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“It was mutual. The ‘It’ factor wasn’t there. She’s a great girl—”
“For someone else?”
“Honestly, yes, for someone else.” I hold eye contact with her, hoping she sees the sincerity, the truth there. Then I reach, grabbing at anything that will give me more time with this beautiful woman. “Would she disapprove of us being friends?”
She moves toward the cab as I open the door for her, wishing she would stay longer. She doesn’t look at me but stops momentarily in thought before she slides into the waiting car. Her pause makes me nervous and hopeful that she’s considering her options.
“I don’t know, Charlie.” She looks up at me. “I’d like to be friends with you, but I don’t want to hurt my friend in the process. I don’t have many these days.”
I don’t know what to say to that because she’s doing the right thing. Her loyalty is admirable. I know this deep down, and it says a lot about her. I’ve already argued my best points, so I have to trust this is meant to be.
“I’ll talk to Rachel,” she says.
“Please do. I have a good feeling about us.” I question my sanity for being so amiable.
“So do I.” She smiles. “Thanks again. Maybe we’ll run into each other sometime soon.” After a quick wave of her hand, the door closes. I see her mouth goodbye through the smudged glass of the window as the car starts to pull away.
Her last name. Shit! I don’t know her last name. I feel panic building inside and run after the cab.
“Wait! What’s your last name?” But it’s too late. The taxi is too far, and I stop, muttering a pathetic, “Goodbye, Charlie.”
I catch a cab and call it a night. I’m too drained to make any appearances on the social scene tonight.
By morning, the previous day feels ancient and out of place in my mind. The low of my great-aunt’s funeral mixed with the high of being with Charlie makes it hard for me to tuck the day neatly away in my mind. I pace my apartment, worrying and thinking about Rachel’s reaction and that I might not see Charlie again. Rachel seems to hold all the cards concerning my future, and I don’t like my fate resting in another’s hands.
I should’ve gone with my instincts that first night at the bar, but opportunity and reality seem to collide regularly in my world. I went with reality, and hey, I like Rachel, just not romantically. Like Charlie said, she’s a great girl . . . for someone else.
When I look at the fact, I might have wrecked that relationship on purpose, but why? I didn’t know if I was ever going to see Charlie again. By the way she darted from the club that first night, I didn’t think she wanted to see me again. Ugh! I’ve got to get out of this place. My nerves feel like they’re crawling under my skin, and I’m itching with anxiety.
I grab my jacket out of habit from the preceding cold months of winter and jog down the several flights to the street. I feel better avoiding the confined space of my apartment—for now anyway. I walk with no particular purpose. The fresh air clears my head, allowing me the space to think about my redhead.
I’m happier than I remember being in a long time. Life is just better when you have some sunshine in your life.
Chapter 8
Charlie B
I didn’t want to get in that cab, and I didn’t look back in fear that I might make the driver stop and that would lead to bad things. Things like looking into Charlie’s eyes, then grabbing him by his sexy jaw, which was covered with light scruff, and kissing him. I roll my eyes at my ridiculousness, then close them, relaxing into the vinyl and indulging in the fantasy a moment longer.
As our lips get acquainted, I would hold his shoulders, his muscular shoulders that are straight and strong. I’d let his hands wander my sides. My breathing deepens at the thought. It’s almost as if I can feel his hands on me, up and down, over my ribs and down the curve of my waist to my hips, where his fingers grip me even tighter.
My head drops back as my mouth falls open. His lips leave a wet trail across my face leading to my neck, his breath on my skin awakening every nerve from its hibernation. I feel his thumb caress the side of my breast, tentative, testing. My own breathing is harsher and unsteady under the pleasure.
“Miss? Miss!”
My eyes flash open. I drop my hands from my neck and sit straight up, horrified—or would that be hornified?
“We’re here,” the driver says.
I shake off the silly thought and look out the window as if I need verification of what he’s told me. My building. Yes, we’re here. “Oh, sorry. How much is it?”
