Maybe Yes (2 page)

It’s for the best that guys never want to sleep with me. I shouldn’t date anyway, not when my father and grandfather are the ones who will be choosing who I marry.
 

“All right, I’m ready.” Scarlett glances at herself in the mirror one more time. “Let’s go.”
 

I grab a silver clutch, and I throw some cash and my ID into it. “Can I get my phone back now?”
 

Scarlett smiles. “Maybe.”
 

I roll my eyes.
 

I have a terrible feeling about tonight. I shouldn’t be doing this. My father is going to be pissed when I don’t call him tonight.
But what’s the worst that can happen?
I’ll get drunk and end up puking on Scarlett’s couch. My father will yell at me tomorrow for the first time in five years. Then, everyone will get over it. It’s not like one mistake can ruin your life.

Except
, I think as I pause at the open door of my apartment,
one mistake can
.
 

I shake my head. That was five years ago. This is nothing like that. This time, it won’t be a mistake.

The bouncer hands me my ID that I slip back into my clutch, and then I follow Scarlett down the stairs to the bar. I’ve never been into a bar before—at least not one like this with bouncers—but I try to keep an open mind as I enter the bar that is, for some reason, below a building. There are no windows as I look around the barely lit room. The smell takes me a bit to get used to. A mix of sweat, puke, and urine makes my nose scrunch.
 

The noise though is what makes me want to turn around and run out. It’s loud. No, it’s louder than loud, eardrum-bursting loud. A band is playing on the far side of the bar although I don’t hear a word they are singing over the bass thumping loudly throughout the room. The place is crowded, much more crowded than what is probably legal for such a small space.

Drinks
, Scarlett mouths to me.
 

Or it’s what I assume she mouths before she begins making her way through the crowd up to the bar.
 

I follow Scarlett as I watch people staring at us. It’s not unusual. In fact, it feels pretty normal to have people stare at us. I jump when someone slaps my ass. I glance back and see a man devouring me with his eyes as he whistles my way. I blush, shake my head, and keep walking behind Scarlett. I don’t know how else to react to a man slapping my ass. Scarlett probably would have punched the guy or made out with him.
 

We finally make it to the bar, but there is only enough room for Scarlett to stand at the counter.
 

“Excuse me,” she says to a man sitting on the stool next to her. “Do you mind moving, so my friend can sit here?”
 

She flutters her eyes in his direction, and I know the answer will be yes. The only person who doesn’t give Scarlett an immediate yes is me, and even then it’s usually maybe. I can never flat-out say no to her. No one can.
 

“If you let me buy you a drink,” the man says in return as soon as he sees Scarlett.
 

“Sure.” Her eyes light up at an offer from an attractive man. “I’m Scarlett. This is Kinsley.”
 

I smile shyly at the man. He barely glances my way before focusing back on Scarlett. I’m happy the attention isn’t on me.
 

“I’m Adam. So, what will it be?”
 

“I’ll have a couple of shots of tequila and then a margarita,” she says.
 

My eyes widen as she casually reaches out and touches the stranger’s arm. She slowly strokes his arm while their eyes stay locked on each other.
 

I sigh. At this rate, we will never get drinks, and I’ll never get out of here.
 

“And what will you have?” another deep voice says, causing me to glance away from Scarlett and Adam.
 

“What?” I ask, startled, as I look at the man standing behind Adam.
 

He has bright blue eyes, similar to mine, with blond hair a slightly darker shade than my own.
 

He grins as I stare too long at his hard body. I’ve seen enough models’ bodies before to know what they look like. He’s a model. His friend, who has maintained Scarlett’s attention, might work out, but he’s no model.
 

“I’m Brent.”
 

“Kinsley,” I say. I smile, but I honestly have no idea how to flirt with this man. I’m not bold enough to make the first move. And I don’t even know if I’m attracted to him. So, instead, I just stand awkwardly with a goofy smile plastered on my face.
 

