Breathless (121 page)

“Sorry, I don’t need a drink, but can I use your phone?”

“Oh?”
That’s a new pick-up line
.

“Yeah, I need to call the landlord or a locksmith.”

“Oh.”
Okay, so maybe that wasn’t a pick-up line
. “Is something wrong?”

“Yeah, I accidentally locked myself out of my place.” She looked at me with an anxious look in her hazel eyes and I immediately felt a compulsion to help her.

“Shit, that sucks.” I grabbed the cordless phone from under the bar table and handed it to her. “Do you have Roger’s number?”

“How do you know Roger?” she asked and gave me a hesitant look.

I laughed. “Don’t worry, I’m not some psycho. He’s the owner of the entire building complex, including the bar. So he’s my landlord too. Plus, I also live in the building. Unit 605, in case you’re wondering.” I smiled at her suggestively.

“Oh sorry.” Her expression relaxed. “I don’t have his number with me, so that’d be great if you could give me his number,” she said gratefully, completely ignoring my subtle invitation.

She must have a boyfriend
, I told myself.
There’s no way she would brush me off like this if she were single.

“Not a problem.” I dialed Roger’s number and handed the phone to her. I smiled at her—not my signature smile I normally flashed to a hot girl, but a genuine smile. I didn’t know what it was, but there was something about her that was comforting and real.

“Thanks.” She took the phone and smiled back at me. There was a twinkle in her eyes and the way her lips moved when she talked that drew me in. It was hard for me to look away, and I felt a twitch in my pants in agreement.

I watched her as she waited for Roger to answer, her hand absentmindedly removing some dried paint from her hair. I observed her in amusement. She seemed completely comfortable in her skin—something I almost never saw in girls. At least not the girls I usually met, and certainly not when they were in front of me.

“Is he there?” I asked as I watched her.

She shook her head. “I’m getting his voicemail,” she whispered to me.

“Just leave him a message. He’s usually prompt about responding.”

After she left a message, she handed me the phone with a look of despair on her face.

“Hey, crying’s not allowed in my bar,” I teased playfully, hoping to cheer her up.

“I’m not going to cry,” she responded defensively, but I could tell she didn’t believe herself either. “Sorry,” she apologized, “I’m not usually rude like that.”

“Don’t be. You seem like you’re having a bad day. Can I get you a drink? On the house.”

She smiled at me. “Thanks. You’re sweet.”

I chuckled. “Trust me. There’s nothing sweet about me.”

She cocked her head. “I’m pretty sure that the last time I checked I could think for myself,” she shot back at me, “and right now, you’re sweet.”

I laughed.
Damn, she’s feisty.
I found myself instantly turned on by her.

“Plus,” she continued, “weren’t you the same guy who helped me carry my ridiculously large suitcases up the stairs the other night? That’s what I’d call sweet.”

She flashed me another smile, and I felt something flip at the pit of my stomach that had nothing to do with the hardness in my pants.

“You’ve been warned,” I teased as I ignored the unfamiliar feelings that whirled inside me.

“I’ll take my chances,” she said with a daring smile. “Besides, what’s life without a little bitter and sweet?”

I laughed again and found myself liking her more with each passing minute.

“So what will it be?” I grabbed an empty glass and motioned to the rows of liquor bottles behind me. “What’s your favorite drink?”

“I like Sex on the Beach.”

I wouldn’t mind some sex on the beach with you,
I thought as I eyed her. “Coming right up.”

“Thanks, Damian,” she said gratefully as she placed the box she was holding on the bar and sat herself down on a stool in front of me.

“So what’s your name?” I poured the vodka, peach schnapps, grapefruit juice, and grenadine syrup in the glass before adding in a scoop of ice. “I didn’t catch it the other day.”

“Alexis. Alexis Blythe.”

“Pretty name.” I handed her the Sex on the Beach. For a moment, our eyes locked and I realized that I wanted to know more about her.

“So are you new to the building, Alexis? I know I would have remembered you if I’d seen you before,” I flirted.

“Yeah, I moved in the other day when you helped me with the suitcases.” She took a sip of her drink, again dismissing my flirtatious comment. I watched—feeling slightly frustrated—as her delicate pink lips moved around the straw, and immediately, I felt a jolt of excitement rush down below.

