Take Your Time (Fate and Circumstance #2) (2 page)

Sarah

Five months later—beginning of June

The man sitting next to me was decent looking, but that wasn’t why I’d chosen him. The swagger he had walking into the bar was all that interested me. I knew why he’d come here, what his end goal was. And it just so happened to be mine, as well. No need to pretend otherwise.

Tonight was no different than any other Saturday night for me. The same routine I’d kept for the last three and a half months. The only thing that changed was the men—and occasionally, the location for obvious reasons. I never wanted the same man twice, no one ever being worth the trouble of repeats.

“What are you drinkin’?” he asked, his southern twang heavier than the wooden stools we sat on.

I lifted my glass and swirled it around, smiling at him through the side of my mouth. My stomach fluttered as I licked my lips and briefly glanced away from him. “Don’t worry about it, cowboy. I can take care of my own drinks.” I knew what men wanted to hear—I’d practiced it enough. Keep it light to show playfulness, give nicknames to exhibit friendliness, and always remain somewhat secretive to keep their interest.

He turned his head, nodded at the bartender—the universal signal to order a drink—and then turned his attention back to me. Tilting his cowboy hat away from his face, he said, “My name’s Justin. What’s yours?”

“Colby.” I knew better than to give out my real name. It didn’t matter that we lived in a small town and I’d probably get called out on my lie one of these days, but I had zero desire to have anyone know my business—including my name. I didn’t care what he called me while he fucked me later, or the name he’d use when recalling his night to his buddies tomorrow.

Justin propped himself up on the bar with his elbow and leaned toward me, encroaching in my personal space. I’d be lying if I said the grin that stretched across his face didn’t slightly creep me out, but I pushed it down and raised a brow at him.

“You here all by yourself?”

I traced the lines of wood on the top of the bar with a manicured nail, giving him the impression that I was shy. I knew how much men liked the shy ones, the girls who appeared to be vulnerable, so I did everything I could to give him that impression of me. “I was supposed to meet my friend, but she hasn’t shown up yet. I’m about to give up waiting and just leave.” That line worked every time. It never got old.

“Oh, yeah? And where do you plan to go when you leave?”

My eyebrows twitched with the urge to wiggle, and my cheeks burned with the need to release the wide grin I held back, but I knew I had to reign in my amusement if I wanted to keep up the charade. Instead, I smirked, knowing I had him exactly where I wanted. “Not sure, maybe home. Unless you have a better suggestion…”

A tumbler filled with amber liquid was set in front of him. It came at the perfect time. The barstool creaked in protest as Justin leaned away a bit to take his drink. I studied him carefully as he pulled the small glass to his lips and sipped it before taking a heavy gulp. That one act was enough to assume he planned to get drunk. Fine by me. Just as long as he could still get it up. I’d been down that road before—wasting a night on a guy with whiskey dick—and didn’t care for a repeat.

I touched his arm; the light-colored hairs were somewhat coarse and tickled my palm as I slowly ran my fingers down his heated skin to the top of his hand. “Slow down. We have all night.” If there’s one thing I’d learned over the last few months of picking up men in bars, it’s the correlation between how fast a man drinks and how fast he fucks. I didn’t want an all-nighter, but that didn’t mean I didn’t want to enjoy it, either.

“Maybe you just need to catch up.” He licked the liquid from lips and leisurely trailed his gaze down my body. The way his tongue peeked out past his thin lips left a bitter tang in my mouth and a burning sensation in my throat. I began to doubt myself, wondering if maybe I’d been too desperate and chose the wrong guy, but I quickly pushed that thought away. After all, it was only sex.

The rest of him was very nice, though. He was tall, had a strong build and muscular arms that filled out his sleeves well. His face was decent, no distinguishing features that turned me off, other than his mouth. I couldn’t pinpoint exactly what it was about it, but figured it must’ve been a combination of his ultra-fine lips and lack of Cupid’s bow. I simply passed my nitpicking off as being an unusual night for me, and decided to keep my attention on his better features.

I went back to my drink, pulling in gulps of the cold, carbonated liquid through the straw, and relaxed as the icy burn filled my empty stomach.

“Would you like to dance?” I heard him ask. I turned to glance at the dance floor in the back of the bar, catching a glimpse of the crowd moving in unison to a familiar country song blaring through the speakers, kicking, twirling, and laughing.

“No thanks. I don’t dance.” I didn’t go to bars to do the honky-tonk.

“Then what
do
you do?” His voice turned deep, almost needy, as he spoke inches from my ear. The heat of his breath washed over my bare shoulder and left behind chill bumps—the good kind that caused my nipples to harden beneath the thin lining of my bra.

I quickly finished the rest of my drink, needing to cool off before tilting my head in his direction. “Wouldn’t you like to know.” We were so close, his body heat covered one side of me like a furnace in the winter, and his spicy cologne tickled the tiny hairs in my nose, nearly inducing a sneeze.

The air around me grew stifling as he placed one hand on my back and leaned closer, bringing his mouth to the side of my face. The tip of his nose grazed the edge of my ear as his deep, husky voice filled it. “As a matter of fact, I’d love nothing more than to see what you can do.”

I became at odds with myself. On one hand, I had a good-looking guy that would no doubt fuck me tonight. On the other, I couldn’t seem to get over his heavy cologne that threatened to choke me. I, again, questioned my choice of men for the night.

Before I could respond to Justin’s insinuating statement, someone nudged my shoulder on the other side of me. I turned away from Justin, ready to verbally assault whoever had decided to rudely interrupt me. But what I found stole the air from my lungs, the words from my tongue, and the thoughts from my brain. Perched on the stool next to me was the most beautiful man I’d ever laid eyes on—and I’d seen a lot over the past few months.

