Just This Night (3 page)

Oh my God. I was dying. So freaking dying.

“Thank you,” the guy said, not taking his eyes off me. The bartender stood there, awkwardly for a moment, then eventually slunk away.

I smiled. My new friend smiled back. Then he grabbed his glass and held it up in a toast. “To my own little Tila Tequila,” he teased.

I snorted. “I'm not sure that's a compliment.”

“Please, if it weren't for you, I'd be drinking dog piss right now.”

“Don't be too sure you aren't. I mean, did you actually watch what he put in your drink?”

“No,” he said simply. “I was too busy watching you.”

Oh God. Oh God, oh God, oh God.

And now it was my turn to watch as he pulled the glass to his mouth, his perfect lips parting to accept the liquid gold inside. Suddenly I found myself wondering if it were possible to come back as a highball glass in another life. His highball glass.

He set the glass down on the bar. “So how did you become such a tequila expert?” he asked.

“I'm not really,” I confessed. “I just like to research places online before I go. Figure out the good, the bad, the ugly.” I shrugged. “Though I did used to be a waitress back in the day, and suffered more than my share of guys like that behind the bar.”

In fact, I had waitressed for years at Pete's during college and then later while attempting to make it in TV news. My first job at the local cable news station paid a whopping nine dollars an hour and waitressing had become a necessary evil to make rent. It had been more than a bit embarrassing though, to have customers recognize me from the TV. No one ever understood why a “celebrity” would be forced to sling drinks on her day off. But a girl did what she had to do to achieve her dreams.

Not that I'd been very successful at unlocking the whole dream-achievement badge so far, but at the very least I no longer had to moonlight.

“Well, that explains it then.” He downed the rest of his drink, his lips once again caressing the glass in a way that made me want to scream. “Another please,” he declared, addressing the bartender. Then he turned to me, “Can I get you something, too?”

I fiddled with my straw. “I'm still working on my Diet Coke. But thanks for asking.”

“No problem,” he replied, more to the bartender than me. “I totally understand. I mean, maybe if they had Anejo Banjo to offer . . .”

The bartender sighed mournfully as he went off to make his drink. I stifled a giggle. This guy was funny. Sexy, funny, and nice, too. Which made me wonder, why the hell was he still talking to me? Did he feel like he owed me one, after the last minute tequila save? Was he itching to slide off the bar stool and resume his hunt for Stephanie-esque prey? She was the one guys always talked to, after all. Sure, sometimes they turned to me. But usually only to inform me that my “roommate's super hot” and was she DTF? (That's Down To . . . well, you know. And the answer, by the way, was always a resounding yes.)

“Thanks, but I'm the designated driver,” I explained, feeling lame all over again.

“Really? Cool,” he said, surprising me. Then he turned back to our bartender friend. ‘You know what? Make that a Diet Coke.”

“You don't have to do that,” I stammered. “I mean, you're not driving, right?”

The corners of his mouth quirked. “No,” he admitted. But he didn't change his drink order. Instead, he slid his long fingers up and down his empty glass in a way that shouldn't have been as sexy as it was as he scanned the club. “So, they tell me this is the place to see and be seen. Any idea what I'm supposed to be looking at?”

I shrugged. “You'd have to ask my roommate that one. She's the regular here. Though,” I added with a long sigh, “I have no idea where she is at the moment.”

“Sounds about right. I came here with my brother-in-law,” he explained. “But evidently he got an emergency call and took off on me. Didn't even find me to see if I wanted to leave, just called halfway from the office and told me to take an Uber home. Nice, huh?” He leaned in, the sudden close proximity making the air crackle between us. “I gotta tell you though,” he confessed, “I feel a little old for this whole club scene.”

“Me, too and I'm only twenty-six,” I admitted, relieved he wasn't a club guy. As a morning show reporter who was forced to wake up at three
A.M.
to get ready for work, I couldn't imagine going out with a night owl.

Um, okay, where had that thought come from? I wasn't going out with anyone, remember? This whole thing was solely a means to get my groove back, not get caught up in another romantic entanglement. After a thirteen-year relationship gone to hell, I needed time to reconnect with myself, find my inner diva, all that self-help shit.

I needed a love lance. Not a boyfriend.

It was just a damn shame this particular potential love lance happened to be so funny, nice, and not the least bit stuck up. And those piercing eyes of his? They should be freaking illegal for what they were doing to my insides.

You can enjoy them all you want tonight, Beth
, I reminded myself.
Drown yourself in them if you must. But tomorrow it'll be time to say good-bye.

He laughed and put out his hand. “Sorry,” he said. “I have no manners. I'm Mac. What's your name?”

Mac. What a cool name. Very manly. Very him. “I'm Elizabeth,” I told him, suddenly wishing my parents had been more creative when naming me. “Elizabeth White. Though most people call me Beth.”