“Can I buy you a drink?”
 

“Sure,” I say, trying to mimic Scarlett’s speech, but it comes out much too high-pitched.
 

He raises his eyebrows. “What can I get you?”
 

I try to rack my brain to come up with a drink he can order for me. Scarlett got shots. I glance over as she downs one with her new friend. She doesn’t even seem to remember that I’m here. I try to think of drinks, but all I can come up with is wine and champagne. I doubt this bar even serves the types of wine I’ve tried before. I could try a beer, but I have no idea what to order, and I will look even stupider if I order a beer without mentioning the brand.
 

“I’ll have whatever you’re having,” I say.
 

He smiles and moves up to the bar to order whatever he’s going to order us. I anticipate not liking whatever it is he brings back, but when he moves back from the bar with two reddish drinks in martini glasses in his hands, I relax. He hands one to me, and I take a sip of the smooth, sweet fruity drink.
 

Now, it’s my turn to raise my eyebrows as I watch him sip on his own drink. “This is what you were drinking?”
 

“No, I just wanted to get something that you would like.”
 

I smile, liking this man more. He’s at least considerate.
 

“Thanks.” I sip on the drink again.
 

“Adam, move over, man,” Brent says.
 

I watch as Adam gets up and stands behind Scarlett.
 

Brent takes my hand to help me maneuver onto the stool in my high heels. If he hasn’t yet figured out that I’m a model and I was practically born walking in high heels, I would be surprised. But I let him hold my hand anyway as I take a seat. His hand feels soft and a little too warm as I take a seat on the stool.
 

“Thanks,” I mutter as I glance at Scarlett to my right.
 

She winks at me as she mouths,
Hottie
.
 

Both men are standing right behind us and can see what she mouthed. I blush a bright shade of pink. I twirl my hair around my face to try to hide my embarrassment.
 

I take another sip of my drink and then another because the liquid tastes good and because I don’t know what else to say or do. Before I know it, I’ve finished my drink.
 

“Another?” Brent asks, smiling.
 

I nod, happy to have found one of the nicest men in the bar.
 

Brent’s arm goes around my shoulders as he leans over me at the bar to order another drink. I shiver at his unexpected touch even though it shouldn’t have been unexpected. He’s into me, or he wouldn’t have offered to buy me a drink. I just don’t know how to do this flirting thing.
 

He places another drink in front of me, and I immediately begin drinking it.
 

“What modeling jobs have you done?”
 

His eyebrows rise before his lips form into a grin. “How did you know I was a model?”
 

“Just a guess. If not, you should be. You have the look.”
 

His smile gets brighter. “I’ve done some work for Calvin Klein mostly.”
 

I nod. I can see that. I’ll have to look up his ads later. It means I was right about the tight abs below his shirt. I glance down lower to see a bulge pressing against his jeans. I gulp. Yep, he probably makes an excellent Calvin Klein underwear model.
 

I look back up to his eyes that are looking at my boobs with lust. I nervously tuck my hair behind my ear, bringing his eyes back up to my face.
 

“What about you? You’re a model, too, right?”
 

I smile politely and nod. “Mostly, I’ve done work for
Seventeen
magazine.”
 

His eyes travel over my body, landing on my smooth stomach showing beneath my crop top. My stomach is smooth purely from good genetics. I don’t eat healthy enough or work out enough to get it any other way.
 

“Come on, we’re dancing,” Scarlett says.
 

She grabs my hand to pull me with her and Adam. I don’t ask Brent to follow, but he does, like it is a given that he’ll be the one dancing with me. I stumble once, but Scarlett’s hand keeps me on my feet.
 

“You okay?” she asks with a knowing look.
 

“Yes,” I say.
 

The alcohol must be affecting me quicker than I thought it would. It’s not like me to trip.
 

When we first get to the crowded dance floor, Scarlett dances with me for all of five seconds before pushing me into Brent as she turns to Adam.
 