“What are you drinking?” he asked, his baritone voice washing out the music around us. It commanded my attention, causing me to ignore all other noise around me, and filled my head with a heavy fog that prevented me from thinking straight. I became lost in his voice, the fullness of his lips, and the deep Cupid’s bow perfectly centered beneath his nose.

Normally, I hated guys who thought so highly of themselves, the ones that felt entitled to interrupt a conversation to hit on me. I could handle a cocky asshole if I’m the one pursuing them, because then, the ball was in my court. But to come up to me while I’m clearly in the middle of a conversation with someone else, and feel worthy enough to take my attention…that downright pissed me off. But this man seemed different—not arrogant or egotistical like some I’d encountered before. The way he spoke came off as nice, sweet, almost attentive. And the distance he kept between our bodies didn’t come across as the behavior of a person who possessed some misguided sense of self-worth.

“Excuse me?” Uncertainty filled my whispered words as I shook my head, attempting to clear the weighted fog from my mind.

“Um…what are you drinking?” His gaze darted around, avoiding mine. But that was the only hint of nervousness that came from him while he sat there with his palm flat on the bar top, nothing moving except his eyes.

For a split second, I allowed my imagination to carry me away, picturing the two of us years down the road with a family and a house adorned with a white-picket fence. He didn’t seem like the men I’d surrounded myself with since the beginning of the year, but more like the ones I would’ve been interested in dating before, the ones that left a woman dreaming of her perfect future after just one kiss. I knew I had to put a stop to it. I knew I couldn’t let whatever this was continue, because the man next to me was, no doubt, the forever type—and I no longer believed in forever. I no longer wanted it or the white-picket fence. One night was all I sought, but one night would never be enough for a guy like him.

“Why? You wanna buy me a drink?” I tilted my head, wanting him to believe the image I portrayed. I wanted him to trust the flirtatious tone in my voice and assume the same things about me that every other guy did. I moved my elbow to the top of the bar, pressing the sensitive bone into the unforgiving wood, and rested my chin in my hand as I leaned closer to him. Pushing down the desire to touch him, and lowering my voice to a sultry level, I said, “You tryin’ to get me drunk?”

His dark eyes widened as he angled away, and it made my pulse speed up to dangerous levels. He shook his head, slow at first, and then faster, adamantly. Yet his gaze never left mine. It held me captive, hypnotizing me, making me believe that if I just threw caution to the wind and gave into him, my life would somehow be better. But I knew that could never happen—my life would never get better. His Adam’s apple dipped low in his throat before bobbing back up, like a ball in water, indicative of his harsh swallow and giving away his nervousness.

I rapidly blinked several times, hoping to clear my mind of the impossible thoughts he seemed to induce. When I focused on him again, I made sure not to initiate eye contact, keeping my gaze set on his ear instead. I needed him to know that I may have looked like the sweet, country bumpkin from next door, but I’d never be one—not anymore. So I moved as close to him as I could get without allowing his comforting aura to wrap me up like a soft blanket on a rainy day, and seductively said, “Don’t waste your time, pretty boy. I can get my own drinks.”

Before I could turn my attention back to Justin on the other side of me, the stranger reached out and grabbed ahold of my forearm. The heat of his palm singed my skin and filled me with the warmth of a thousand blazing fires. I stilled at his brazen act, staring at his large, strong hand with long, manly fingers. I had to pull away from him, unable to withstand the intense emotions his touch ignited within me. It went beyond sexual. The unexplained draw I felt toward him burrowed deeper than any physical connection I’d ever had before. It was mental, personal…instinctual. And it left behind a quavering sensation in my stomach and a tightness in my chest.

“That’s not—”

His words came to an abrupt halt when my gaze snapped to his, a fire building in the pit of my stomach. I couldn’t distinguish if it’d been lit by fear or his closeness, but either way, I didn’t want it. I didn’t want him to touch me, to talk to me, and I certainly didn’t want to hear his excuses, knowing it might cause me to cave.

It may seem odd that I’d go out every Saturday night, on the prowl for a hook up, yet here I am, turning one away. But that’s not how I played the game—how I kept my sanity throughout the chaos. I always picked the guy, not the other way around. I knew what I looked like, what men saw when they noticed me. I had long blond hair, typically worn in beach waves on the weekend, and always paired it with smoky eyes. My bar attire was always cut-off denim shorts, a tank top, and matching boots. I never had to worry about getting turned down, which meant I didn’t need to be picked up by men—I did the picking up. Even if I didn’t have my hips, a flat stomach, and muscular thighs, or a face constantly compared to Carrie Underwood, I still wouldn’t have a problem getting any guy I wanted. Because I knew how to become a predator, seeking out my prey and then discarding them when I was done. I knew which ones were looking to get lucky, and no man going into a bar searching for that would turn their nose up at a “get laid free” card. But this man was nothing like the ones I normally sought out. I could tell by the heavy emotion in his dark eyes, his stunned, nervous behavior, that he wasn’t the one-night-stand kind of guy, which is why I
had
to turn him down.

“I was only asking what you were drinking.” His gravelly voice held no attitude, only confusion and concern like maybe he thought he had offended me.

But I forged ahead in my plight to push him away. I didn’t want to see the concern in his eyes or hear the regret in his soft-spoken words. I needed him to walk away, to free me from the chains his presence had on me. “Oh, I
know
what you were doing. Offering to buy me drinks, keep feeding them to me like water, hoping to get me drunk enough so I’d follow you to the back and suck you off as payment. Well, I’m not that kinda girl.”