“It's nice to meet you,
Elizabeth
,” he said, emphasizing my full name, as if wanting to differentiate himself from “most people.” (Which, let's be honest, he'd done from hello.) It rolled off his tongue, as if it were a dessert he was savoring and suddenly I'd never loved my name so much.

I realized he was still holding out his hand. I reached out, hoping the slight tremor in mine didn't give away how damn nervous I was feeling all of a sudden. And when his large fingers closed over mine, his grip sent a chill straight down my spine. For a moment, we just held on, hands clasped, eyes locked on one another. The club spinning and screaming all around us, yet everything feeling perfectly quiet and still.

“Here's your Diet Cokes,” the bartender announced, snapping us back to reality. Our hands jerked apart and we dropped our gazes, flustered by the invasion of reality. I grabbed my beverage, running my hand up and down over the condensation of my glass in a vain attempt to cool my steaming palm.

Mac raised his glass. “To friends who don't ditch you at boring nightclubs,” he toasted.

I raised my own glass. “And to Anejo Banjo tequila!”

We both laughed and then drank, Mac downing his soda in one long gulp, then setting the glass down on the counter. “So what now?” he asked, a twinkle in his eyes.

Come home with me! Let me borrow your love lance!

But the words stuck in my throat. And instead I just gave him a lame shrug. Stephanie was going to be so disappointed in me. “I don't know . . .” I started to say.

Then I clamped my mouth shut. No. I was not going to screw this up. I was not going to let this once-in-a-lifetime
opportunity slip by. One way or another, I was going to get this guy to come home with me.

I looked up, meeting his intoxicating eyes with my own. Then I put out my hand. “We are at a nightclub,” I declared. “Perhaps it's time we get our dance on.”

MAC

O
kay, Mac, what the hell do you think you're doing?

I mean seriously. It was one thing to joke around with a girl sitting beside you at the bar. Quite another to wrap your arms around her tiny waist and twirl her around the dance floor. I hadn't been lying when I'd told Sadie I was done with women for good. So how come I'd jumped like a fucking frat boy at the first one who'd made me laugh?

Maybe I should blame the music. The DJ's driving techno beat. It brought out the primitive and suddenly it was as if I were some caveman, unable to focus on past hurts and future consequences—just this hot little body pressing up against mine.

Or maybe it was just being out of the house in the first place. It'd been way too long since I'd been out on my own, not a care in the world. Even longer still since I'd held a girl in my arms, unabashed interest sparkling in her wide, brown eyes. In all my years with the Bitch I was pretty sure she'd never given me such a look. The kind of look that was able to stoke me in a way that should have required hands and fingers.

Slow down, Mac. You're getting carried away.

I forced myself to squeeze an inch of space between us. But her electrical pull soon drew me back in. As if she were some kind of industrial strength magnet and I was helpless as metal file shavings.

And who could blame me? It wasn't just that she was hot, though she definitely was. Long blond hair tumbling down her bare back in waves, curves in all the right places, and skin kissed golden by the San Diego sunshine. She had long eyelashes and full lips—and dark beguiling eyes that had danced with mischief as she had effortlessly brought that bartender to his knees.

Yes, she was definitely hot. But what I liked even better was the natural dorkiness she was obviously trying to hide beneath her goddess-like exterior. Like, for example how she was wearing this green scrap of fabric that could barely qualify as a dress, but kept yanking down on it self-consciously every five minutes as if she wasn't used to wearing something so short. Fifty bucks it belonged to that roommate she mentioned.

And when we were walking to the dance floor, she'd almost ate it as she teetered awkwardly in her high heels—even though she hadn't had a drop to drink. (Eat your heart out, J. Law.) She'd also stepped on my feet at least three times during our brief dance, which should have been annoying, but was actually kind of adorable. The Bitch, who had effortlessly managed to wear six-inch Jimmy Choos until the day she gave birth, would have rolled her eyes. Which was probably why I found it even more endearing.

Oh, and the way she'd jumped in to save me from that asshole bartender? That was straight up superhero shit, no question.

“So you lived in Boston? What was that like?” she asked, forced to shout in my ear to be heard over the music. Her fingers grazed my hip as she leaned in, causing a jolt of electricity to shoot straight to my groin. Did she have any idea what she was doing to me? The fact that I was pretty sure she didn't made it all the more enticing.

“Boston?” I managed to choke out. “It's nice. But, uh, it can get pretty cold.”

Jesus. Did I just say that? Seriously I couldn't possibly have less game if I came here with a Parcheesi board.

“Oh yeah?” she said. “Well, San Diego can get pretty hot.”

“I think I'm learning that,” I said, not able to help a small smile. Damn she was adorable. I found myself reaching up to brush a lock of honey-colored hair from her eyes, managing to reveal, then promptly lose myself in, her huge, dilated pupils. For a moment, she looked back at me, wide-eyed and fucking beautiful, then her long lashes swept down, her cheeks taking on a rosy glow.

