Fifty First Times: A New Adult Anthology Page 14

  “Do you want a ride?”

  I blinked. Was she seriously offering me a ride? She didn’t know me.

  I didn’t know her.

  I motioned to the building. “I’m waiting for my friends.”

  She nodded and her voice shook a little, like she was embarrassed she had even made the offer. She tucked a heavy chunk of dark hair behind her ear. “Oh. Sure. Thought you just might not . . . you know, you might not want to stand out here . . .” Her voice faded away.

  I stared at her intently, remembering the hunger I had felt when I stared at her on stage. I still felt it. Even staring at her like this—all innocent and fresh-faced – I wanted her. It probably wasn’t a good idea for me to go with her. Somehow I didn’t think the offer was because she wanted me to get in her pants. Sure, I could make assumptions about her because she was a stripper, but I just knew. She wasn’t inviting me into her bed. She was probably being kind to me because I had tried to help her tonight. Maybe she thought I was heroic and not like the rest of those guys imagining what it would feel like to touch her. She’d be wrong. All I could see was that perfect breast in my mind. And wonder what it might taste like.

  I was a guy like every other. And this girl . . . she got to me. I wasn’t immune.

  I reached in my pocket and dug out my phone. The idea of getting in the car with her, being alone with her, was a temptation I couldn’t pass up. Maybe that made me shallow, but there it was. “Why not?” I shot a quick text to Cody. “I doubt they wanted to leave anyway.” Understatement. They were just getting warmed up when I went and got myself kicked out.

  She unlocked the door and I slid in beside her. She stared at me for a moment, like she couldn’t quite believe I just got in her car and took her up on her offer. Those eyes of hers were so wide and blue even in the dim interior.

  “Wishing you hadn’t offered me a ride?” I asked, half teasing. I wouldn’t blame her if she changed her mind. I didn’t want her to be afraid or uncomfortable. My gut twisted a little and the memory of her earlier scream echoed in my ears. I didn’t want to make her feel even a small bit like she had earlier tonight. “I can go,” I offered, my hand moving for the door latch, ready to climb back out.

  “No.” She shook her head. “It’s okay.”

  She started driving then, pulling out of the parking lot. “Where do you live?

  “Across town. My apartment is off Eighty-nine and the Parkway.”

  “Near Dartford?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you a student?”

  I nodded and we fell into silence. She reached between us and turned the radio on to a station that was playing top hits. She adjusted the volume so that Bruno Mars crooned softly.

  “What are you studying?” she asked.

  “Biology. Pre-med.”

  “You’re going to med school?”

  “Yeah. Next fall.”

  “Wow.” She slid me a measuring look. “That’s pretty impressive. You must be really smart.”

  I grinned. “Just stubborn.”

  “Stubborn?”

  I nodded. “Yeah. It’s not about being smart. It’s sheer stubbornness.”

  “I’m stubborn,” she volunteered with a shake of her head. “I’m not going to med school.”

  “It’s just about sticking to something. Anything you decide to do. Seeing it through,” I explained. My lips twisted. “Proving my high school chem teacher wrong when he said I was hopeless and should stick to football.”

  An oncoming car’s lights flashed across her face, the sudden stark light hiding nothing. Not her youth or wide, guileless eyes. Not her suddenly intent expression. Like she was thinking about what I said. Like it mattered. “Never thought of it like that. Maybe I’ll do okay in school, too, then. My sister claims that I’m very stubborn.”

  “Are you going to school?”

  “Community college. Just one class this semester. I managed two classes last semester. I’m thinking I’ll major in business. Or maybe computer science.” She shrugged. “I don’t know. Something that will get me a good job. That’s the most important thing.”

  “Practical,” I murmured. I knew plenty of girls majoring in art or theater. They weren’t worried about getting a job. They had parents and trust funds to fall back on.