“Have fun!” she shouts.
 

I turn to Brent and easily dance with him to the music, although our moves are tame compared with Scarlett and Adam next to us.
 

The next song plays, and Brent moves closer to me. His hands find my hips and then quickly move to my ass. I awkwardly smile up at him. I’m not used to having a strange man’s hands all over me—not unless it’s for a modeling job, and even then, the shoots I have done with male models have been tame.

“You’re a good dancer,” Brent whispers into my ear when the song stops.
 

“Thanks,” I say. I cringe.
I’m real original. Why can’t I come up with something to say to this man?
 

“Shots?” a waitress says, bringing around a tray of test tubes filled with some sort of blue liquid.
 

Brent hands her some money and pulls two off before handing one to me.
 

“To tonight,” he says.
 

He clinks his test tube with mine before downing it. I do the same, not wanting to be rude. The liquid burns as it slinks down my throat.
 

What the hell was that?
 

Brent takes my empty glass and hands it to the waitress. “Two more.”
 

My eyes grow wide, and I shake my head. “I don’t think I can do another.”
 

“Ah, come on, Kinsley. It’s fun.”
 

I disagree, but I take the test tube in my hand. I clink it with his before downing it. It burns just as bad the second time as it did the first. My eyes close, and I shake my head at the sensation. I hand the test tube back to the waitress before I go back to dancing with Brent.
 

This time, when we dance, his hands have no boundaries as they travel over my body. Our dancing gets sloppier as the alcohol spreads through our bodies.
 

A slow song starts. I watch as others leave the dance floor to take seats at the few empty tables around the dance floor. I think it’s a good idea to take a break, too. I turn to move away from Brent, but he pulls me back.
 

“I want to kiss you,” he says a second before he plants his lips on mine.
 

His kiss isn’t soft or slow, like I would expect a first kiss to be. This kiss is urgent, warm, and wet. His tongue slips easily into my mouth as he tries to press me for more. I kiss him back, just with a little less passion than he is displaying.
 

The kiss is nice, but I don’t even know this man. I’ve never kissed a man I didn’t know before. I’ve hardly even kissed men before. And the few kisses I have had were nothing like this.
 

“Want to get out of here?” he asks when he releases my lips from his.
 

“Yes,” I reply automatically. I want to get out of this disgusting, noisy place. I want to go home. I want—

“Whoa,” Brent says as I take a step and trip over nothing. He catches me before I fall face-first onto the floor.
 

I grab my head that’s pounding from the loud music.
 

“I’ve got you,” he says, smiling. His blue eyes seem to twinkle at me as the disco lights bounce off them.

I smile. He looks good. I glance down his body again. His shirt fits tightly, giving me a peek at the hard body that lies underneath.
 

I want to see him naked
, I think.
 

“I want to see you naked, too,” he says, winking at me.
 

Shit, did I just say that out loud?
I have no idea, but I keep smiling brightly as Brent leads me out of the club and into the warm night air.
 

I’m forgetting something.
The thought keeps playing over and over in my head. But I shake it away. There is nothing I need to remember. Right now, all I care about is getting out of here.
 

“My apartment is two blocks from here. Are you okay with walking?” he asks, staring down at my shoes.
 

I smile. I’ve walked plenty of runways in shoes twice as high. I can handle two blocks.
 

I wanted to go home though, not go to his place. I open my mouth to protest when his lips find mine again, silencing any thoughts of wanting to go home. His hungry mouth begs me to come home with him. His tongue teases my mouth with promises of pleasure that await the rest of my body once I get to his apartment.
 

I haven’t been with a guy in years—three years, to be exact. I haven’t had the pleasure of a guy bringing me to come while thrusting inside me since my high school boyfriend dumped me during my freshman year of college. It’s not that I haven’t had opportunities, but they have been few and far between. I’m not supposed to date. I’m not supposed to fall in love.