” she screams in my ear to be heard over the music.

“Missed you too! I’m so glad Kat had your number.” Am I ever. “She saved it the last time I got locked out of the dorms.”

Viv laughs. “Weren’t you in a t-shirt and underwear?”

I shrug. “It covered my ass.” Mostly.

She can’t criticize me for that lapse in judgment. Her antics usually exceed mine exponentially.

We dance until we’re sweaty and I’m loose-limbed, but when a remix of Twenty One Pilots’ song “Stressed Out” blares though the speakers, it hits me all at once. How sad it is that I got through almost four years of college but didn’t finish. That I’m a twenty-three-year-old babysitter. That the guy I’m working for was probably only hitting on me because I was convenient.

Oh, God. I’ve turned into one of those depressed drunks.

After trading in my mojito for ice water, I try to shake off this persistent funk, but it settles like a fog, thick and suffocating. How much have I had to drink?

Sticky bodies bump into us, and I’m ready to walk back to Viv’s condo alone if she’s not ready to go.

I turn, and almost run head first into some preppy-looking guy. He smiles, and I try to return it, but my face doesn’t want to comply.

I glance around and realize Viv and I must’ve migrated away from each other during the last song because she’s talking to someone several feet away.

Preppy leans into me. “Dance with me, pretty girl.”

My first impulse is to decline, but then I remember how easy it was for Ethan to go out with another woman. “Sure.”

My new friend is handsome. Tall with black hair and a cute smile that sadly does nothing for me.

Thankfully, my body moves to the music automatically, the driving rhythm animating my limbs when all I want to do is crawl into bed and veg out in my pajamas.

I’m already glistening with sweat, but I’m breathing hard by the time the beat breaks into a new song five minutes later.

As I’m twisting my long hair back and out of my face, the guy moves closer.

“I’m David,” he yells as his hungry eyes take me in.

I take a step back, realizing I don’t want to go down this road. Ethan might not want me, but I’m not interested in hooking up with anyone else. Eighteen-year-old me would’ve been delighted to kiss away bad memories, but the college-dropout me is tired of this crap.

The club lights strobe, engulfing the room in darkness when they shift away. I scan the crowd for my friends, but I can’t make out more than bodies and long shadows.

“Thanks for the dance, but I have to go.”

“Wait! I thought we were having fun.”

He wraps his hand around my wrist, and I shake my head. “Sorry. I can’t.”

I start to walk away, but he yanks me back, and I stumble into him. What the fuck? He did not just grab me.

His meaty hand slides up my arm, and I’m opening my mouth to bitch him out for touching me when he flies backward, flailing into people on the way down.

I gawk at the guy, who’s sprawled on the floor.

My skin tingles, and I glance over my shoulder. Beneath the flickering strobe lights, I see him.

Ethan.

He steps closer, his brows furrowed as the music drops out, leaving the steady beat of the drum.

“You okay?” Somehow, over the din of the club, I hear his rumbling voice.

He’s here.

My chest swarms with boozy-headed butterflies.

I blink, wondering if I’m imagining him. But nope, he’s here.

He takes a step closer and gently grazes his fingers across my arm where David gripped me. “Tori.”

The way he’s looking at me, like he’s worried and pissed and maybe misses me? Makes me want to snatch that kiss I never got the other night. Yes, kissing. I definitely wanna do that with Ethan.

Except…

Except he’s probably here with Sandra.

On his date.

“I’m fine.” Crossing my arms, I nod toward David, who is stomping away through the crowd. “I can take care of myself. You didn’t need to do that.” I work to keep my words from running all together into one incoherent strand of syllables.

Begrudgingly, I take in Ethan. It’s hard not to notice how mouthwatering he looks in dark jeans and a button-up. I’ve never seen him in anything other than old t-shirts. He must’ve made an effort to look good tonight. Dick.

I glance away, not wanting him to see that I’m hurt. Come Monday morning when I’m taking care of his kids, I can pretend I’m cool, but right now, I still feel the hot sting of rejection.

Ethan gently lifts my chin so I’m forced to look into his eyes. “Did you want him touching you?”

Reluctantly, I shake my head, but I have to close my eyes when the room tilts one way and then the other.

He leans closer. “You sure you’re okay?”

Those magnetic blue eyes stare down at me. Why does he have to have such beautiful eyes?

My words come out too quickly for me to temper the anger in my voice. “I’m great. You can go back to your date.” I barely hold in a wince at how whiny I sound, but it’s hard to sound smart when I’m buzzed.

Slowly, his hands lift to my shoulders, but he backs away until he can make eye contact. “You think I’m on a date?”

Reallllly? He wants to play games? I barely hold in a hiccup.

“Aren’t you? Isn’t that why you’re here?” I motion toward him. “Why you’re dressed up?”

His eyes crinkle, like he’s keeping in a smile, before his attention dips down my body, but I can’t hear what he says because the music is too loud.

Ignoring the way I heat under his perusal, I shrug out of his hold. “By the way, it’s pretty rude to check out other girls when you’re here with…with…” God, what’s her name? “With Sandra.” That’s it! “Maybe you should find her.”

Except the thought of it enrages me, and I can’t help but bite out the next words, which I punctuate by poking his chest. “For the record, I’m not gonna fuck you like a side piece while you date other women. If that’s what you’re looking for, you’ve got the wrong girl. And are you really getting a divorce? Or are you running around behind her back?”

That giant hand wraps around the finger I’m poking him with, and he pulls me close.

“So fucking feisty.” He laughs and leans down to whisper in my ear, “My divorce goes through in less than a week. I’ve been separated for a year, but things between my wife and I crashed and burned long before that. And I promise I’m not on a date, sweetheart. I’m here for you.”

“What?” I’m so confused.

But he doesn’t answer my question. He merely takes my arms, winds them around his neck, and tugs me flush against his body. His big, hard body. Mmm. That deep voice rumbles in my ear. “Your sister told me where I could find you.” He kisses my temple. “I came for you. To find you.”

Those sick, drunk butterflies are back and battle around my stomach. I peer up to find myself nose to nose with him. “You came here for me?”

He smiles.

He came here for me.

I smile back like a loser.

The music shifts to something sultry that heightens my lust-filled fog. “You’re not here with Sandra?” Because buzzed Tori needs everything to be crystal-clear.

Ethan’s eyes soften as he nestles me closer until our lips are a breath apart. “I swear that was more a misunderstanding between me and Logan. Why would I be here with another woman when you’re all I’ve thought about since you barged into my life like a damn tornado?”

I laugh, and it feels so good. So warm. Like I’ve stumbled across a sliver of sunlight on a rainy day. “You must be a glutton for punishment.” With Lana del Rey’s “Burning Desire” swelling around us, I’m ready to scale up Ethan’s delicious body.

Sweet delight pulses through me at the thought.

Until a faint voice—one that’s thrashing around in my head, trying not to drown from the alcohol—cautions me against doing anything rash.

Against doing anything naked.

Because naked gets my heart in trouble.

Plus, don’t I deserve a better explanation for what happened at the diner last night? Even buzzed, I know this.

But then his lips brush against my ear and he whispers, “I’m a glutton for anything that involves you.”

Just like that, my resolve to keep some distance snaps.