  “I would take more classes, but it’s expensive. And I waitress, so I don’t have a lot of time for a second class. Plus studying. I bit off more than I could chew last semester. ”

  I processed this. She couldn’t afford more than one class? She waitressed during the day? There was no one in my circle of acquaintances who wasn’t a full-time student. A few held part-time jobs, but no one was like this girl.

  “And you dance at night?”

  “Not anymore,” she replied almost too quickly, and I knew I hit a nerve. She was embarrassed.

  “You quit?” I asked carefully, hoping she didn’t think he was judging her. What did I know about her or her life and what drove her to take a job at the Kitty Cave?

  She shrugged. “The manager doesn’t want me back.”

  “Because of me?”

  She hesitated and I knew I was to blame. And even knowing that, I knew I would do it again if some guy touched her like that. “No. It was my fault. I totally lost it. I screamed like some girl in a bad horror movie.”

  “That guy grabbed you,” I defended. “He assaulted you—”

  “It’s all part of the job.”

  “It was wrong. He didn’t have the right to touch you like that.”

  She angled her head and inhaled sharply through her nose like she was remembering—remembering that bastard’s hands on her—and then I felt like an ass for making her remember. I just wanted to pull her into my arms. Crazy, I knew, but I wanted to wipe the memory from her mind forever. I wanted her to forget it. To forget this night.

  Well, except for me.

  Irrationally and illogically, I wanted her to remember me. Maybe for no other reason than because I was going to remember her. I doubt I’d be able to get her out of my head. Just the image of her on that stage would probably keep me awake and staring into the dark for many nights to come.

  She shrugged and pulled to a stop at a red light. “I couldn’t do it. I knew that when I went out there.” The light turned green.

  I motioned for her to turn at the next street. “Then why? Why did you?”

  Her gaze cut to me and a sly smile curved her mouth. “Just stubborn, I guess. I’d convinced myself I could.”

  I pointed at my apartment complex on the right. She pulled up in front of the security gate. I dug out my wallet and handed her my card to press against the magnetic plate. She rolled down her window and stuck the card out. The gates swung apart.

  “Just ahead to the right. Building B.”

  “Nice,” she murmured and I assumed she meant the complex. The half-dozen buildings were very Tuscan in style. All rock with red-tiled roofs. I surveyed where I lived for the last three years with fresh eyes—through her eyes. Cody had picked out the place, wanting it for its gym, pool, tennis courts, and volleyball nets. It was like a resort with all its varied amenities.

  She parked in front of the building, leaving the car running, confirming that she wasn’t looking for a hook-up. She wasn’t hoping to come inside. She wasn’t that kind of girl. One-time stripper or not.

  “Thanks for the ride.” I hesitated, sliding my suddenly perspiring palms along my thighs.

  “Thanks for playing the hero tonight.” She dipped her head and all that dark hair fell like a curtain, shielding her face from me. I heard her sigh. She lifted her head and looked at me. “That sounded asshole-ish, didn’t it? You weren’t playing at it. You were a hero. Not like any of the other guys at the Cave.”

  I turned in my seat to better face her, deciding to just be direct about this. I wasn’t going to get another shot. “Can I get your phone number?”

  Her eyes widened. She made a sound that was half laugh, half snort. “Seriousl
y?”

  I frowned, bewildered. This was a first. A girl had never laughed at me when I asked for her number before.

  She shook her head and grinned at me. The smile was placating. It made me feel like a child who had just demanded some unreasonable request. “You’re not going to call or text me,” she declared. Not a question. A statement plain and simple.

  “Not without your number. So give me your number.”

  She looked at me like she was peering into my very soul. Those eyes. They did things to me. It was crazy, but I couldn’t help feeling it. She wasn’t like any girl I’d ever met. She was real.

  “You won’t use it.” And damn if she didn’t sound a little sad over that. Like she wished I would. “Let’s just leave it at good-bye.”

  “So you’re not going to give me your number?”

  “No.” She shook her head again. “Why do you even want it? To ask me out? Like on a date? C’mon.”