“Oh, I thought you had just come back from a trip or something. Was that all you had?” I thought girls had a shitload of stuff.

“Yeah. I didn’t keep too many things when I moved.” There was something in her voice that made me wonder what she’d meant by that.

“How come your boyfriend didn’t help you move?” I deliberately asked to test the waters.

I thought I saw a pained expression flash across her face, but when I studied her face, it was gone.

“I don’t have a boyfriend,” she said almost curtly.

“Oh.” I was surprised by her response. I felt an odd mixture of relief and confusion twist inside me. I was relieved that she was single but confused that she hadn’t responded to my advances like any other single woman would. “So where did you move from?” I tried to ignore the sting to my ego.

“Iowa.”

“Damn, that must be a huge change.” I looked at her and found myself wanting to figure her out.
There’s something about this girl.

She laughed lightly. “Yeah. I have to admit, I’m definitely experiencing some culture shock.”

“I’ll bet. Well, welcome to San Francisco. If you have any questions, just ask.”

“Thanks. I may take you up on that sometime.”

“And if you ever want a fun night, just ask.” I gave her my signature wicked smile.

She looked at me with furrowed brows. “Excuse me?”

I chuckled. “You know what I said.” I shot her a wink.

“That’s a bit presumptuous of you.”

From her expression, she appeared to be offended.
That’s odd.
“Is it?” I challenged. “I see the way you look at me.”

Then her reaction again surprised me. She rolled her eyes and pushed her half-finished Sex on the Beach towards me on the bar counter. “Okay, thanks for the drink. I’m going to go back upstairs. Can you tell Roger when he calls that I’m waiting by my door?”

“Hey—come on. Don’t be like that,” I said, trying to stop her from leaving. “I just thought you were interested.”

She looked at me with a look I couldn’t comprehend. She shook her head but didn’t say a word.

I knew that if I didn’t say something now she might never talk to me again, and that was something I knew I didn’t want to happen. “No. Stay,” I heard myself blurt out. “Sorry, I really didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” I tried to explain.
Shit, why am I apologizing?

“I’m not uncomfortable. I’m just surprised that you said that to me. I don’t even know you.”

“It must be because you’re from the Midwest. I haven’t had a girl surprised by what I say before.”

She glared at me, and from the look on her face, I knew I had offended her again.

“What does being from the Midwest have to do with anything? And are you saying you pull this act all the time?”

Damn. Why is she so upset?
“Well, it’s just that you’re kind of innocent and not like most girls I’ve met. And it’s not an act.” I felt a bit caught off guard, which was uncharacteristic of me.

“So you’re saying you’re always sweet one second and a creeper gigolo the next?”

“Gigolo? Hey, I take offense to that,” I said with a laugh, trying to lighten up the mood. “I don’t get paid for showing a girl a fun time. I like having fun on my own terms.”

“You win. You’re right about one thing.”

Booyah! The conversation is back on track!
“What’s that?”

“You’re not sweet at all. You were just trying to take advantage of the situation when you offered me a drink.” Her voice was sharp and cutting. “And don’t you have a girlfriend?” She looked at me in disgust.

“I—” I was again caught off guard by her. “Well shit. Way to bust my balls, Alexis.” I felt a need to defend myself, and this was a feeling I wasn’t used to. “First of all, I don’t have a girlfriend. That blonde you saw on the stairs the other day was just some random girl I fucked. Second of all, when I offered you the drink just now, I was honestly trying to be nice. You seemed really upset and you’re covered in dried paint, so I figured you were in need of a drink.”

I paused and looked at her. She was now silent and watching me. It looked like it was her turn to be caught off guard.

“You don’t have a girlfriend?” Her tone was no longer sharp. There was no hint of disgust or hostility in her voice anymore. There was a spark of curiosity in her eyes. I wasn’t sure why, but I felt happy that she was no longer upset with me.
Why do I even give a shit?

Against my better judgment, I gave her a warm smile. “No, I don’t.”

“Oh,” she simply said, and nothing else. I could tell she was thinking things through. Then she looked into my eyes, her expression softening, and she smiled back at me. A cute, tiny dimple above the left side of her lips appeared, and I felt instantly drawn to her.