So she was shy. Shy in the way that made me believe she didn't do stuff like this all the time. That she didn't go to clubs and dance with strangers. That she'd made an exception for me.

Like I was making an exception for her.

Something stirred deep within me.
Just don't kiss her, Mac. It's okay to dance. Just don't you dare kiss her.

Don't kiss her? Hell, it was all I could do at this point not to slam her against the wall, grab that tight ass in both hands and let her wrap her legs around my waist as I took her right here and now in this club before God and everyone. Not that someone as sweet as her would likely appreciate such a gesture. She was a good girl. The kind who deserved candles and roses and all that romantic stuff.

The kind of girl who deserved better than someone like me.

The music slowed and I thought about breaking apart, thanking her for the dance and walking away before it was too late. Grabbing that cab, heading home, checking on Ashley and letting her know everything was okay. Her daddy was home safe and sound.

But Ashley was asleep. I'd texted Sadie half a dozen times before she told me she was turning off her phone.
Don't call me. I'll call you if I need you. But I won't need you, because she's
fine.
And she'll still be fine, even if you somehow
manage to fall ass-backward into having a good time for once in your life.

You deserve it, Mac,
she'd told me. And I knew if she could see me now she'd tell me I deserved her, too.

And so I pushed past the guilt. I didn't break apart. Didn't walk away. Instead, I allowed my hands to circle her waist, pulling her ever closer. She was small—I could probably crush her with little effort—but at the same time her body was firm, tight, with the exception of her soft breasts, now pillowed against my chest. I could feel my jeans tightening and hoped she couldn't tell how turned on I was getting. Or at least wouldn't mind if she could. Hell, I couldn't even remember the last time I had a hard-on for anything but my own hand. And for a moment, I forced myself to forget everything, except the dance—and her.

“So, um, Boston. You didn't like the cold?” she murmured, her mouth brushing against my chest as she spoke.

“Cold? No.” I swallowed hard. “In fact, I think I could get pretty used to the heat.”

ELIZABETH

H
oly. Crap.

I forced myself to swallow down the relentless butterflies that had evidently decided to throw an impromptu full-on rave in my stomach. I couldn't believe I was actually doing this. Not only doing this—but doing this with the hottest guy I'd ever seen. And it was working, too! I was turning him on. I was making him hard. I was doing all the things I'd never been able to do before now and I was loving the hell out of it. I mean, what would Ryan say if he could see his sweet little Beth now? He wouldn't even recognize me.

But screw Ryan. Screw Ryan and his tiny little life with my tiny little sister. They could have their five kids, their white picket fence, while I, for the first time in my life, was actually free. Free to reach for the stars. To be anything and anyone I wanted to be—with no one holding me back. I could give up all my hang-ups, all my inhibitions. I could be the sexy nightclub nymph Ryan would never let me be.

This guy? He didn't know me. He didn't know anything
about me. And yet here I was turning him on by sheer force of will. The power of the idea was exhilarating. The possibilities endless. I hadn't drunk a drop of alcohol tonight, yet I felt completely intoxicated.

“Damn, you smell good,” he whispered. He brushed my hair off my shoulder, leaning in closer so his mouth was mere inches from my ear. “It's driving me crazy.” His whisper tickled my earlobe, sending my pulse skyrocketing all over again, and I was pretty sure the lacy thong Stephanie had made me wear “just in case” was completely soaked at this point.

I drew in a shaky breath, wondering what would come next. Was he going to kiss me? Or maybe I should kiss him? Was that too forward? Then again, I was playing the part of the sexy stranger tonight. The girl who wasn't above going after what she wanted.

And, oh, man did I want him.

Drawing up my courage, I reached up, daring to trace his rugged jaw with my fingers, delighting in the friction of his five o'clock shadow. I loved that he hadn't shaved to come here. Hadn't gelled up his hair like the rest of the Euro trash. He was all man.

And at this moment, he was all mine.

He groaned and I couldn't help but smile as I realized the effect I was having on him. Usually when I'd try to make the first move with Ryan he'd turn away to watch the football game. Our lovemaking had been scheduled, penciled in, during times he wasn't too tired or too busy. But this guy, he didn't seem to be checking his Daytimer as he checked me out.

And so I decided to go for it.

Standing on my tiptoes, I closed my eyes, leaning toward him. Ready to press my lips against his and—

“There you are, slut!”

I jerked—reality crashing over me like a tidal wave as a finger poked me in the back. Whirling around, I found my missing roommate, sans her bodybuilder friend, standing
behind me, arms crossed over her chest, a sly smirk on her face.

“Well, well, well,” she drawled, her voice slurring as she spoke. “Looks like someone found their throbbing love lance after all.”