  She didn’t mince words. There wasn’t the slightest pretense about her, and I totally wanted to kiss her right then. I wanted to kiss her everywhere. On her mouth. On every inch of her body. The urge hit me hard and swift. What I hadn’t seen of her up there on that stage, I wanted to see. I wanted to see all of her.

  “Yeah.” I nodded. “Like a date.”

  “No.”

  The single word struck me like a slap. “No, you won’t go out with me . . .”

  She looked amused. “No, you don’t want my number. No, you don’t want to go out with me.”

  I inched closer, my arm stretching along the back of her seat. I caught her scent. It was faint. No overwhelming perfume. Strawberry shampoo. “Why are you so convinced of that fact? You don’t know me well enough to know what I want.”

  Now she looked confused. “Guys like you don’t call girls like me. And you don’t date girls like me.”

  “Guys like me?”

  “Rich boys going to medical school do not date strippers.”

  “Stereotyping, aren’t you?”

  Her eyebrows winged high. “I live in a trailer park.”

  I smiled and she frowned, clearly not liking my reaction. I guess she thought I would jump out of the car at that admission. “I’m still here.”

  Those bright blue eyes narrowed. “My mom’s a stripper, too.”

  “You’re just trying to spook me.”

  “And my sister.”

  “It’s not working,” I whispered, coming closer.

  “It’s kind of the family business. I’m sure the Cave will rehire me. I talk a big game, but I’ll probably end up working back there.”

  “You won’t go back there again.” I didn’t know why I was so certain. I just was.

  “And you know me so well?”

  “I know that much about you. Yeah. I do. You hated it. It’s not in you, Brooke.”

  We both fell silent. Tension swirled on the air. I was close enough that I could close the distance between our mouths in one second and taste those lips.

  She crossed her arms and fell back against the door. It was like she read my mind and needed space between us. “Why are you still sitting in my car?” Her voice was whisper-soft and tinged with something indecipherable. Maybe desperation. Maybe longing.

  “In case you didn’t notice, I’m trying to flirt with you. Normally I’m better at it. But you won’t even give me your phone number, so there’s that.”

  She shook her head slowly, like I was wearing her down. “My mom also has a drinking problem . . . drugs,” she said weakly. “She’s been in and out of jail a few times.”

  She watched me, still waiting for me to run. I lifted my hand from the back of her seat. I couldn’t stop myself. I had to risk it. I had to touch her. I had to see if her hair was as soft as it looked. My fingers threaded in the dark sleekness. Each strand flowed like water over my fingers. “Still not working.”

  I was enjoying myself now. The way her blue eyes flashed in annoyance fascinated me. I never had a problem getting girls. Yeah, I lost Pepper, but I think she was already in love with Reece before we even had our first real date. I’d seen them together and it was like I was witnessing something private . . . like I wasn’t even there. Like no one else was. I just let her convince me there was nothing between them. Until, of course, she admitted there was.

  Generally, girls liked me. They flirted. They watched me with a hunger that was partly due to my looks and partly because I came from money. I’d fooled around with my share since I split with Paige. And never had a girl told me a flat-out no before. It turned me on. Brooke turned me on. But as much as she turned me on . . . I just wanted to hear yes on her lips. If possible, that would turn me on even more.

  Her tongue darted out to moisten her lips and something tightened in my gut. “You don’t want—”

  “I think I know what I want.” I pointed across the street to the IHOP where Cody and I had nursed many a hangover. “Pancakes.”

  The idea just came to me. It meant more time with her. Delaying good-bye. All I knew was that I didn’t want to say good-bye. Not yet. The idea of getting out of this car and never seeing her again gave me a sharp pang in the chest.

  She looked across the street and back to me. “Pancakes?”

  “What? You don’t like pancakes?” I asked, still stroking her hair. “You’re killing me, woman.”

  She smiled. Grudgingly, but it was there. “Yes, I like pancakes.”

  “There’s nothing like pancakes at”—I glanced at the clock—“eleven thirty-eight at night.”

  She hesitated and then nodded just once. “Okay. Just pancakes. You’re still not getting my number though.”

