Sweet Cheeks (8 page)

To the man I shouldn’t be thinking about but can’t seem to shake from my mind.

I
should be working.

I should be listening to the promises I made to myself.

I should be doing a lot of things and the one I shouldn’t, I’m about to do.

The bar was loud when I entered. The deep pulse of bass bumped through the speakers, and it took a second for my eyes to adjust to the darkness inside the Blue Devil.

It’s all Ryder’s fault. Him and his
you need to get out and have some fun
. His
a bunch of us are going out tonight to just have a few drinks and relax after a long week.
His
you’re gonna burn yourself out because you’re working too hard. You’ve been through a lot and it’s not going to kill you if you’re not there one night.

Maybe I feel like I owe it to him to show up after turning him down week after week when he’s just trying to be a good brother by looking out for me. Then again, maybe I showed up tonight because I feel guilty for immediately assuming he had contacted Hayes and my threatening to kill him.
Not that he knew, of course
.

Regardless, I’m here and now suddenly feel totally out of place in this huge club packed full of bulging biceps and pushed-up boobs. I take in the short skirts riding up the thighs of women around me and the tight shirts putting the rest of their assets on display, and feel completely inadequate in my black slacks and light pink top.

It’s not like I’m a slouch in the looks department—at least I’m lacking the blue frosting that decorated my hair yesterday—but this place is so very different than the places Mitch and I used to frequent. It’s more my age than the country club scene, and yet I hate that I feel so uncomfortable when, at age twenty-seven, I should fit right in.

I think back to how I let Mitch’s influence slowly change the wild and reckless in me to sophisticated and reserved. From vibrant colors to muted beiges. How even though I understand the complexity of the concept now—that less can also be more—a part of me vows from here forward to throw a few splashes of color back in there to regain the spirit of the girl I used to be.

The one Hayes liked.

The one that made Mitch grimace.

I glance up at Ryder when he places another cocktail in front of me and shake my head—glad for the drink and the derailment of my thoughts. “Are you trying to get me drunk?” A giggle escapes my lips and it sounds strange because I don’t giggle. Ever.

“It’s not my fault you’re a lightweight.” He smirks and leans down closer to my ear so I can hear what he says. “You deserve a night off. I appreciate how hard you’re working so we don’t lose our asses, but you’re going to burn out if you don’t take a break. Besides, you’re young. You haven’t been out once since you’ve been single. Live a little, sis.
Be everything Mitch wouldn’t let you be
. I’ll make sure you don’t get into too much trouble.”

He winks at me as he steps back, a boyish grin on his face that transforms as a pretty brunette walks up to him. He slides his hand onto her lower back, his laugh becomes a little louder, his free attention taken. I watch mesmerized, wondering when the last time was I felt like he looks: carefree, young, confident. I also wonder when I last felt like a woman who holds a man’s attention. Attractive. Alluring. Someone to claim.
Was I ever that girl?

Be everything Mitch wouldn’t let you be.

Ryder’s words strike a chord within me. One I’m not sure I’m ready to face yet, but can’t stop thinking about as I sit and watch the other patrons in the club from our coveted position in the rear corner. The couples who came together and are having a night out with friends after a long workweek. The pack of women standing in the opposite corner, acting as if they don’t care to be approached by any men but whose eyes are constantly roaming over the bachelors in the club and then suddenly acting coy when they finally approach. The men on the prowl: cocky in swagger and with a drink in hand, trying to find someone to hook up with. I watch them all as I sip my drink and chat idly with my brother’s friends and acquaintances. Enjoying myself but still feeling out of place in this scene I stopped being a part of six years ago.

The funny thing is most people would want to sow their wild oats. And maybe in time I will, but for now, I’m still trying to settle the ever-shifting world beneath my feet.

Time passes. The music becomes louder. The alcohol flows. The laughter in the club becomes louder as inhibitions are left with one more sip, one more drink, one more smile from the guy across the club.

I laugh at one of Ryder’s friends, Frankie, as he attempts to perform a popular dance to a song. Attempt being the operative word. My head’s thrown back, eyes closed, and my hand is pressed to my stomach. It hurts from laughing so hard. But when I open my eyes to find Hayes sitting directly across from me, his gaze a mixture of curious and intense as he stares at me through the dimly lit club, the sound dies on my lips.

The music plays on and yet, despite the brim of his baseball hat resting low on his forehead, my eyes are riveted to his. Words, apologies, excuses for how I acted the other day ghost through my mind and yet none form the proper words to express what I need to say.

Then again, why do I care? It’s Hayes. The man I know from experience will breeze into town and then back out again without a single word.

Yet I do. And I despise that I do.

“Hayes! You made it, brother. Just like you to sneak in without telling a soul and make an appearance.” Our connection breaks. One last narrowing of his brow before the etched lines of his face turn softer, smile spreading, eyes crinkling up, hand reaching out to shake my brother’s. I watch the transformation in his body language as they fall back into a rhythm only they know. I’m left to wonder how he can seem so relaxed when the simple look from him has left my entire body a mess of frenzied adrenaline and unspecified emotions.

