“One of those days?” the bartender asks, handing me my gin and tonic.
“One of those weeks,” I whine while rolling my eyes. “Better make me another. I don’t plan to walk out of here anytime soon.” The bartender smiles, and for some reason it makes me smile back. He’s younger than me, probably early twenties, and I can see in his face that he doesn’t know hurt. Hurt is such an awful thing to carry around with you day after day.
“Here you go, beautiful.” Handing me a drink, the bartender walks over and turns on the jukebox, winks, and goes back behind the bar. There are only a few other people in the room, and most are too involved in conversation, they don’t even care about the music playing in the background.
My phone starts ringing, and without even looking at it, I know it’s my parents wondering where I am. They’re having a function after the funeral, and Lord knows I do not want to attend that.
“You should answer that, they will want to know where you are.” The stool next to me slides out and he sits.
Who is he, though? A stranger who has danger written all over him. A stranger I’m highly attracted to and can’t seem to stay away from. Even when I know I should. His hazel eyes stare at me, waiting for me to answer.
“I’ll message them.” And I do exactly that. I message my mother, telling her I’m not going to make it. I leave it at that, with no further explanation. Sliding my cell back into my bag, the bartender walks over, but when he does, he doesn’t hold that soft smile he gave me before. Instead, his lips form a thin line.
“What can I get you?”
My stranger’s fingers tap on the bar. “Water,” is all he says, which in turn, surprises me.
“You aren’t going to drink with me?”
“Why am I here?” he asks.
I bite my lip and look down.
“Do you not have any friends?”
Lifting my drink to my lips, I hiccup before taking a sip. “Yes, but—”
“But what? You want to fuck?”
I almost choke on the liquid that was in my mouth as I turn to face him.
He’s serious. He isn’t playing.
At first, I thought it had to be a joke. But I’m slowly learning this man doesn’t joke.
He’s serious.
Deadly serious.
Intense.
And I should probably stay away.
But what can I say—I’m a broken woman.
“You didn’t…” I trail off, not really knowing what to say, but knowing I heard correctly. And what he said is true. “Do you have a girlfriend?” I ask.
“No.”
“Wife?” I raise an eyebrow.
“No.”
“Well, then, yes, that’s exactly what I want to do.”
He stands, offers me his hand, and I put mine in it. “How many drinks have you had?”
“Two,” I say, nodding to my two empty glasses. “Why?”
He starts walking, out of the bar and straight to his truck, opening the passenger door. “Because when I fuck you, you will want to be sober.”
I smirk at his words as I climb into his truck, and he watches my ass as I do. When I turn back around, he shuts the door and walks around to his side, jumps in, starts the truck, and slides on his sunglasses.
“I’ve never done this.”
“Hmmm…” is all I get in response as I watch him drive. His strong arms show veins I want to lick. Large hands I want to roam all over my body, grip onto the steering wheel. Shaking my head, I turn away from the natural curls in his hair and focus on the road, and not the way his lips will feel against mine.
Knowing the way to my house, that’s where he goes. I was hoping we were going to his.
I still don’t know his name, so I build up the courage to ask, as he’s not offering it. “What’s your name?”
“Now you ask?”
I shrug. “You didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t expect to see you again,” he says, then continues with, “Marcus.”
“I don’t picture you as a Marcus.”
His fingers tap on the steering wheel at my words. “I didn’t picture you stupid enough to get into cars with strangers, yet, here we are.”
“You aren’t a stranger,” I say, smiling. “Well, kind of, I suppose.” Damn it! I cringe, because he is a stranger. But there is something about Marcus that pulls me in, and I want to know what.
“I am. You know nothing about me.” Marcus comes to a stop out the front of my house and doesn’t make a move. He just sits there.
“You’re coming in, right?”
Marcus looks up at my house, then back to me. “Are you sure it’s a smart move?” He removes his glasses and his hazel eyes pierce me. “Have you had sex with a stranger before?” An eyebrow raises, waiting for me to answer.
My hands fall to my lap as I start to play with the material of my pants. “No, but I need a distraction. And you’re the perfect one,” I tell him honestly.