  Brooke

  HOW I ENDED up eating pancakes with a too-hot-to-believe-guy who was clearly out of my league eluded me. I kept seeing him in that moment he hauled off and punched that jerk who grabbed me. He was everything a girl dreamed of—beautiful and good and smart. He was the prince that rode in to save the princess. A princess. Which I was not.

  With this in my mind, it was actually easy to look at him clinically. To appreciate him sitting across from me with a calm sort of detachment—because there was no way our lives would ever collide beyond this moment right now.

  He was going to be a doctor. If I was lucky, I’d finish college and get a job with good benefits. That was the extent of my dream. And it was big enough. God, it was the size of California—and about as difficult for me to ever reach. A secure job with benefits. A place of my own. Money to help Chelsey like she had helped me all these years. She shouldn’t be the only one worried about coming up with the cash to bail Mom out of jail.

  Since he was paying—he’d made that much clear—I ordered chocolate chip pancakes, sausage, hash browns, and large orange juice. We were like camels. Mom, Chelsey, and me. We never knew when we’d get a good meal—something other ramen noodles—so we stocked up on those rare occasions.

  Hunter watched me as I ate. In that unnerving, consuming way of his. It almost made me not want to eat quite so zealously, but my hunger won out.

  The staring was worse than before though. This wasn’t the dim interior of my car. The bright fluorescent light of the restaurant hid nothing. Not his artfully messy brown hair shot with gold highlights. Not his warm brown eyes. The square-cut jaw. The deep dimple in his right cheek. He belonged on a CW show.

  He really was beautiful. And charming. And heroic—he had already proved that. Despite all my protesting, I was tempted to give him my number. And then sanity asserted itself.

  Guys like him didn’t call girls like me. It was just awkward in that moment he was saying good-bye. That must be why he asked. He didn’t really mean it. There was no extending our relationship beyond tonight. I knew that. He didn’t need to be such a gentleman and act like he didn’t know it, too.

  “Where do you put it?” he asked, lowering his cup of coffee to the table. He sat with one arm stretched along the back of the booth. The pose stretched his charcoal-colored sweater across his broad chest.
The fabric was smooth-looking and hinted at a sculpted chest.

  I shrugged and took a drink. “Never know when you’re getting your next meal.”

  I regretted it the moment I uttered the words. It sounded pathetic, and he looked stunned. I lowered my gaze and quickly cut into a link of sausage even as I felt his stare eating me up. His deep voice rumbled across the air. “You don’t know when you’ll get your next meal?”

  I gave a wincing smile. “I eat.”

  “As in every meal?”

  “Sure.” I waved my fork in a little circle on the air. “I should qualify that I don’t know when I’ll get my next good meal.”

  I glanced at him from beneath my lashes. He didn’t look entirely convinced. He was still considering me like I was some strange specimen.

  “A doctor, huh?” I asked, happy to change the subject. “What kind?”

  “Reconstructive surgery.”

  “Plastic surgery?” I almost snorted. Like there wasn’t enough of those already. Figures that a beautiful guy like him would go into the business of chin implants and breast augmentation.

  “No, as in correcting birth defects. Helping trauma victims.”

  And now I felt like an ass.

  “What about you?”

  “Something that pays well. Hopefully enough so that I can pay back my student loans in my lifetime – I’m sure I’ll finish college with a load of debt.” I shrugged self-consciously.” And something to help out my family. I don’t want to flip burgers forever.” Or take off my clothes for money. I thought it but didn’t say it. I didn’t need to. He knew.

  “Have you applied for any grants?”

  “What are those?”

  “There are grants for students that meet certain criteria. All kinds of them. You can look them up online. I’m sure you would qualify for some.”

  “And they just give that money free and clear?”

  “Yes. To put toward school. Didn’t your high school counselor tell you about them?”

  “My high school counselor wasn’t interested in giving me college counseling.” The woman had made up her mind about me when my sister dropped out senior year to dance full-time. I think I surprised her by even sticking it out and graduating.