I push away the feelings I don’t understand—chalk it up to the drinks I’ve had and the alcohol making me read into things that don’t exist—and deal with the all-consuming presence of Hayes the only way I know how to: by ordering another drink. Hopefully the alcohol will help take the edge off my thoughts. The ones that are struggling over wanting to know what he thinks of me and not wanting to know what he thinks of me all at the same time.

And I hate that I’m sitting here wasting time wondering if he even thinks of me
at all
.
It shouldn’t matter
.
He has moved so far beyond my orbit
. Yet every time I look up from whomever I’m speaking with my gaze finds its way to him.

I loathe it
.

And even more confusing, why, when I look his way, is his focus on me?

I love it.

He seems completely unfazed that I’ve caught him staring. It unnerves me. Makes me self-conscious. And after a few times, awakens the defiance in me that has been dormant for what feels like forever. I meet him stare for stare. A lift of my eyebrows. A shrug of my shoulders. A
you have no idea who I am anymore
or what I’ve been through, so don’t you dare judge me
.

I hate that it makes me wonder if what the tabloids have said are actually true. Their countless reports over the past few months accusing him of cheating on his match-made-in-Hollywood girlfriend, Jenna Dixon. And in the typical Hayes you-push-me-too-hard-one-way-I’ll-ignore-you fashion I grew up with, he has not once addressed the comments. No confirming. No denying. Not even a
no comment
. Nothing whatsoever.

I despise that I know this. That I’ve followed just enough about him that I know the gossip. Even worse, when I look up and meet his eyes again, is that I don’t want it to be true. Because if it’s true, then Hayes Whitley isn’t the Hayes I used to know—Hollywood has changed him—and something about that makes my stomach churn.

My attempts to keep my distance from him fail. Word has gotten out to those in the club that the hometown star, Hayes Whitley, is here. Lucky for him, the club’s bouncers have cordoned off our area to keep the onslaught of admirers from bombarding him and causing a riot in the club. The darkness and our exclusive spot in the VIP corner near a private entrance affording him some privacy from the ever-ready camera phones. Unlucky for me, it means I can’t turn around without noticing him.

I just want to get out of here now.

But I don’t make any effort to leave. For some reason my feet refuse to walk toward the exit. So I decide to ignore him. But after a short time I realize ignoring him is impossible because every little thing about him catches my attention. The strain of his shirt cuffs over his biceps as he lifts his bottle of beer to his lips. The distinct sound of his laugh hitting my ears. How, when he leans over to talk to Ryder who is sitting on a sofa, his pants hug the very nice curve of his ass. The clean scent of his shampoo that hasn’t changed after all this time. His eyes constantly watching me in silent judgment.

He’s everywhere when I want him to be nowhere.

Yet isn’t that why I came tonight? I can tell myself till I’m blue in the face that I agreed to hang with Ryder and his friends because I feel guilty for blowing them off in the past, but I’d be lying to myself. And not a very good lie either.

As I meet Hayes’s gaze yet again from across the small space, I know
he
is the reason I’m here tonight. The off-chance he would show up to see Ryder, his oldest friend, had me putting more effort into my appearance than I have in a while. Like going through my closet to find something that was non-bakery attire to wear, washing the frosting from my hair, and actually putting on more than my usual, lip gloss and mascara.

The fact that he has me questioning myself infuriates me. And the notion that I’ve spent so much of the past hour and a half thinking more about what Hayes sees when he looks at me than actually having a good time is the last straw.

Screw him. Screw his opinions and his thoughts and his judgmental eyes that are looking my way once again. He’s the one who walked away. He’s the one who gave up a good thing without a fight, and if he’s going to keep staring at me, I’m going to show him just what he’s missed out on.

I take another sip, well aware that my courage is in the form of liquid, but I don’t care.

Pride is still pride.

My laugh becomes a tad louder. My hips sway to the beat a bit more. When I look his way the next time, his jaw pulses and his focus is more intense. My only acknowledgement is a smirk in return.

Another sip. A playful twirl out from another of Ryder’s friends that leaves me pressed flat against his chest when I spin back into him. I’m breathless from the exertion and extremely buzzed so it might take me a bit longer to step away as our chests heave against one another’s. Or I might just be well aware that Hayes has his very fine ass resting against the back of a stool a few feet to our right and his eyes haven’t left me.

The night plays on. My concern over what Hayes thinks or doesn’t think about me slowly fades with each drink I have, each person I chat up, and every laugh that falls from my lips.

Ryder senses something is going on. Notices this unspoken dance between Hayes and me and the invisible barrier of our shared history vibrating between us. My brother catches my eye a few times, asks if I’m okay, and I smile in return.

He told me I had to find my confidence again. Little did he know I’m choosing tonight to do just that.

I’m laughing at something trivial, attention focused on some antic of one of the guys when I feel a hand on the bare nape of my neck. I still, somehow knowing who the hand belongs to.

Heat
. It’s all I can feel. All my mind focuses on. From his skin touching mine. From the unexpected presence of his body behind me, his lips to my ear, his breath hitting my skin. From the sudden ache in the V of my thighs.

“I love the laughter much more than the temper.” Hayes’s comment is barely a murmur, and yet I can hear every single word despite the constant boom of the music.

I force a swallow down my throat and nod my head, needing to hold tight to my confidence, and hoping to keep solid ground beneath my feet, because being near him is making it off-kilter for some reason.