There was a look in her eyes that I knew well. It was a look that scared me with women. It was a look that often lead to their desire for a commitment. It was a look that meant that they were trying to picture a future with me in it. It was my red flag to run and never see the girl again.

And yet, something felt different here.

Fuck. What are you doing, man? You need to let her know you’re not interested like that.

The look on Alexis’s face confirmed my thoughts. I knew I had to make sure she knew that I was the guy you’d gladly give up a night of sleep for and gain a night of fuck-your-brains-out sex. I knew I had to make sure she knew that I was not the guy you’d take home to meet your parents.

“Look—” I began and paused. A part of me was resisting what I was about to say next. There was an odd fear of the consequences of what I’d say. But I pushed through the resistance. “Look, I may not be sweet, but I’m not a guy who will take advantage of a girl either. I never force someone to do something they don’t want to do. I just enjoy a fun time, and well…” I looked at her. She was silent, hanging on my every word. “…if you’re looking for a fun time, I’m your guy. I’ll rock your world if you want me to. But if you don’t want the best sex of your life, no hard feelings.”

I held my breath as I waited for her to respond, but she just looked at me in disbelief.

The silence was unbearable, so I continued. “All I’m saying is, if you’re ever lonely and want someone to hang out with, give me a call. I won’t say any ‘I love yous,’ but I promise you the best night of your life with no strings attached.” I licked my lips and gave her one of my signature wicked smiles, hoping it would work its magic this time.

There was another long pause.

“Wow,” she finally said.

“Yeah, I know,” I said seductively.
Here it comes. This is where she gives me her number.

“You’re so cocky.” She shook her head in disbelief.

I laughed and gave her a meaningful wink. “True story.”

“Why?”

“Why what?” I was unsure of what she was asking.

“Why are you so cocky?”

I opened my mouth, ready to shoot back a response. But I stopped and closed it. This was the third time in the last ten minutes that she had caught me off guard.

Before I could respond, she spoke again. “Is this the real you?”

I stared at her, taken aback by her no-bullshit line of questions. For the brief moment before I regained my composure, I felt naked and exposed—and not in the way I was used to being naked and exposed.

“Of course this is me,” I finally said. “What you see is what you get.”

“Hmm, okay.” She seemed unimpressed by my response.

“Hey, can I ask you something?” I deliberately changed the subject. I did not like where the conversation was heading.

“Okay…sure.” She looked at me hesitantly. I noticed that she had sat back down on the barstool, and I felt relieved that she wasn’t making any moves to leave.

“Are you an artist?” I asked, gesturing to the nearly dried paint on her hair.

She looked taken aback by my question, and I felt a sense of triumph that she was the one who was now caught off guard.
Oh, how the tides have turned
, I thought with amusement.

I noticed a rosy-peach hue color her face, making her look strikingly beautiful, even with her disheveled paint-covered hair and tattered t-shirt. I had a strong urge to brush my hand against her cheek and push back the few loose strands of paint-speckled hair behind her ear.

“Oh, umm. I do some ceramics, but yeah,
that
”—she motioned up towards hair—“has nothing to do with art. That was me accidentally splashing a little paint on myself right before I got locked out of my apartment,” she admitted sheepishly.

“Just a little paint?” I teased.

Her face flushed brighter. “Okay, so it was the entire tray of paint,” she laughed. “I know I look like a hot mess.”

“Yes, definitely a
hot
mess,” I repeated with a wide grin.

She laughed again and shook her head. “You’re such a flirt.”

“True story,” I agreed. “And you’re kind of feisty.”

“True story,” she agreed with a smile.

Ahh yeah. She’s flirting back
, I thought.
Maybe there’ll be a Sunday fuck session after all.

Just as I was about to ask her if she wanted to head up and chill in my apartment, her stomach gave a loud growl.

“Oh, sorry, that was me.” She shifted uncomfortably as she looked away from my gaze.

“No need to apologize. Are you hungry?” I wasn’t sure why, but I was concerned for her and felt a protective need to take care of her.

“A little, but it’s fine,” she said quickly.