Page 11 of New Hope, Old Grudges

His expression fell with what looked like genuine regret. “About that, I need to—”

“You don’t need to do anything,” I interrupted. “The past is the past.” I stepped in front of him. “I want to talk aboutnow.About the fact that you’ve been staring at me all night.”

I surprised even myself. Avery, my best friend back in L.A., would be snapping her fingers in her version of applause, seeing me put myself out there like that.

She’d always pushed me to be more sexual, more confident. And here I was. All it took was three whiskeys and eighteen years of pent-up anger.

“You want me,” I continued, trying to turn my voice into a sultry purr. I didn’t know if I succeeded but I soldiered on. “I may not be super well-versed in the dating world, especially with men like you, but I know that all men look at women a certain way when they want them.” I was brave enough to step a little closer. “And we can keep it a secret, we can do it right here so no one will know that you stooped low enough to get into bed with me. Or in the restroom,” I amended, nodding my head to the doors.

Brody’s face was all hot guy melty when I spoke—giving me hope that the sultry thing was working—until I said the last part. Then his mouth thinned, his posture stiffened and he looked all around pissed off.

Through my drunken haze, alarm bells started ringing. Maybe I had read it wrong. His glowering gaze told me I’d read it wrong. Who did I think I was? I was still the weirdo he punished for giving him empathy, even if my acne was gone and I had discovered a hair product that worked for me.

He was not the same guy; he was more dangerous, had an air about him that read ‘don’t fuck with me’ … and here I was, fucking with him.

Before I knew it, he had advanced, and I had retreated. My back hit the wall. Not hard, but the cold, hard surface was jarring. I didn’t have a moment to get myself out of the situation because Brody was there, right there, palm flat on the wall beside my head, body so close to mine I could feel its warmth. His head bent down so our lips were inches apart. His eyes were still glittering with that dangerous fury.

My heart pounded in my chest—I was suddenly and painfully sober. Who did I think I was? I was not equipped to handle situations like this,menlike this. I should’ve let the past lie.

“What was your plan?” he asked, breath hot on my face.

Though my body trembled with fear and … something else, I kept my eyes on his. I couldn’t rip my gaze away if I tried. “W-what?”

“Your plan,” he repeated, leaning in even closer. “The last time I saw you, you made it very fuckin’ clear what you thought of me. You strike me as a woman who knows her own mind and doesn’t change it on a dime. I wronged you in the past. Pretty badly for it to still have your eyes burning with anger toward me eighteen years later.” He reached out to toy with a piece of my hair.

My lips trembled. Yeah, this had gotten way out of hand, and he saw through my ruse immediately.

Surely, someone would come and interrupt us. There was no way a bar full of drunk people had this much bladder control.

Yet here we were. Alone, the throaty voice of the country singer nothing but a mumble in the background.

“If you coming onto me is my punishment, then I’m more than willing to do the time,” he murmured. “Except I’m thinking that’s not what you had in mind.”

I bit my lip. Again, I didn’t consider myself an evil genius, but I also didn’t think my plan would be that clear. That made me angry.

I jutted my chin upward, refusing to let him intimidate me with his size, with his authority, with his sexual energy.

“Maybe I just want you,” I replied. “Maybe I want to have some angry, hate sex.”

It was when the words came out of my mouth that I realized that I kind ofdidwant to have some angry, hate sex. My pussy thrummed with the thought of it. Whether it be the booze, my dire situation or temporary insanity, I leaned forward so our lips almost brushed.

“Maybe I just want you to take me to a bathroom stall, turn me around, lift up my dress and fuck me hard.” My finger looped around one of his belt loops to pull him close to me. Close enough to feel his hard cock through his jeans.

My pussy pulsed again. I forgot about my revenge, my juvenile plans to seduce him, steal his clothes and make him walk through a crowded bar naked. It was a stupid plan.

Getting him to fuck me, on the other hand, felt like a brilliant idea.

I could get him back by getting my orgasm and then refusing to let him finish. Yes,greatplan.

My hesitance from before about whether he wanted me was long gone. His cock was hard, his eyes were alight with desire. I could practically smell the masculine energy radiating from him.

“Oh, I would love nothing more than to take you into that restroom and fuck you so hard you forget any sins I’ve committed against you in the past, to worship you,” he rasped, voice deep and wild.

My body tingled with the visual.

Brody’s lips lingered against mine, and I smelled the beer he’d been drinking, the woodsy aroma of his cologne and then a smell that belonged only to him.

“But...” he murmured, just as I was about to close my eyes and let him kiss me. “You’re drunk.” He leaned back so our lips were no longer brushing then tucked hair behind my ear. “You’re drunk, and you still don’t like me very much. As much as I want you, me taking you to that bathroom and fucking you would be cementing your opinion of me as an asshole.”

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